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WALKING TALL...

Walking Tall

 where

Dreams go

To Die

A

Chef’s

Chronological Journey

of

Self-Discovery

Prologue

Now let’s get one thing straight from the outset!

As much as I need of you to understand me, I don’t want you to like me. I do not need that of you..

Why?

It does not matter, because you should find out for yourself, because I believe you will.

An incongruity?

What can I say…! Do not ponder too long; it is what it is!

This a letter- a book letter for all of you in the catering industry.

If you are struggling, go back and start again, and again, and again, make time for yourself, stand by the mirror, naked, at four am in the morning! Rest assured, if you have ever come across me in life, even in passing for all of five seconds, I have, I can, and often do visualize every single one of you, naked, at four am in the morning stood before that mirror, with the lights focused on you, watching you watch yourself! You can bet when I have sat in that meeting with you, my mind has wandered and I see you as you have never imagined you’d see or even let another see your inner self. Because I can, and for that little moment I want to have to understand you in the ways you don’t want me to understand you. And because I have a great and warped imagination, I can see your curves, as your mind bends and spikes, the wrinkles, as your thoughts camber and seek the favour flavour, the fatty bits as you relish my skills, the displeasing parts as you disregard my skills in your peripheral application, the overhangs and hanging appendages as you figure on exploitation or not, the beat of your heart in truth or in deceit, the tight bits as you focus on your decision, the parts of you that fuck up your mind or give great joy, then the curve of your spirit, the trajectory of your thoughts, the simmer of your intentions, the whirlwind that is your raging emotions, the maelstrom that is your insecurities. I have the advantage of taking your daily and long term dealings with me and work them into personalities-your traits!-and have them stand by you and watch you deal with them as you imagine yourself to be dealing with me!

The lightweights will talk of perversion and creepy stuff…but just stop for a moment…look into yourself…all of yourself, in your gait, your stoop, your stride, how you function as a whole…as part of the universe! Ultimately it’s neither here nor there for me because it just isn’t, and it’s a blimp in my time function, but mostly because that’s your cross to carry; and knowing my truth, and loving it as it is, I like it that you would for a moment consider to stop and look in the mirror!

Presumptuous?

I also do know you don’t care for my truth, but the question remains, and this why it is important, what is the impact of your existence on the future generations? And herein lies my assertion, I do not need of you to like me, because that is a wasted projection. A more useful and purposive determination in all this is that you realise, accept and know you owe it to yourself to like yourself in your whole truth as we make ground for the new generation.

It is kind of shit living your life knowing you do not like yourself because you could not handle a four-am shift in front of the mirror on account you don’t give a fuck! Right there, it means you do not like yourself! If you are deceitful, conniving, manipulative, a liar, a two faced-backstabbing, treacherous low-life, well…please! One can be ruthless and still be a good person…Not making light of a situation, but…. people have killed themselves for not getting likes! Which ultimately proves that like has everything to do with a positive outcome. Positive is borne of goodness, which is begat of understanding and kindness, itself the result of decent self-awareness. Somewhere in here we have to work in breeding!

I have worked with people who made it their daily tread to figure on undermining and destabilizing everything, to feed their own gain and placate their insecurities. Look around you, most leadership is based on this. So, this beggars, why do these not appreciate when they get a taste of their own medicine? I know they go defensive, aggressive and etc etc etc…

N

HELLO, REMEMBER ME

We are all born equal, some more equal than others…

Shem Maged

Chapter 1

The trees looked good in a leafy, sturdy and vibrant way. The smell of the evaporation, coupled with the warm, musty dankness that arose from ground level as a hazy, unbound mist was just as powerful in its intoxication of one’s senses. The shards of sunlight that made it through the thick leaf cover spearing through the mist as an ethereal manifestation bounced off the leaves, then reflecting off the bark and branches made for a magical kaleidoscope of colour not dissimilar to a rainbow. I reached out to it, touched it, and my hand went right through it. Caressing and feeling its warmth on my skin gave a wonderful feeling of contentment, peace, belonging and longing. I reached out to the skies and felt the power of the ancestry course through my being as my spirit weaved and danced, floating on the back of yesteryears’ souls long departed and yet still with us! I felt alive, invigorated, grateful for my blessings, and sent a prayer to the one God for all up above, even as I beheld the majesty of the simplest transcendence! The ancestors abounded in the magical wisps floating through the leaves and into the boughs as they kept watch over us, over me, and as they spiralled to their home up there, their energized presence reiterated their love and awareness for us as a tribe and for me as I was! I basked in the warmth of their love and surety! I thanked the heavens for the gift of life!

The rainfall made all the difference. A few hours after the deluge and now everything smelled wonderful, looked clean, fresh, new, and it was a promising start to a great day. Birdcall was especially chirpy on this day and most numerous. In a tantalising stroke of charmed happenstance, the habitual and verily regular chorus naturally orchestrated itself once again, so that the many varieties of birds took turns in sequence and the most melodious sound was my joy. The boomers interspersed with the twitters, whilst making for the chirpers and the tweeters and the singsong chirrups to interject or wrap the cacophony around the whole. I was in heaven! More so as the rustle of the many different leaves off the many different trees swished and swooshed in their sway and banter as the humming background to the birdcall. The sound of the kingfishers’ wings, the humming of the hummingbird, the coo of the pigeons, the incessant drumming of the woodpecker, the cackle of the parakeets, the call of the jays, the singing of the robins, the harks of the vultures and the whistle of the eagles, and this was the perfect place to be, high up in the trees, perched on my hide-out/lookout tree house.

One thing though, I had to get up there early, before any animals beat me to it, and be careful at it too, because once I came upon a couple of mating baboons up there and that was a fright and fight I’d like to forget. Startling a baboon in the throes of coitus is not advisable, as evidenced by one scar that run from my right ear, across the brow, over the nose to the left cheek, just barely missing the eye! The other scar was a four fingered tear masterpiece from the left shoulder to the right hip. My other great scar, mental albeit, indelible, was the occasional slap in the face with a hard baboon dick slimed in female baboon effusions. And they hit me with poo as well, right in the mouth! Life Almighty!  I’d clubbed them good too, even as we fell off the perch! And curiously, as they gripped the branches and vines that hang about every where as they broke their fall, they’d had the sensible compassion to grab me and save my fall. If I’d lost my life, the baboons knew, the villagers would not rest till whole colonies of the baboons had been wiped out. As these things work out, as a mark of respect and appreciation, I had to seek the baboons and make peace with great offerings of food and moonshine, otherwise they’d end up terrorising the village and children in hordes. My dignity had recovered, and peace had been established. Now we run joshing battles of ‘you’re it!’ And I had learned to call as I approached the perch! Sometimes I’d be sharing the perch with them, as we traded fruit and nuts. Life was kind!

Whatever the weather, I always loved it up on the trees, lost to the wonder of nature that most of us believed was created by Almighty God, nature that most others believed evolved through time. All the same, nature that never allowed me to be up in the tree house during a lightning and thunder storm. Nothing like a little lightning to fry your hairs or a burst of thunder to send you flying into the next phase of existence. I’d seen enough burns to trees, animals and even people from the lightning strikes, and I can confirm, it peeled the skin beautifully as it burned it black and blue with a hint of silver! The smell was nothing like you’d wish on your enemy, and it stayed in its stink. Horrendous! Many a time it incinerated the unfortunate to dust or left it looking like a petrified version of a ghost! To be smacked with a clap of thunder, let’s just say you would never know about it even as your bottom skimmed and skipped along the river before the body bounced off a boulder or tree in the river bend. Nasty! It was basic, common, good wisdom to avoid tree heights, or any trees and the river, during a storm.

