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Today, my brain is a whirlwind of emotions: memories from my past.

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Slave Boy Today, my brain is a whirlwind of emotions: memories from my past. A past I would like to forget but can't. I will begin my story, my story, from when I was just six years of age and taken from my family. It feels strange to look over the shores of my native lands, the same land on which I was sold to white men to work as a slave. We the, Africans were seen as an inferior and uncivilised race, enough justification to be enslaved and treated little better than animals.My real name was Nkauwa but they called me Sam. My identity; my family; my culture; my freedom; they took everything from me and changed it. My life would never be the same again. It was Nigerean slave dealers who rounded us up like cattle. The vast majority of us were caught during fighting against other African groups, prisoners of war. The rest were criminals like me, but my only crime was stealing fruit from the market, my punishment? a lifetime of enslavement. Our hands were tied behind our backs with pieces of rough string that stopped the blood from reaching our fingers. ...read more.


We were escorted off the cart and brought into another yard outside the farm house from where we were called up one by one to enter the house. It was a very nervous wait and I noticed lots of other black workers already in the fields. I had no idea what was going on but when I was called up I knew something terrible was going to happen by the way the man looked at me with a mean and menecing smile which sent shivers down my spine that I can still remember to this day. He walked towards me and grabbed me by my ear and dragged me inside, to a room containing a large fire place with a crackling fire. Next to the fireplace stood an African house servant and in the centre of the room a desk with the tall, bearded man who drove the cart. He stopped writing, looked up at me, poured himself a glass of whiskey and drank it in one go. The man proceeded to talk to the servant in English, and in turn the servant translated it into Nigerean and repeated it to me. "Your name's Sam, call me boss, you'll work only for me now, pickin' cotton on my plantation, sunrise to sunset." ...read more.


He asked me, in Nigerean, my name and what I was doing here. I told them my story and they it turned out we were from the same part of Nigeria and were stopping there on their way back there for some illigitimate trading of tea leaves and tobacco. They were both kind men and disagreed with the principle of slavery, they were quick to take pity on me and put me in an empty crate to hide me until on the ship. The trip back was much more comfortable than before. Although I slept below deck with the crates, I was allowed on deck whenever I wanted. I never went hungry for that ten week trip and rebuilt much of my strength. I showed gratitude for my rescue by doing odd jobs around the boat, usually cooking for the crew or scrubbing the deck. When we reached the main port of Nigeria I was so happy, it was a terrible ordeal for anyone to go through and something I was lucky to survive. The scar on my forehead is a constant reminder and my mental scars will never go away but I learnt many things during that time. I will never again take my freedom for granted and I cherish every moment of life with my family in the place where I truly belong. ...read more.

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