DIARY OF A BLACK SLAVE

Held back by the chains that fastened his hands to his legs and created a synchronisation between his feet and head, Gugulethu, moved in slow, painful and agonizing steps. Every time he brought his leg forward, he felt a force push it backward. Soon, he was toppling over himself. Left and right he looked and saw his counterparts, called something like “kolig” by the coloured men that held them and even in his misery, he felt their pains.Melissa, the thirteen year old daughter of uncle Sabo was taken along with them for “pleasures” as the masters had said when she reeled out in pain at the feel of the long wire on her father’s skin. Yes, he shouted and screamed and in his beating, he yelled and struggled for them not to take his beautiful Melissa. As if taking her was not enough, she was stripped naked and raped turn by turn by the two masters sent to take us. At that point, her father, uncle Sabo stood up and forced himself towards one of the white men. He killed him of course but, Uncle Sabo was finally shot to death. People will say it in later years that one black slave had the guts to fight a white man and his name will be recorded in history. That’s if they even spell his name correctly.

On my right side was Boubou, the 20year old village bully. Somehow, I am very pleased that he was taken. The way he picks on children quarter his size is disgusting and well, nothing has been able to stop him all these years. When he was brought out, he tried to show he could wrestle but, one hit on his back with that big, fat cane got him sprawling on the ground. I laughed at him and pointed my finger at him in mockery. I didn’t know I would be next because, well, we weren’t told that 8year olds would be taken too.

It was my turn and this time, because I wanted to be brave like Uncle Sabo, I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. I wouldn’t give up without a fight. No! Even if they finally caught me, I thought it would be nice for my name to appear in historical records that I made the white men run after me. That would be something very nice, right? However, they caught me and beat me till I fainted.

It’s been five weeks now and somehow I wish none of us were taken. I want to go home to my mummy. I want to eat kenke, prepared by the woman they say is from Ghana, Maame Mensah and maybe I could get to taste that Igbo woman from Nigeria’s “ofe oha”