I would sit up my tree for countless hours and just watch and observe the world go by. I especially enjoyed it as the elephants, lions and leopards passed by down below, bellowing, grunting and growling. Even more so, as any gave chase to a man who would probably be soiling his pants as he legged it! The sound of his screams and yells of terror would be musical, and the heavy panting once he made it to the great baobab and slipped into the safe hole and clambered up this way was even more mirth some.

What to say, some people just never learn! This was a rare occurrence, which of course made it more exciting. The more regular and mundane existence was the herds and herds of zebra, wildebeest, antelopes, the crazy warthogs and gazelles, the elegant giraffes, the cantankerous rhinos, and curiously, the hunters and the poachers. Perched high up on a baobab tree also gave good vantage during herding session. The leafier a tree, the better sunshade and cover from unwelcome eyes.

From up on the tree I could see as the men and women in the village and beyond went about their business. Often it was a look-out post, and sometimes we just watched as the stonemasons crafted great mausoleums and pyramid shaped houses of worship and grain store. Of greater interest were the ways of traders from other parts of the world. There were the light skinned African traders with their wares of salt, hide, manuscripts and trinkets from the north. Copper and earthenware were the main goods from the south. The Arabs came in boats called dhows, and these were sighted easily from miles away, sat on the highest tree, just as they crested the curve of the horizon. They had incredible mast formations that they said they used to harness the power of wind to hasten their journeys.

The incredible excitement at receiving these traders after they had journeyed hundreds and thousands of miles was untold. Hundreds of years before, the Chinese had visited these lands with pottery, silk, arts and crafts as they spread their brand of knowledge, love and peace. These folk always had wonderful tales of bravery, terror, fright, new peoples, cultures, traditions, new goods, fascinating food, different kinds of salt, and the women! And surprisingly, they never had a need to fight, conquer, destroy or subjugate. Presently there was talk of the Chinese now closing down their world completely to stop interference, infiltration and disease from outside, as they sought to consolidate their history, thoughts and self-awareness! They had witnessed and learned from the Spanish destruction of one hundred and seventy five million native Indians in what is now the Americas reduced to a paltry twenty five million in less than a hundred years. Disease, murder and violence as motivated by religious fervour! Things we pondered up on the tree with the baboons.

I was in the prime of my life, having seen close to two hundred and thirty full moons. Tall, strong, dark, lithe as a cheetah, teeth so very bright and clean, straight and a great smile. I know because all the women told me so, and my peers gave me a hard time about being a favourite with the women, with all my scars. Maybe the scars endowed me with a hard-man look, as a seasoned warrior, and that was just irresistible.

I was!

A seasoned warrior!

I had just finished building my hut, with the help of my peers, and was very proud of it. See, that hut was a place of refuge, privacy, somewhere I could retire with my friends as we ruminated on our prospects, away from the curious eyes and ears of the married folk and the uninitiated. The uninitiated were the uncircumcised, those that had never subdued the cravings of the body in search of higher fulfilment. They had never been to the jungle for a month surviving on their wits and nature’s bounty. Married folk tended to be overwhelmingly in your face as they bragged about their privileges.

Prospects was adult-hood, coming of age, consolidating peerages, planning a future with enough land, cows and maybe a wife or wives. Sheep, goats and chickens were a-by-the-way, where to live, how to live, living in harmony with our neighbours and not too far from our kind lest trouble arose from unfriendly neighbours. Unfriendly neighbours were the bane of existence, and we thought them a great waste of time, space, and air. They served no purpose whatsoever in life other than to stir up strife, hatred and angst, which then made them an absolute waste of creation. Which naturally worked itself into that other prospect that was up for discussion-the possibility of war with the Abahuntas from the east, our great unfriendly neighbours, and that as always meant a few of us would have to die! And for what?

Why they had to have war was unexplainable. Our elders and the messengers from the Abahuntas all said that sometimes war was a necessity.

A necessity for what, and to what purpose?

Peace.

What of talk and mediation, long life and a great time having great friendships and fucking great women from either side?

Always drew a blank! It was impossible to imagine any of these had ever had great relations with a great woman. Or even the knowledge of it, which beggared why they preached about it if they had no experience of it? They also knew that every time they overrun a tribe and forced the assimilation, there was always civil unrest for years and years with many deaths and much suffering for all alike! No sane human being takes kindly to being overrun and forced to lose their culture, tradition, languages, women, children and more as they take on the new; except of course, the kind that have no values or a lasting tradition that is of any worth! The kind that have no pride or self-respect-pah, an abomination to mankind, and thus, fit for the gruel pot!

Old people with old ideas! There was certainly no place in life for old people with bad, old ideas. Even worse if it was young people with the same bad, old ideas. Their ideas always seemed to never factor in peace, and it made sense to use their blood as the thickening agent in gravies and stews! But then people of such nature were so very off, they’d turn any gravy and stew rancid, curdle the thing, and so, no….maybe they were perfect feed for the giant snakes that inhabited and roamed the swamps at the edge of every village. 

Another prospect was to join the trading caravans. These were safe, untouchable, treasured by all, including enemies, unless suspected of being spies, and then death would have been gruesome!

Another prospect was to get married and travel the world as we knew it. Yes, marriage and travel! I always had this curious thing about the Chinese, the words of Confucius and more as they had left us. I was just as curious of the Mongols and the Japanese, who too were great warriors. Tales about these from ages and centuries gone were legendary, beyond epic! I needed to learn their skills at archery and martial arts, and their writings on long and productive life.  Less intriguing was the mastery of gunpowder such as they refused to share with the world, even though a deep-seated yearning from the rest of the world. We also now knew the Europeans had stolen that from the Chinese, and maybe that is why they had closed down. Would they open their world to a descendant of the Khemet? Old Khemet had an abiding history that was binding in as much as it was transitional right across the boundaries of time. Would they accept this and open up to me as they recognised a kindred spirit?  With my potential bride?

