Am I not a Man and a brother?

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History Empathy Essay on Slavery

An Empathy Essay on Slavery as a Slave

Forty years I have worked in the plantation, I am now finally a free man, but has life really been worth living? Like a dog I worked, what is the point of lives as black slaves?

        The start of the story goes back to sixty years ago when I was a little kid playing with my sister and my mother at the back of our house when father and my elder brothers were out fishing in the pond. Sixty years after that, the memory of the day is as clear as if it was happening yesterday.

        Two strong men suddenly ran out from behind the tall big tree behind us. One of the men grabbed me and my sister the other grabbed mother and ran off. We kept screaming, but not a soul could hear for there was not any one near us at the time. These two men had waited for this valuable opportunity of the place getting quite for ages, a valuable opportunity for them anyway. The men soon fill our mouths with cloth so we could no longer cry for help.

I was ten then. Never again I see my dear father and my good brothers.

        I was terrifying and I kept screaming as loud as I could but no-one could hear me because I did not make a sound that can be heard within a meter with the cloth in my mouth. We finally arrived to the wood after what it seemed to be years.

There we were handed to a group of people from another tribe whose language was different from ours. The men who grabbed us exchange us for an ox with the group of people. Are all three of our lives worth less than one single beast?

        There we met some other women, children but only a few men. We all spoke different languages but from their expression, I knew, deep in my heart, we were all talking about the same thing, all with fears and anger, wondering what our fate would be.

        I looked up to mother, holding her hand tightly; she was padding my head gently, with her watery eyes, she was looking down on me. My sister was hugging mother tightly.

        We were soon chained with up to all the other people we met in the woods – neck to neck, wrist to wrist.. Mother was chained in the middle of me and my sister, I was in front of her and my sister was behind her. Knowing Mother would always be there when I needed her was ever such a great comfort.

        Miles and miles, we walked. We finally stop near the end of the day when the Sun was about to set after all those exhausted hours. There I saw more people who were being chained together but this time with a huge number of strong grown up men.

These men were the prisoner of wars, nothing they have done wrong like us, but to do their duty to protect their tribe and countries. These men lost the war not because they were weak but their opponents had gun. Guns given by the whites to exchange us! Their fellow! They used the gun to kill us! Does it really matter what colour you are to be a good person? Nice negrons are as nice as nice whites; cruel negros are as cruel as cruel whites; intelligent whites are as clever as intelligent negros and stupid whites are as stupid as stupid negros; so why do negros have to be slaves of the whites just because we are blacks and they are whites?

We were then put into a simple dormitory calls barracoon. Ropes fasten our necks to the roof, for some people, the ropes were even interwoven into their hair so that we could no run away.

About a month latter, a foul smell was coming over to our noses from the coast; which, I did not know at the time, was the slave ship that I was about to board on that was spreading this digesting smell – the white merchant had now arrived, things were to get even worse.

That afternoon, we were handed over to a group of white men whose complexion was very different from ours. Their scary white faces, long hair appeared to me like bad spirits wanting to kill us. Not knowing what they were going to do with us fear me the most.

        It was the first time I ever seen any men of white, my opinion on them had changed much after the sixty years I have worked for them but one thing never changed – the whites whom I saw on the coast that night are as evil as I met them that afternoon.

        I learned lots that day, the first time I saw whites, it was also the first time I had ever seen the sea. I knew it is the first time for the most of us who were being chained. The first time to see the Sea, but no adventure it was. I thought at the time that the Sea was full of foul air that smell but I latter found out it was the slave ship that I was going to board on that was stinking.

        At the coast, we found millions of us all chained together all speaking different languages but those were languages that I was familiar with. This was a ship for two hundred people, but four hundred black ‘cargo’ was put under deck.

        I held Mother’s hands tightly, trying to turn around so that my eyes could meet hers but the chains on our necks prevent me from any basic movement of human. Second by second, time gone by, my fear and sadness increase much. I was hoping that Mother would take us away from this terrifying place as she would have normally done when we were felling scare. But she did not. She could not. No-one could.

        Though I had always stood in that place, my mind had went far from it, my dear mother told us stories after stories; all I could feel was the warmth and comfort that mother was trying to give us. As I grew up, I realized she was not only telling us stories to comfort us but at the same time , through the story stories, she was telling us not the give up and live on whatever happens. I lived until today because of her stories – for if she had not told me to do so, I would have committed suicide long ago after I got off the ship.

