A Slaves Tale

Chapter One

My life is riddled with tales, many unhappy and shocking. One of the few happy phases of my life is my childhood in Africa, it did not last long. In fact it came to an end just before my thirteenth birthday.

I lived a happy life in Africa my tribe the Mandinka had many animals and we were a strong community. My father the tribe leader gave me a good name Asad, it means lion and that was my fate. To be a lion would bring me trouble in the future but my father was knowing of this. As I grew up I made many friends and knew everyone in the village, but my best friend was my dog. I spent endless hours running among the trees and rolling in the grass with my dog, I named her Bahati for luck, and indeed it seemed she was lucky. I had a close encounter with a cheetah who was after Bahati and amazingly due to her cunning I came away with nothing more than a cut.

I spent the vast majority of my time taking lessons from my father. As the eldest male. Amongst my siblings my destiny was meant to have been certain. I should have become the tribe leader when my father passed away. Little did ,my father know that Allah had a different future for me and Allah had made a very big mistake. As next in line my job was to help father with people of the village . Villagers came every day to pray and ask for teachings from my father. For generations knowledge had been passed down my family from one generation to the next, I was learn the most valuable of these lessons and rite of passage on my thirteenth birthday.

Chapter two

It was the night before my thirteenth birthday, I could hardly contain my excitement, tomorrow I was to become a man. In the middle of the night I awoke with a start. I have no idea why I woke, I just sensed something was wrong. I looked across at my mother and father then across to my sister. My sister although older than me looked vulnerable as she slept her eyes flickering peacefully I knew then instinctively I had to protect her. My axe was hung over my shoulder and my blade was stiffened in my hand. "Asad! I jumped and dropped my axe. I turned around it was my sister Wub. "Asad what are you doing? she whispered. " I had a bad feeling about something, go back to bed!, I said shooing her away. "No,! I coming with you and don't you dare argue with me. She said in her big sister bossy tone, giving me a glare. I knew there was no arguing with her, I sighed turned and carried on walking.

We walked on through the darkness, we both felt uneasy jumping at every noise and crack of leaves underfoot. From the darkness emerged a person, I stepped backward, my heart racing with fear, it was Mayo my neighbour. He looked terrified he was as pale as a white man and panting hard, trying to catch his breath to speak. "Asad, Asad run the white man has come!, the white man has come! "what do you mean? I replied. " No white men come here, there are no white men here except in your dreams my sister said stepping forward close towards the distressed boy. " But I saw them I did white men , they are here, he pointed behind hind him into the darkness beyond the village. A sudden noise made us all cling to each other, Mayo screamed. He was a kind boy with a good heart of gold, but he was not the lion I was blessed to be.

Wub stepped out of our huddled circle, she tip toed gently in the direction of the noise, but before she got there a strange figure stepped out into the moon light. The figure was a tall thin man , his skin was pale almost as pale as the moon that lit his face from above. I looked carefully at him breathing him in he looked pale and weak , I looked down from his face and saw that in his hands he held a strange machine, It smelt of dust. Bang! A terrifying noise and then the pain.

" Asad wake up " I opened my eyes, standing above me was Wub and Mayo. " Oh Asad I am so glad you are alright, we thought we had lost you. I sat up slowly and looked around me, I was in a small strange wooden cage. All around me were other tribes people some from my village and others I recognised from neighbouring villages, one thing grouped us together and that was chains. I looked down and looked at the masses of hard ugly mental chains linking our hands together, like cattle tethered for market day. I slumped against the side of the cage and tried to piece together what had happened and remember how I had got here. All I could remember was that noise and a strange fire like smell and then excruciating pain in my right arm. I looked across, my arm was bandaged in what I recognised to be Wubs head scarf and through the bright cloth I could see the blood from my wound seeping through.

Chapter Three

I must of passed out for a long time as my next memory was of waking with a sudden jolt. We were being roughly yanked at by a group of white men, who dragged us from the cage and pulled at our chain until we walked in line. We marched on like terrified animals through rows of cages. If people slowed they were whipped by our captors, the white men. Finally we reached a huge wooden structure and ordered to claim aboard. We could not understand the strange language they spoke but we learnt to obey quickly. I looked down and saw a huge river and other white men dressed in fancy white clothes and one stout man in a captains jacket. "Is the cargo ready to be stored "? he said. The other white man replied, "I I sir, just taking this three hundred and fifty down, they are the last lot. The captain nodded and disappeared downstairs to his cabin. We could just make out through the open door the rich fabrics and gold décor of his room.

Ouch! I felt my chains being sharply yanked again , it felt as though my wrists would crack. Down we went into a dark damp hole, the stench was over whelming. When we got down there we were shoved into wooden slots. I could hear groaning all around me, and there was a nasty taste of suffering in the air. I moved my head "aaargh! I could barely see in the darkness but I am sure I could make out a skeleton and the glint of a metal manical still attached to it. No , surely not it must be my imagination. I closed my eyes to try and make sense of what had happened, feelings of hatred and anger filled my head. How could these people do this to us.

It seemed like an endless eternity of boredom , my time was spent worrying about my kin, where they, what of my father and mother. Soon the cellars we were trapped began to reek of a foul stench and the humidity and heat was almost unbearable. Food was thrown to us by our captors on the journey, it was bland white mans food, no hint of the rich spices that flavoured my native food. We were all so hungry that whatever food was given was readily eaten. Days drifted into each other, I kept count of the weeks by marking the wall each day with an old nail that I found.