My potential bride! This woman, Guyato, a woman so very sublimely clear, clean, honest, direct and with the most amazing smile had caught my eye and held my heart captive. Why not? She had the brightest personality, the kindest eyes, integrity, self-respect, peace, did  not gossip and never had a negative word to say about anyone, she had the warmest heart, smile so very radiant, the old spirits said they could see it from the moon; the most deliciously endearing bearing, and skin so very smooth and clear. Her eyes blazed a vitality that showed her true passion for correct living. Mess it up at my peril! Many a day I sat up high in the trees just watching her walk by as she came from market or made her way to market. Sometimes it was early dawn as the crickets called their last, the glow flies fanned their fading lights, and as the cockerel saw to yawn and stretch noisily. On such days as she walked the ducks and geese to market, charming them with the melodious tunes from her bamboo and reed harmonica, my heart sailed the tree tops on a crest of great yearning, and a cloud of an incredibly indescribable, foggy warmth caressed my mind and senses. My nerves would be knotted tight, pulsing great currents of energy so that my whole body tingled with a fiery need and great desire. My gonads would tighten and swell, fill up with seed as my love soldier thickened and extended in appreciated gratitude. My word…the tent in my loincloth was as great a salute to her great beauty. Sometimes I had to be brave, jump down off my perch and let her be aware of my presence and the effect she was having on me. Many a time her eyes lingered on the protruding tent in my loincloth and her eyes went a funny, drowsy, hazy look and she smiled so sweet my heart passed out! She had great hips off a tight waist and fabulous buttocks that swung mightily and bounced sweet and tight as she strode those strong legs. Her strong arms, good for bearing heavy loads of water, or trading sacks for the markets, I was sure would be just right as she held me close and tight to her. Those lips, that smile, how I dreamt of kissing her. And her eyes, deep, bright, jovial, always and kind. So very kind.  When she smiled as she did, allowing me a moment of jovial familiarity, I’d say to her, that thing she was looking at, the thing that captured her eyes, was a gift from the gods for her, via me. She’d laugh, and say there is no such edict. I challenged, marry me then and find out. The only way to know for sure, is for you to marry me. Over time, the same thing, in its many great translations and variations. Once or twice her curiosity got the better of her, and her hand ‘carelessly’ glanced it, and she astonished as the love soldier bobbed and bounded, twitching mightily, and she broke out in mirth. One great time when I was most overcome, as was she, it was most natural I guided her hand to it. She grabbed it, held it like as if measuring it, and making calculations as to the fit in her heaven’s gate, and she drew great breath! She looked at me quizzically with slitted eyes, I made it bob and jerk in her hand and with a squeal she dropped it like it were hot. The ducks and geese seconded her squeal, albeit with quizzical looks, wondering why and why had the music stopped. They’d regarded me cautiously, unsure if I had caused her harm, and made ready to harass me. She blew on her harmonica, and without losing breath, casually spoke, with great authority, a gift from the gods, you say? Same for all the other girls? I am not as the girls you dilly dally with in the reeds and grass by the river. I hold myself in great respect. You can only touch me if you marry me. My nunu is not a market place for all to walk through. It is a sanctified vessel of purity. I do not need to be defiled by the wasted seminal effluence of pointless men. She knew it. She knew me. She had me.

I have not been with any of the girls since I saw your first smile. My salute now is only ever for you. The gift of the gods is only for sharing with you. No other, my sweet.  She regarded me loftily, swung her head sensually, dismissed me casually, walked off, played on, the birds cackled harmoniously, laughing at me, compounding my astonished confusion, and carried on their way to the market. Back up on the tree pondering and greatly overcome by her, her aroma, her poise, her bewitching smile and deportment, and the greatest twitch, pulsing and thundering, and without warning the salute exploded forth great globules of the seed of creation in a pulsed homage to her. I nearly fainted, jerking uncontrollably as my body seized, astounded, holding tight lest I fall off from this great height, as I watched the determined escape make its way down the tree, dodging leaves and branches in search of my desired. What power! A great woman! A leader in waiting. First wife material.

Thing is, it was common knowledge, every man worth anything and with enough attitude wanted to make her his wife, and they flocked to her home with great offers from far and wide. Even the Arabs and the few Europeans that met her made a bid to her ancestry. Unfortunately, most such men were with a wife or two. They had no quibbles in making her a second or third wife. Lucky me, she could only ever be first wife, and the only wife-she insisted, so I found favour in her eyes, no matter she played hot and cold, no matter she spent an unhealthy amount of time in my company, albeit with a chaperone. Knowing thus, it was only a matter of time, and for sure, she was not ever going to be second or third wife. She had to be the first. As always, most naturally, at the farthest recess of my mind, subconsciously, a second or third wife after her remained to be seen, but with her vitality on such a high, I doubted there would be a need for a second or third. There was no harm in keeping that in mind. Even so, just the simple joy in her company was more than enough to keep my world buoyant. She was more than enough; her laughter was more than enough, her vitality, her passions, thoughts and words, similarly! She had edge, was from a good home, impeccable cultural rearing, and the family had great trading relations with a German family, The Heindreichs, so that the father had even adopted the name. The purpose in adopting the name was so that he had greater kudos when dealing with other great trading families from beyond and mostly from the Northern hemisphere and the East.  Naturally, the Heindreichs were her Godparents, and christened her Grace Guyato Heindreich. I hoped and prayed she would be the one to accompany me on my travels far into the Eastern kingdoms, even as they opened up their doors to our single unit. Hopefully through her they could find to trust us and forge a relationship.

Speaking of christening, Guyato’s family were one of the earliest families to accept Christianity. Most of us found it strangely unnerving that a religion that preached such intense love and integrity originated from a region that rumours had was beset with great wars, attrition, savagery and barbarism like never before encountered, all for the cause of the religion.  In addition, the Church had killed millions in its great need of conversion, gold and total obedience. Then again, with all our tribes here always at war even as we prayed to our Gods, what difference then? Maybe because Christianity discounted the fact that our Gods had been faithful to us all these countless millennia past. But of course, it was no secret many of us were dipping our toes gingerly into Christianity, with a little apprehension, and if anything, a little curious to see how the Christian God manifested His greatness. Would He smite our gods into insignificance? And why? Wasn’t faith and belief, in the most fundamental about worshipping a deity that was unseen, even though felt, revered and proven over so many centuries? We had this as our history, proven, going back thousands of centuries before Christianity and it had sustained us, it was in the books, in the stars, in the fabric of time, and life at times it must be said was confusing.

Traders as well as missionaries, the good natured and kindly benefactor ways guaranteed the Hendreichs a solid foothold in our community. It was common knowledge they were also trying at mediating a peaceful resolution to the impending war with the Abahuntas, if anything, at least, to preserve long established trading routes and relations. This was not easy especially as the Abahuntas had recently come into the possession of firearms from the Arab traders in exchange for gold, sugarcane and slaves. The Arab traders had promised them more firearms in exchange for more slaves, on behalf of the English, who it was rumoured were busy trying at conquering more and more lands in the pursuit of expanding their empire. The elders, the council and the king, my father, had sent advisers and emissaries, The Great Heindreich family and the missionaries to Abahunta to advise against, seek mediation, inform and educate as to the ill nature of such an agreement. As such, now very few Arab traders were allowed in our land, and those that dealt with the Abahuntas had to make the long way round via the north, the west or from the south in their quest to avoid control, seize and search measures that had been newly enacted. The consensus was that this was cause for great disquiet, and now messengers were busy moving from tribe to tribe, north-south-east-west, north-east, south east, north west, southwest, in any given direction. All mainly from our home. The Heindreichs urged caution, stealth and wariness. They said to be prepared to disappear. How does a community of several hundred thousand strong just up and disappear? We thought they knew something they were not telling us. They said to look around, from the north, the west and the south; the madness of war with the Europeans was consistent, what with thousands upon thousands killed and many more taken as prisoners and slaves. The women and wives were stolen to be the secret concubines to the marauders and their co-conspirators.  The land of the black man was in great danger. The Indians and the Chinese Hong-Kong had been dealt a massive blow and were now almost servants in their own lands.