        We were loaded onto the stinking ship. We were to be put below deck which was even harder to bear. We were all forced to lie down next to each other, still chained together. The hard, metal chain rubbed my skin into my bones. No-one had any space to even turn around our bodies. We were so close together that one’s flesh was touching the others’ flesh whom lied next to you.

        What make it worse was, far worse than just not having any space to move is that women and men who did not know each other were put right next to each other so closely  that not even Father and Mother would have done in public. It is unacceptable! Though I was very little, Mother had always taught us to respect one and other and ourselves, Women and men who are not married could never be so close together, it was wrong!

        I looked at mother bewildered and affrightedly, she was lying next to an unknown man! What a shameful thing to see Deep down in my heart, needles was running around in my heart, plucking me all the time; tears ran down from my eyes.

         I could see tears glinting in Mother’s eyes as well, away from dear father, lying down next to a stranger man.

The man lied next to Mother, felling ashamed and embarrassed, trying to move away from Mother but he could not for we could not even turn around, let alone shrift along. We ‘cargos’ were packed so tightly together like a tin of sardines on the filthy hard wooden floor below deck.

        My good sister would have been in the menstruation hut where only women who were menstruating would be in there now. Now she was on the ship, the blood spread on the wooden floor in front of so many men. What shameful deed it was! But we did not have a choice.

        I was in the best position between the three of us – in the middle of sister and Mother, no stranger next to me.

        My sister is call Baako for she was the first born child, first to be born, first to be away from home, not because she was married but because she was to go away to serve the whites as slaves. She would have had been married if we were not kidnapped – her wedding was going to be two days after the kidnap. Father had arranged a good marriage for her, they have already engaged, but the marriage never took place.

        Lying down on that hard floor, memories of the African life flashed in my head, I could never go back there ever again and my short, valuable childhood which ended when I boarded on the big, stinking slave ship. I was exhausted but the fear and worries I had to bear that night when I was ten prevented me from sleep. It was soon morning.

         Blood was dripping form my wrist. I could even see my bones, my flesh were rubbed out by the hard metal chain. I manage to lift my head up a little; blood was all over my leg where another huge metal chain was chained my legs to mother’s and sister’s. We were all chained together, by our handcuffs on our wrists immediately after we were on board, and by irons riveted on our legs I could remember no more for the scary view I saw made me fainted.

        I suddenly waked by shouts of the white men. Each of us was then given a wooden spoon. We were to share some liquid from a pot. Never in my life had I ever tasted anything like this. It was disgusting but I still ate it. I have not had any thing to eat for many hours, but this is not why I ate it.

        I saw men, women and even children who refused to eat were whipped unmercifully by those cruel, evil white men. It was a hard lesson to learn. These persons would rather end their own lives than to obey those white men. Even to end their own lives were almost impossible for the whites were always watching, anyone who refused to eat were whipped servile and were forced to eat by a metal device. I have seen a girl about the age of mine, dead after bearing 40 or even more lashes on her bear back under the inhumane wiped for refusing to eat. I do not think the evil whites intended to wipe her to death for I could see from their expression for how shocked they were when they saw the girl’s death. As if she worth nothing, the whites just chucked her into the sea. Never she could meet her ascendants, what would her father and mother feel if they were there to see their beloved little daughter bear lashes by lashes for such a long time, then chucked into the sea by the white evil sprits?

        At least their parents were not with her. About 5 days later, with my own eyes, I saw my own dear mild mother being chucked into the sea by those strong, cruel white men. Mother died from catching smallpox which killed many others of us who were below deck on the ship we board on. We ‘cargos’ were not the only ones whom catch these diseases, many sailors suffered the same. I latter found that the disease killed many people not only on the ship we board on but most of the ships when I talked to other slaves in plantation. Mother could never again see father after her death, she might be eaten by a shark, and she could never see our decedents.

But like always, even when Mother is dead, she would be always there whenever I need her, in fact, I know, she is just right beside me, always.

Still, whenever, the memory of Mother being thrown into the sea by the whites flashes in my head, I dropped all the work I was given by the whites. Because of these, I am one of the people who find the whip lashes on our back all the time; one of my ears had been cut off for doing this too often. Sometimes I had to wear a nick ring so I could not lie down after exhausting long days.

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        Despite how difficult to commit suicide was, some of us still made it, whenever they got a chance to jump off the sea, they did. However, most of us died not from the difficult suicide but from diseases that was spreading among us because of the closeness between us, if one person were ill, most of as would soon become ill.

        To keep us fit, so that they could make the most profit out of us, we were made to perform dances under the white’s whips, on the deck normally once a day. That was the only time we could ...

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