Every week we got taken up to the top deck and made to walk around It was good to escape the dark and the stench and feel the air and sun on my skin for a short while. Many people took this opportunity to end their suffering and throw themselves over board into the menacing sea below. I had no idea why we had been taken but knew they must want to keep us alive for some purpose. These brief visits to the deck were all I focused on, they allowed me a glimpse of Wub and Mayo. Strangely on some occasions we were encouraged to perform native dances and songs. Singing became important to keep up our sprits and strength. Sometimes during these dances I observed with dread my sister Wub being taken with other women by the white crew to their quarters. I was filled with anger and despise for these men, my sister was a proud women and this was no way to treat a lady.

By the time we saw sight of land, half of my fellow black captives had died, their bodies un ceremoniously thrown overboard. I am very sorry to report that Mayo was one of them, he was kind but not strong and did not eat the white mans food. I however swallowed my pride and lived. That horrendous journey has scarred me physically and emotionally and I don't think I have been the same person since. Perhaps that which doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
Chapter 4

I woke up wondering where I was. The ship had stopped and there were raised voices all around me. I knew upon entering this new land that many of my friends and kin had not made the journey and my thoughts flooded back with this memory of sweet, gentle Mayo. Suddenly I felt very sad and missed the warm dry air and familiar smells of Africa my home. The door opened and day light came flooding in, we were once again dragged chained together like cattle onto the upper wooden deck. "Aaugh I gasped, nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. All around me was a new an unfamiliar land, a large wooden key, lined with tall sailing ships of every size. Filing out from all of these ships were other black men, women and children who I now were to become slaves as was my fate. I saw many black slaves placed in holding pens on the shore with numbers around their necks.

We were taken to an empty stall on the market place and chained to wooden boards to prevent our escape. " Stop struggling you filthy things, shouted a harsh voice. I looked around, there was the captain, I couldn't help staring at his strange physique. He was very short and I had never seen a man with such a large stomach, I could see rolls of fat under his chin and his face was red and bloated. He was very ugly and had deep set eyes and a his face was not proud like that those of my kin. My mind drifted to my village and I allowed my self to picture this fat strange individual surviving in the African heat, it is certain he would have starved as he was certainly not a capable of catching prey or able to attract a wife. I was brought back to reality sharply by shouts "Smith I want you to number them now ! Smith was a weak and skinny man who looked as if the sun had never seen his skin. Smith started to put numbers around our necks, I was number two hundred and five and Wub was number thirty one.

We stood for hours while white people came by staring and pointing at us. I had never seen such weird clothes and, women wearing long dresses with frills and bows and hats with ribbons. They prodded the slaves held in the pens and then gave money to the white men,. Suddenly it struck me, they were buying people, just as you buy grain at the market. How can you buy people, we are not things, we are living , breathing , feeling beings, with families and lives of our own.

"Wub, I had suddenly caught sight of her being dragged off by a large plump white man wearing a hat with huge red feather in it. " Asad! Asad! Help me, run run, you must escape , don't be bought, don't be bought !, she screamed trying to free herself. She was held tight and I could hear her metal chains dragging along the floor drowning out her cries. The sound of her cries and the noise of the his whip cracking against back still haunts me. I remember seeing his red feather disappear into the distance as I felt sick with fear for her safety. She was my big sister, the one who had comforted me and kept me safe, she had helped bring me up and she loved me for my goofy self. When she had needed me to help her I had failed her , how could I have let her be taken I was no Mandika. The lion is fearless I surely did not deserve my heart felt name, yes perhaps number two hundred and five was more fitting.

I was one of the last left my injured arm had made me less sellable, I was faulty goods. We had been stood for three days when a man with a long grey beard approached my captors. He looked me up and down and then spat in my face. "who much do you want for this pathetic black scum ball.? I was sold for $100 dollars. The man who bought me also bought two other slaves. One looked my age and the other looked a little older perhaps sixteen. The older boy looked very weak with hollow eyes and a large cut down his leg. We were unchained from the market board but the heavy wrist chains were kept on as we followed the man through the thickening mist towards our new life.

Chapter five

My first glimpse of the plantation was very brief ,as we rounded a corner ,then we turned another and I was amazed at what I saw. In the middle was a huge house made out of brick and wood ,behind the house was a fair sized garden and surrounding it was a mass of farm land. As we pulled up outside the plantation I noticed that every one else was black, the footman, the guard and even the butler who came to welcome Massa home was black.

The guard took me by the arm ,I looked up into his eyes ,they were full of sadness and sorrow . He led me off into the trees and we walked. It was getting dark and the warm air was suffocatingly sweet. The landscape was beautiful, yet it felt like it was trying to hide something , and then I felt it, the pain ,the heartache ,these weren't my feelings ,they were coming from the ground ,the ground which held so many painful memories. Such beauty betrayed the awful reality of the brutality and unfairness of our existence here. As we walked we got nearer and nearer the bridge lights and music coming from up ahead. The guard turned to look at me. "what's your name boy he asked. "Asad !, but da mean massa calls me number two hundred and five. I am not a number I am a living being. I said looking right back into his soulful eyes. "if you are wise Asad you will do as the Massa says or you will be beaten or worse. You are not in your Africa now boy, you are in white mans land now and they are the boss. With that he turned and walked away into the moonlight, leaving me to face the little village ahead.