These were the great days we were living in. Discussing how the great Chinese, those that had built the Great Wall of China, those that invented gunpowder, had great schools of warriors, those that had great words of wisdom had been outsmarted had us quivering. We were then more disturbed at the Indian with supernatural connections forced into subjugation and made to feel like his culture was of no relevance. The Indians had documented history going back millennia and millennia, great Warlords and Deities, great temples of worship ever so very intricate and astounding so that there never were enough words or superlatives to describe such handiwork. We even got to hear of The Kailash Temple in Maharashtra, India, a temple carved out of a single bit of rock, from ground level and going down. This monolith was intricate, huge, actually considered the largest monolithic monument to this day in this world and was beautiful. When tales of such creations made the rounds, the travelling narrators often stopped short, lost for words, and that far-away-glazed look of wonder set in their eyes and expression. That was deep, far reaching. The Indians even had drawings of flying craft visiting from other planets. To say they interacted with these, and they too got overran, were forced to learn a new language, and their old Tamil language going on back at least three thousand years demoted. You just have to sit back and take stock, trying in vain to comprehend the audacity, and for sure the chills of terror coursing down one’s back were not an infrequent occurrence! Especially as some of the travelling White men came with Indians as their luggage carriers and personal servants. We often wondered why they did not have any of their own as such, and often why the need to claim a foreign land as part of their Empire. Was there no sacrosanct respect for peoples in other lands and their own ways of administration? Was all this part of the new Christianity religion? Was it true the great Churches that sent missionaries to us were obsessively adorned in gold? Valuable paintings and drawings from long dead artists, painters, builders and scholars lined the walls and filled the vaults? To what purpose? For whose benefit? Had Jesus, the son of God, master of all Creation and owner of all asked for a savings scheme or bank balance to be kept just right for the future when He came back, as they said? If Jesus Christ was the head of the church, and according to His story, He was ever so very humble and non-materialistic, why the great deviation? Had He not kicked traders and the money men out of His Father’s house as they defiled it with let’s be honest, money? Why could the church not sell all this earthly stuff and raise money to feed the destitute? Or use it to promote peace and brotherly love all over the world? Was that not the calling of the church? Too simplistic? How about we ask Jesus? Did He need the Indian gold from the Americas to adorn his Church even as the people starved and died from the wars, subsequent famine and disease to secure the gold? We often debated this with the Heindreichs, and they too had no words. Word came back though, that the wise ones, the Chinese, who had closed their borders were also slowly getting overrun from the south and had lost an Island Heng Gong on a compromise deal.

So there you are. To make matters worse, my father’s brother, Makramragmasetty, was playing silly, forked-tongue games. He was known to deal with the Arab traders on the sly, and often he had been caught with a woman from the Abahunta. He laughed it off, and played the fool, remarking he was harmless and only out for a bit of fun, but this was getting a bit long in the tooth as the women tended to be regular and more or less from the same home-Abahunta royalty. To be with said women and an Arab trader that was banned from our lands could only mean the fool was not a fool, but a snake. Problem being, he was his mother’s favourite, and so for my father to take drastic action, a lot of thought and care had to be part of the whole. War born of treachery, bad blood, jealousy and greed was a very definite setting in the horizon!

I was born as the last of the Chinese left. I caught the tail end of the tales of their great deeds and learnings. Fables that had one dare to dream. Nothing like the Spanish wreaking havoc in the West beyond the great seas(America and Mexico!) and soon in the Ma-i/ Tawalisi/ Barusas/ Puloan/ Maniolas/ the Luzon islands… Philippines to you and the general folk. Contrary to the new wave of travellers, traders and missionaries, the Chinese had not the greedy notions to enslave, own or capture new lands; theirs was about spreading the goodwill of prosperity, new learning and inspiring new and greater thinking.

Village life was idyllic, enjoyably safe in its routine, primarily the same just about every day, following the lunar cycles. The rainy season, the dry season, the harvest time, and regular prayer festivals. We had dances, feasts and festivals whenever a new baby was born, especially to a wealthy or part of the ruling clans, or whenever a king or something such from another land came to visit. The wise men, witchdoctors and village elders from all the various and far regions all acted as one, guiding the king and leadership in all matters relevant. Mainly, there was harmony with our neighbours and great pastoral agreements drawn to accept and allow for visitation rights in times of droughts.

My family were mainly descended from the Khemet tribe. For thousands of years we could trace our lineage to early days before the pyramids and long before Greeks named the Two Lands or land of Black Soil along the Kem Nahal/Kemi/Kem Nahar, Aur, Iaro,(blackness-soil, land, peoples), Iteru/Piaro/Phiaro/Nilus/Nile as Aegyptus, subjugated the inhabitants and named it Egypt. We had history of subjugators from the north destroying all we held sacred and imposing their will, desires and gods on us, the relevance of which all comes to bear in later years. To this day, many still in the Nile basin call rivers and lakes aora. Nothing new there other than shitty history lessons; anyway, as our ancestry kept away from the marauding barbarians, the Greeks included, and they moved back south along the River Nile, retracing their steps from whence they came. Often groups splintered and went east or west, re-integrating with long lost cousin tribes and all the various tribes arose. Basic language stayed the same, but of course, new words and expressions formed. All still remained united in the one-blood faith/kindred, calling on each other in times of strife, hunger and wars with newly encountered hostile tribes as they moved forth. Often, it was worked out marrying into the new tribes would help with peace, and generally, yes, it worked out well. You will find that the sons of present day Ethiopia and Somalia, Eden and Yemen all have the same DNA as the Arabs as old Kusi/Cushites-(descended of Cush-Noah’s grandson) and Sheba. Inter breeding was one way to foster a greater family and engineer everlasting peace, and so it was. By the time the Great pyramids had been built by the strangers from the skies, things were on the wane. Marauding tribes of Giants, human behemoths and Mongols made life intolerable. Further south, the pyramids made of black stone as found in the valleys of the Nile and the Danakil Depression was a way for our ancestry to connect to celestial living, history and the future-past, even as they generated electricity, energy, knowledge and sustenance. Moving west, still along the Nile, much of what is now the Sahara was lush vegetation land, full of inland salt-water lakes filled with great fish, oasis and water plants. Naturally, the folk developed and cultured a taste and passion for such salty offerings. In colloquial speak we called these Mandingos. No different to us, flat nosed, wide brow, tall, handsome, majestic and dark as the middle darkness of the darkest night. Teeth as bright as the whitest shade of snow. Their trade in the salt-water offerings and salt often complemented our offerings of fresh water produce. Back to earlier times, many more of our people kept travelling farther and farther south, and ended up in the Punt(or Ta Netjeru(God’s Plan!), or Nubia or Sudan-same thing! Many more flowed on south, seeking the source of the Nile, some ended up in Muwaawa-newly colonial Buganda, and Nalubaale(Luganda for Mother of Guardian Gods, source of power for the Dieties…look back…deities, power, energy, celestial beings, the pyramids! Place of divination and transformation!) or Nam Lolwe-endless lake, nourishment for land/cattle/fish/ farming as the folk to the east chose to know the lake. Mr Speke who got lost on his meanderings as he followed the Nile, decided to name the lake Victoria in respect to his Queen, back in England, like as if it was an absolute irrelevance what the natives-us-had as a name for the lake. This would and should have been a forewarning as to the disastrous intentions of the incomers. Why would a young man from a tribe that had been barely around a thousand years name our lake, a lake harvested and harnessed for the past three hundred thousand years by our people? This is about where I grew up!

In all the time preceding this, the tribe remained mainly united. Mostly proud, of course, being great scholars, curious of knowledge and other folk, accepting that the many different had so much to contribute to the betterment of community. Men and women had a regal air such as befit their heritage as handed down by their ancestry. Knowledge and education was primary, especially in the harnessing of medicine. Medicine that others would later call witchcraft. If so, why and how did folk get better? Hardly any ever died of malaria and dengue fever. Then!

Tales travel fast in the jungle. Words even faster, so that all tribes, enemies and potential foes, friends and others north, east and west of the Sudan knew my father’s brother to be of malicious seed, driven and motivated by jealousy, envy, greed. Many and all avoided him, lest they incur the wrath of my father’s mother, who it was known had the powers to invoke apathy in one’s living. Such an existence rendered any and all without the necessary encouragement to rise up in any given morning. Daily chores would have been an intolerable death walk into hell. Come nighttime, the lack of sleep would have finished off one’s desire to be alive. Curiously, she took time to teach me this hidden, dark art, so that I too was able. Many a man I would have laid low, but it was taught, instilled and forced to be acknowledged, with great power comes great responsibility. Just as peculiarly, she let her errant son walk on, in the hope the lack of friends would maybe make him see the light, one hopeful day. In an absolute reversal of fortunes, the snake got even more devious as his heart darkened and evil demons moved in, and his nasty bearing became a personality as well as his nature. The words that came out of his mouth had so much potent wickedness and toxicity and they manifested in his dealings and walk in life. There was no getting away from it! He was the consummate traitor. His mother still loved him, knowing full well her husband wished the man’s head off, and with good reason. His walk every day had the community compromised and undermined, leaving us open to attacks from our enemies.

 My father’s brother was a playboy, gifted of lip, and the dong. He used it well, persuasive in his lies to loosen the tight undergarments and chastity belts, stirring the women up good so that he was legendary, regardless they all knew him to be bad for the well-being of the community. Most women in their hyped need successfully separated their wanton carnal lust and the integrity of moral duty that should hold the community upright from the destructive, absolute evil nature of the man and his deeds that held the whole to ransom. The women forgave him as they hoped for a mind blowing tryst before they got married, verily aware their future husbands would be incandescent to a point should they ever get caught out, even if they were wife number two or three, or even four. Cheating with the snake was worse than worth it, so that death for the wife would be easiest and best way out if caught. Many tried, succeeded and kept it quiet before they got married. This black face, wavy haired, beautiful skinned, fork-tongued runt had game so good, rumour had it the women felt their souls stirred and hypnotised with exquisite pleasure from deep within. A pleasure so very profound and beyond the infinite, their spirits danced in liberated, explosive bursts in endless circles and cycles. They spoke of it as they kept it quiet, in hushed tones with great sighs, so that the rumour milled itself to death, and it was self-perpetuating. Many died sweetly in ecstasy for an unforgettable moment of bliss, and theirs was to spread the true word. Something that good, even though forbidden, could not ever, not be shared! Another way of looking at it was that not many men had a clue for sure or not whether their first-born offspring was a hundred percent theirs, especially as the women had a thing for hooking fork-tongue just before they got married. In simple logic, maybe fork-tongue believed he had a right to the throne by being the actual, real father to many!

I had no such worries. My bride to-be was a confirmed virgin, righteous to a fault, held herself high, so that her haughty sometimes made me feel puny. She knew it too, teased me about it no end, and as her laughter tailed off, her voice pitched higher and higher, and she could not help the snorting grunt that followed. Now equalised, we settled to more laughter. Indeed, we walked far and broad, seeking friends and family, ate well, rejoicing in the bounteous offerings of the land even as we praised the Harvest God. Often we cut across forests and bushland to avoid the well-trodden muddy paths. Mud, mud, mud everywhere. The smell of wet grass, newly anointed shoots and buds, the wet leaves high up on the trees, the moistened blades of tall grass and sugarcane, the fragrant banana, the musty, pulpy, decomposing waste product of the hooved animals all served up a buffet of aromas and titillation to the senses. The rainy season was playing up: hot sunny moments that interspersed with torrid downpours every few hours. We had no idea where we were on the weather calendar; suffice to know it was the rainy season.

Here I am, sitting on the highest branch of this tree and I see a great colonnade of a shipping armada. It starts with a single mast of a dhow. Soon two become four and so on, and the greatest flotilla soon crests the horizon. Never seen before, and this was a warning as right as it could be. Easily three days away barring some magical turn, time enough for us to make the right decisions.

I bellowed below, screaming and whistling. The message is passed, received and forwarded. I hear the other spotters in trees and other vantage points in far off lands make the same sounds, and shortly the talking jungle drums take over. Runners are swiftly dispatched; women and children are called, herded, and ordered to be ready to move out. I shimmy down my tree and seek to find my bride to be. I shall not die in war without having consummated with my dearest. At least leave her with child, one that would carry on our name, legacy and truth! Long live the Khemet!!

Chapter 2

The journey from the East Coast, down south to the Cape of Good Hope in an Arab dhow, chained and locked below deck was for the most part, uneventful, save for two things.

One, somebody made a greedy miscalculation and took on more than they needed, the boat was overloaded, and as soon as we hit rough seas, the boat was dangerously lilting, tilting, and the wicked decision to throw some overboard was made. We argued, he who had miscalculated, the greedy son of a devil, should be the first one overboard! He grinned, smiled evilly, said as he was the captain, he could do as he pleased! The mental torture as they segregated us, splitting up families, lovers, husbands and wives, parents and children, was unbearable and we all screamed, unbearably, none of us knowing which side was going overboard. Whichever way we looked at it, some of us were going overboard. The captain refused to go back to shore and offload some, which led us to believe he had no regard for our lives. We were disposable!

With the inevitable creeping up on us, the slavers prolonged our dread as they played at roulette to determine which group went over! They kept replaying it, making loud noise as they accused each other of cheating, and drinking to that, round after round, and they got more and more drunk! They stoked our fear levels and built up their courage.

Then the madness started, as they run at us at random, grabbing anyone they could and  threw them overboard. People were screaming, praying, begging for their lives, they wept and still they went overboard howling as the slaver crew laughed their heads off. So much fun! The shark feeding frenzy was nothing like we had ever seen. Some fell straight into a shark’s mouth and got gobbled up in one! And the sharks could not get enough, they kept coming and coming, gorging on those unfortunate enough to be at the front and got grabbed. Some of us were pinned back against the railings and were picked and plucked by the giant squid who never did miss an opportunity at easy pickings! It just picked one and dropped them into its beak after chopping them in half. Macabre watching! Terror was the order here as we all now moved to the middle of the boat. The captain lost his mind and loosed a few shots at the squid and this upset the monster as it now tried to capsize the boat! The canon was loaded, as were the fire-crackers, and salvo after salvo hit the squid in a relentless barrage, and it had to back off! We were sure this was by no means over! It would come back again, and to spice it up, the captain’s whip came out and he made short work of screaming, helpless people. He used that thing to herd us around the deck on a whim, and he even succeeded in forcing a few off the boat and into the ocean! The sharks no doubt loved him for this! Maybe the squid too as it picked on the human scraps that sunk to the bottom. The ocean was red everywhere, for a long while! Spilt blood wept even as its spirit followed us.

By chance my wife and I fell through a trapdoor, and landed below deck as did many others that just tumbled behind and on top of us, which was our saving. All of us weeping openly, terrified in a very new way, and death was not to be taken lightly. Death on a battlefield was more honourable than this; at least you died with dignity as you fought for what you believed in! To be thrown into the ocean by cowards that held the upper hand on account of guns and an evil streak was in no way a dignified way to end this sojourn in this dimension.  We huddled, distraught, praying for an end to this torment, listening to the terrified screams from up above. Sometimes a scream turned into a haunted, travelling howl as the individual came to terms with their involuntary flight into hell! Havoc in our minds and hearts!

More and more tumbled down the trap door into the darkness here, momentarily relieved to be away from that madness, and then shocked to see us. We hushed then begged silence of them to ensure our survival, and their cooperation was obviously not without suspicion, minds trying to figure on how betrayal worked here. As more fell through the trap door, they then too understood, and it was like this for a while.  A long while riddled with the pain of listening to the horrendous torture of our kind, the sounds so vivid it was impossible not to visualize the suffering and torment. In silence we wept as our hearts and minds broke in ways never before encountered, at the same time knowing it wouldn’t be long before they came for us too. At this rate, listening to the guffaws that preceded every travelling scream and soon they’d be short on victims and surely they’d then be upon us. We lived in disbelief and it was debilitating, so that the will to think or want of anything was amiss, replaced by a desperate need to survive.  But survive unto what?  Momentary thoughts of the past, our homes, our beloved burned hotly and it was all empty. Not futile, but empty, and the hurt intensified as it boiled harder. The welts in the heart grew in magnitude, the boils in the soul steamed hotter, and sinking into emptiness was our reality, even as we knew that would ultimately be the end should we give in! The screams never stopped. The crack of the whip was relentless.  The pistol shots were regular.  Our tormentors up above were on a roll, and we wondered, how and why, if all were God’s creation. What madness! What evil! Whatever happened thereafter would still be a horror show.

Like all things do, it eventually came to an end, and then a few more were sent below deck. They were herded by drunken sailors, who came holding fire-sticks that they used to harry them along, and it showed us to have fallen into the grain silo. The shame at our misfortune was heavily layered with fear, itself full of uncertainty and it stank! We instantly figured on our lost heritage, lost culture, lost tradition, and thus, our identity. Henceforth we would be as of no identity, given to the whims of another, beheld as of no value, no worth, no nothing. Death maybe would have been an acceptable option. But having tasted it, goodness no, the natural instinct was to stay alive. To what end only the heavens knew. The pounding in the head, in heart and the overwhelming emotions rendered our living right now most lethargic. We struggled to look up and hold our bearing, unwilling and unable to let our tormentors see the unfolding in our eyes. That would be too much, give them more than was necessary after all this. We kept our eyes down, reacting to them more from instinct and hearing.

The captain, amid much pomp and arrogance, his uniform and face stained with blood spots, came in, smiling victorious, ‘In the name of King and country, by the glory of God, victory….’ Amid much howling and cheers, raised swords and guns held aloft. He bayed and bellowed, and the rest of his animal dung speech was lost as we closed minds and ears, but mostly the gist of it letting us know we were the lucky ones, if we behaved! Like as if he was talking to children! Occasionally he licked his lips, wiped his face, smudged the blood, then licked it clean. The devil was here! His eyes shone with the zeal of a maniac! I for one believed his mother had consummated with the devil for real and he was the result. Such wickedness!

Of a sudden realization he had his men hurriedly move us out and into the holding quarters which comprised of low benches with chains and shackles. They forced us to chain ourselves and locked us in place. This was to be our home for the next few weeks as we traversed the wild, open ocean.

As these things often work out, the mental strain on many was beyond the comprehensible. Resulting in catastrophic happenings that defied sense and also made sense in that suffering is optional in as much as pain is an inevitable part of life.  No one has to put up with unnecessary suffering if they deem it intolerable in so much as we all have the power to chart our destiny.  Thus, many took to jumping into the ocean as they came to terms with what lay ahead and figured they could not handle it, and it was better to end it all on their own terms. Some let us know of their intentions as we huddled during feed time, and no matter how much we tried to convince them otherwise, there was just no turning back. This feeling of heroism in ending it on your own terms gave courage to many and inspired the many to follow suit, which truly had the captain riled beyond belief as he now came to terms with diminished earnings. The captain took a stance and declared martial law on any caught trying to jump. Made no difference because death was death, be it from the captain’s gun, from the jaws of a shark or two, or even three, drowning in an icy sea that lulled you to sleep before claiming your soul, or from a demented slaver in a few months time. We tried to argue with the disaffected maybe we had a chance of making it through the suffering and tribulations and would in time come back to our homeland. It did sound incredulous even to us as we uttered these simple words that ultimately meant nothing even as they held a tiny bit of hope that was crucial to our inner survival. For many, once the mind had tilted that way, there was no coming back. We could also not get away from the absolute fact that we, all of us, always imagine the worst in mind, and as terrible as we always imagine it is going to be, it never is anywhere that close to actual reality; to say we torment ourselves with crazy imaginings in mind and make mountains out of molehills. We discussed this and sought to reaffirm it at least three times every day as we sought to save some of our kind. Regardless, there were more than a few who tried successfully and unsuccessfully to make a break. Observing a man, a friend, a life-long companion lose it and focus on his ultimate freedom as he jumped into the sea to get away from the madness of being enslaved, overcrowding, disease and shackles broke us and diminished our sense of being. It was not one or two, or even a few…. they were numerous! Rather that than be a slave! The unlucky ones that failed and were caught were put through hell and hung out on the bow just skimming the water, as bait and feed for the sharks as a form of sport and to deter the rest of us. We were witnessing cruelty unsurpassed and wondered what god these demonic creatures that believed themselves pious worshipped! We prayed, hard, to a God that was not shared by these other monsters that knelt every so often in prayer!

The other unlucky lucky ones caught just before they jumped were shot in the back of the head, or sometimes right into the mouth as they were forced on the longest walk off the shortest plank, blind folded! Some were roped to the stern and dragged in the ocean again as bait for wild, carnivorous sea creatures and monsters that tore them apart, bit by bit, even as they screamed and wept. To see a man or woman lose their legs in agony as a creature took a bite, to be followed by a trail of red in the sea that excited the sea even more as evidenced by the foam, waves and spray from the decidedly turbulent energy from the dark depths, rendered our spirits weak and filled with hate! The hate gave us strength to have the courage to watch the entrails dragging in the water off a half-eaten body get the sea monsters even more excited, and they threshed their lusty tendencies, throwing up great waterworks. A man/woman hanging half bodied trailing off a rope in the salty waters, being dragged as play bait for the dark monsters, screaming in pain as the slavers laughed was reason enough for us to wish a redemption-free death on these! Often a scream would be snuffed as a head was swallowed whole with a crunch or a hard bite that ground the skull to red pulp.  And that was the end of life. A gruesome end to a miserable life, thanks to some cranky foreigner with ideas above his status that defied the meaning and purpose of creation and existence!

Sometimes we spied great tentacles off giant squid or some other seafaring underworld, maybe one giant eye peering at us through the port hole as they sought to hypnotise us out into the sea, and so be their feed or snack!

All the noise from the voices and cacophony up above was somewhat successfully blocked out as we came to terms with this strange and new turn of events in our lives. Seasickness in a storm was a new thing for most of us, and having to heave where we sat, ate, slept and almost shit was curious, if that, and forced us to forget colleagues used as bait for sport! Remember we came from a sophisticated culture; there were certain ways to behave and live your life, and now this, after being betrayed by family and sold off to slavery, to be treated as if we knew nothing about life was beyond words. Hateful anger simmered just below the pain of shock. Bitterness smoothed it all over, as it turned rancid and flowed like hot lava, burning its way into our very core. This was one sure way to break a man, turn him basic and irrelevant as the foggy brain clouded, thought went amiss, comprehension faltered, and the intended ability to exist as anything worth anything evaporated off its own steam! Then again, we all came from great homes, great culture, so strong minds could and would assess as it unfolded and calculate and make for remedial action. No way were they to break our resolve!

 Easier said!

Often we heard them refer to us as savages.

Savages?

We never went around murdering children in their sleep, robbing men of their women and forcing them to observe the rape and murder, pillaging, and enslaving. That was the remit of savages-them! Look it up in any school of learning! Folk that cared not for where they shit, had rat infested ships, spoke garrulously, drunk themselves to oblivion even as they charted great risk, sailing great ships in the great expanse of ocean, carried around disease, treated us-their slaves now-worse than animals; that was a savage!

It stank on the boat. Vomit, diarrhoea, disease, sweat, body odour, rank food, vermin and their faeces, human faeces, congealed blood and seeping wounds that were infected as a result of whipping and attention from rodents and flies. The sea salt did not help either. And still she did not care to leave my side. She said not a word but clung to my arm. I only knew she was experiencing a moment or two every time she took a deep breath that was held in ages before she exhaled.

She did not care to want to talk or verbalise anything. She did not want to relieve the memory of us getting caught unawares during our honeymoon night. She certainly was not happy we had not consummated fully on our wedding night, and now as prisoners and soon to be slaves, I knew she was struggling to understand and what to make of anything.

Even then she did not give up. Most people would have given up, believing themselves to have been deceived. But she dug deep, reaffirming and reassuring in her love for me. For sure the kisses dried up because she was loath to kiss dry, salty, weird tasting and smelly lips that could have been contaminated from all the peculiar air that was around us. Every so often, more than me, she said, ‘you know I love you with all my heart and all my being. Remember that; always.’

That got my heart and resolve revitalised, and I thought deeper, harder and more aggressively, sure I had to come through for her, as I figured on the possibility of a way out of this.

One peculiar thing about slavers and their boat crew, they never dared whip a woman. Legend had it in their heads a whipped woman would curse one and their heritage into damnation. Weird that for people who behaved without feeling they had this need to protect their lineage, whatever it may be. But they then found great pleasure in rape. Thankfully, in a sickening way, it was never the wives with men on board. They always preyed on the young girls, and the younger, even better. Chances they took, and many an innocent girl in time would find out she was pregnant. Which in many ways ruined her life, but to a slaver it meant an extra pair of hands in a few years time as the child grew up, and in the interim, such a girl had to endure the unwanted attentions of a slaver as most of her kind would never touch her after believing her defiled by such! Long, painful journeys ahead!

The one time the sailors up above did spy some pirate ships and from the commotion, we deduced they lived in terror. That was good to know. This was compounded when they sent a deckhand down to see if any of us would volunteer to fight.

‘Of course, we will fight if it means we can go free thereafter. We fight for you, for your freedom, for your lives, you give us our freedom.’  The deckhand or any one for that matter did not come back down again.  Typical! They wanted to use us, sacrifice our lives for their own selfish ends. Nothing was changing here.

My wife who was still a new bride in every respect turned out to be different. Growing up emotionally, spiritually and financially secure, her life had always been carefree, jovial, assured and truly a great life. Now sat here next to me having refused separation even with the threat of a yoke on her neck, she spoke high and shrill against the women’s quarters, berating the sailors for their insensitivities and not letting her spend the last of her days with her new husband. My dearest Guyato took to watching, silently, trying to come to terms with this madness. Previously she projected her words confidently, loud and clear, now she spoke almost timidly, even if shrill, unsure, aware she was losing the cool that was her personality. She looked into my eyes, searching, asking, seeking to know what she imagined I was seeing and experiencing. I hurt in ways I’d never known as I prayed she was not losing her mind. I needed her to stay sane, safe and alive to give me a reason to be what I had always promised her.  This slavery and captivity debacle I believed was but a slight setback in our great game of life. Should I die a slave, at least she would know and believe I died trying for her. What I could not let her see or experience was the intense sense of hopelessness, despair and outright fear.  

For very obvious reasons I had no trust for the Arabs and the White men that facilitated this unfortunate business. I had lost everything. I spent every waking and sleeping moment on that boat thinking how and why. Betrayal from the uncle was past now; we’d moved on. But that betrayal had cost me my kingdom, my freedom, my dreams of great travel, my happy married life, my sense of self, everything and more. The friends that had died in the fight, shot out like target markers, others slaughtered in their sleep, the mothers, fathers, children all murdered, not forgetting the many others that had been forced off the ship at gun point or thrown overboard for sport as they fed the sharks to bring the weight down. Just to emphasise the issue, they raped children! This was a guarantee for retribution, and the hate burned harder in hearts for each and every individual. I made sure I knew them all; my spirit would never forget them even if we met in the afterlife! As if that was not enough, they’d burned the children alive. During one of her less intense moments, my wife had asked, ‘Think they burn the children to try erase their evil deeds from their spirit life cycle?’

I had no words to counter that. The emptiness and sorrow borne of confused dejection, harrowed emotions, and a deflated spirit all swirled as a never-ceasing windstorm in our hearts, minds, mind’s eye and memory. At least we had the children’s spirits on side to help us when needed. We could never understand what drove a man to find satisfaction in defiling a child.  A child that no doubt would be frozen in fear, an innocent being that knew not the point of the unfolding, other than the reality of intense, unbearable pain as it was hurt in ways that shamed even the devil himself.  Without a shadow of doubt, such a man deserved his member being loped off and forced to eat it, slowly….vengeance raged in our spirit! Robbing a child of innocence as it was defiled was definitely a death sentence. We prayed maybe they’d slip and fall overboard into the jaws of the sharks that now seemed to be trailing the ship in the hope of feed. The sharks had cultured a taste for human flesh! A delicacy. See them whip up the sea whenever they got one! We wondered what the sharks would think of the difference once they got to taste  a light skinned one. Would they have a gastronomic dissection, discussing flavours, aromas, peculiar zings, umami tangents or what not? Would they appreciate the different levels, flavour and textures of hair? Could they taste personality? Character? Fear? The tinge of quality of life as it flavoured the flesh? Thoughts that kept us from brink!

The sway and the lurching of the boat from wave to wave, the rocking motion, the occasional judder and even a great, creaking heave as a monster octopus tried his luck was as a metaphor for my suffering within. Unlike the loud noises that made one pay attention to survival skills, my hurt and fear for my wife was quiet. Not stoicism, more a matter of repaying her loyalty and trust, making life bearable and acceptable for her on any level.  I had to make sure she lived without having to struggle unnecessarily. I knew the memories of her past life hounded her. Worse, the promises I had made to her as I courted her. She had chosen me over running away with her family and the Heindreichs when the attack was imminent. She had believed in me, had chosen to stand and die by me.  I owed it to her to make sure we got to where these demons were taking us, and in the best possible health. I had to work hard to make sure she ate, and shared my portions with her, made sure she drank water and had clean bathroom breaks, and hopefully make for a possible arrival at destination, safe and well.

We made port at the Cape at dusk. It was strange to see people exactly like us walking about, some shackled together, some chained to posts in the ground, some were dressed like European gentlemen and appeared to lord it over the chained. The slave market was busy even then, and we took in provisions as we got transferred to an English Navy frigate to set sail for the new lands at dawn. The small glimpse of land meant so much to us, freedom to determine our own destiny, live life as we pleased, and we agitated. Smelling the rank of chains and deprivation, destitute as sin, wallowing in the fetid stench of diarrhoea and we thought why not? Make a break for it. 

I turned to my wife and her look of sorrow and deep pain said all there was to say. She’d never make it! We also knew should one of us make it, these slave merchant savages would take to kill one of us at regular intervals to press home the point. They would still make their money. The missing would be passed off as having died of scurvy or some such malady.

Chapter 3

They split us into groups of fifty or so.  Total number from my tribe was about two hundred. And were placed in different sections of the boat. We organised ourselves into groups and on a rota system,  sure to be able to relieve anyone with a need for a poop or vomit. No one was pooping or vomiting where they sat and slept. We  slept in shifts, asked for permission to get in sea water to clean our deck and sitting quarters. We trapped the rats and threw them overboard, so the story went. The real truth was we jugged them and stored them to add to the feed of the boat crew just hours before we made port. They dehumanise us, and it was apt they learn the price of such as determined by their wickedness.  The boat ended up cleaner than when we got on. For goodness sakes..

The day the boat arrived at Port, it was cold and a miserable drizzle tormented the Earth. Early morning just before the light broke the sky. The definite port noises, the wild calls of stevedores and merchants, traders and the smell of fish, rotten fish, sweat, rank body odour, the cries of a slave or a few being whipped to get them in shape was as certain as a dockside could ever be. And then the cold. What a terrible, terrible chill, that seeped right into your core and burned its chilly imprint on your soul. We complained, saying, how were we expected to be prime saleable produce if the cold was gonna be finishing us off. They threw some old, manky blankets at us, and that was better than nothing. Much better. We huddled in groups for body warmth until it was time to disembark. We had gotten used to the body odour, but the rancid breath was horrific. We complained again, and they gave us fresh, salty water with bicarbonate of soda, to wash with and rinse. What a difference it made. It all happened so very fast, and soon we were offloaded and became aware of the tragedy that awaited us. It was easy to see as the white slave dealers, Arabs, Jews, Surinamese and even black dealers got animated with excitement. For one, very few of us in comparison had died en route, due to our stronger constitution.  This in itself got the market traders excited as it was unheard of. The boat captain and his crew then made sure to hold out for the best deal on our group. Their one mistake was to misjudge us and assume we did not speak a word of English. So they rabbited on, and made all these comments and deals they imagined we had no idea of.

They dealt and dealt and spoke on for hours. Meanwhile we were stood in cages, not dissimilar to wild animals, and listened to these Christian savages put a dehumanising value to us. These folk had no history, education or knowledge of the deeper world at large, no concept of medicine, no regard for great health, other than the greed of money. They had no idea about the plants and their healing properties, they had no relationship with wild animals, they could never sit in silence for hours and listen to the vibes and tune of nature.  Other than for their violent and deceitful nature, we ascertained they had nothing on us.

Market was full.  Lots of ships just came in and there was a certain vibrant element to the excitement of new procurements. We observed as stevedores offloaded and loaded wares of all sorts. Sugarcane was being loaded on, sugar was being loaded off. Slaves were coming ashore, as some went the other way. Bananas came ashore, as were whole shiploads of elephants, lions and more. Listening on, these were destined for private homes, zoos and circuses, and it beggared belief, why a man would choose to have a wild animal in a cage as a trinket. Was it not more rewarding and majestic to observe them in their natural habitat? Limited minds, hearts and souls! Selfish and greedy, desperate to show off and it was their ‘right’! 

Canons and crates of guns, canon-shot and gunpowder were being offloaded. My heart went out to the Chinese.  Soldiers of many different races stood to attention as they made to guard this special delivery. Obviously they had special commission to make sure this delivery got to destination safe and secure. Quietly we wondered how far they had come, how tired they were, and how far they had to go with this load. Had these been on our boat, for sure we would not be here now.

It came as a surprise to all when I spoke up, ‘for kindness’ sakes, please could we have some drinking water? It’s nigh on impossible to keep this healthy without clean, drinking water. I assume you have clean drinking water. Then if you could see to allow us the private use of cubicles for a poo and a pee, much sooner than when you are done talking? Human decency even at times like this have to be honoured. We defecate here, we catch all sorts and our value plummets!’

The consternation was wholesome. The whole market stopped. The traders with their backs to us turned, alarmed and we knew then, we had just destroyed the deals. Our value quadrupled on the treble.  They all came to our cages and stared like as if at wild animals in a zoo. The blacks and Surinamese more so.

One gentleman, handsome to a fault, caught my eye and smiled like an enchanted witch doctor. He’d walked in tall, rugged even though impeccably dressed in long tails, a smart white shirt, smart pants and beautiful, calf high, polished boots, looked tough with chiseled features, handle-bar moustache and slicked back hair, well-mannered and very authoritative.  He’d been most quiet and wary of all the traders. He looked the most kind. 

From somewhere deep in his belly arose a bellow, ‘For the love of all that is holy, someone fetch them some water!’  He turned, and raising his whip at some hapless half-breed,  ‘You…water, now!’ made to split the fellow’s hide, and the fellow ducked and split. Shortly, we were nourished, then led off individually to the most abhorrent toilets known to man for some relief. No wonder these folk died at the merest hint of disease. Their living was fertile ground for germination of germs.

The man made sure he supervised as we were treated. And it was peculiar to see we were treated differently, unlike other slaves.  Once we were all settled, the man bellowed, ‘I shall take them all!’

Stunned the market into silence, temporarily, then the ensuing commotion was like a slide of thunder, raucous, tremendous as the wave of energy swept the market. Deals were torn up, new deals drawn up, arguments ensued as to honouring a deal, and the man still glared at me. He fully understood my reason for speaking up, and even though impressed, he was far from happy.  He got a deal that satisfied him and he nodded at me as he walked to the side! What a man, almost regal. Regarding the whole from a place of self-imposed superiority!

I noticed, for a brief moment he locked eyes with my wife who was still latched on to me, and his subsequent smile made my stomach turn. For some reason from way out in the skies, I knew there was to be trouble. This man had many faces, and he reminded me of my treacherous uncle.

Whatever sum he paid for us was enough to guarantee our group stayed together.  And were treated with a bit more regard, so that the chains, yokes and ropes came off, and we were led to three carriages. Grand.  Horse drawn, covered and with seating for close to a hundred each.  How a man managed to buy a two hundred and fifty slaves in one go was beyond the measure of many. Even then he must have had a good deal, because the trouble of shifting the odd slave here or there was removed for the dealers and merchants.

We set off immediately after the market. The man made it clear he was uneasy hanging about especially with his precious cargo of us. Most slavers and many others were known bandits and would as soon rob you just after making you a sale. He said they were double crossers. I did not like his sense of familiarity, given I was least interested in whatever he had to say. My primary concern was to ensure the long-term survival and welfare of my wife.

The actions of the man were not to be trusted. Remove all our restraint and have us sit in his carriages as we pleased? He had plenty of bread and water, some rough bean stew and it was the best sustenance we would have had in a long while.  We watched him fondle his gun a little too frequently as he was sat upfront with his coachman in the lead carriage. His confident smile made us uneasy, and we knew, this man, indeed, was the son of the devil, no different to those that had captured us, but more devious, dangerous and close. We figured him in a moment, should any one try to make a run for it, they’d be shot in a moment. He seemed to be daring us, often pretending lapsed attention, with the erratic eye brow lift every so often.  At the least expected moment, he fingered the gun and turned round, hoping to catch anyone trying to bound over. We were not that stupid.  Caught once, it was a tragedy, now here we were. To be shot, and to die on some forsaken land for a bit of heroism was most stupid in its suicidal quality. This was a man who believed in absolute ownership of his purchases, dead or alive!