July 1742- Run. That was the single thought that filled my head. I had to run, to keep moving, or else all would be lost. My feet pounded against the raw, African earth and the evening wind whipped at my skin. Sweat pounded down my sweltering forehead, my muscles burned and every bone in my body screamed at me to stop, slow down. But my mind wouldn’t let me, my instinct was too strong. Branches ripped at my skin as I dodged the trees, I dared a glance back at my hunter and caught a glimpse of white skin, large hands firmly clasping a rope, and dark, stony eyes devoid of pity. I quickly turned my gaze back to the jungle ahead of me, but it was too late. The tree root came out of nowhere, entangling itself with my leg. My head hit the floor with a heavy thud; I franticly tried to free my leg, pulling with all my might. The hunter was fast approaching, I had seconds. I desperately tried to rip the tree roots off my leg, thorns attacked my hands but I barely felt the pain, all I could think about was the hunter with his rope in hand, ready to capture me and take me away from all I had ever known. I finally managed to cut loose the roots and scramble to my feet, only for a rough hand to shove me back down again. He had caught me.
“Hey, Taji! I’ve got another one over here!” He yelled, his hand still firmly grasping my shoulder. I struggled with all my strength, kicking at my capturer and attacking him with my nails. “We’ve got a little fighter.” the white man yelled at another person, who was approaching through the trees.
“Shut her up.” The man spoke, I got a glimpse of dark skin and a red and blue sash tied around his waist, the colours of my tribe. "Betrayer," I thought with anger and frustration. “Knock her out.”
"No!" I tried to cry, but the words never left my mouth. Instead all I could feel was an agonising blow at my head, as the world around me slowly faded into darkness.
My last thought before I passed out was an image of my mother, as I had left that morning to go tend to the fields. Her long black hair pulled back with a plain white ribbon, twinkling bright eyes radiating with joy, and her soft smile, gently comforting me. But all too soon another picture filled my head, my mother with tears streaming down her cheeks and endless sorrow in her darkened eyes, knowing her only daughter was gone forever. I knew I would never see her again.
I’m so sorry, mother.
When I woke I had no idea where I was. I was surrounded by many other black people. There seemed to be no preference in gender or age for there were many differences amongst them; some were men, some were women; there were old and young people there, some just children and others ancient and wrinkled. But they all had two things in common, one was their dark skin, the other was the forked branches holding their necks together and the rope tied to their hands. As I looked down at my own hands I saw that I too had rope binding them together, and joining me to the person in front.
The sky was pitch black, and not a single star could be seen. This made me ache inside, at home the stars were always visible and they comforted me, always reminding me that I was not alone. My gaze wandered from the empty sky back down to the people surrounding me. Many were asleep, yet there was no peace for them even then. Their dreams tormented them, leaving their faces twisted with pain. Others were awake, their eyes wide with fear, jumping at every slight noise. They were afraid of the unknown, but even more fearful of what they knew was waiting for them when the sun rose.
My eyes were tired and my head was heavy, so I lay down on the cold, hard ground for what I knew was to be a restless sleep.
“Get up! Come on! We need to get moving!” I was woken to the sounds of whips cracking and white men yelling orders at the black captives. I hastily stood up and found that, unsurprisingly, my hands were still tied together with the thick rope that imprisoned all the slaves. I tried to slip my hands from the rope, but the knots were tight and only left my hands red and blistered. Around my neck was the forked branch that choked me when I stumbled.
We left the site early in the morning and walked all day. It was an exhausting hike and I thought I might collapse if I walked any further. My whole body ached and my head was dizzy from the burning heat. We were fed only once; it was a small, bruised mango, but I was famished and ate greedily. Although I was tired, that night I slept little. Fear kept me awake, and I was constantly reminded of the peaceful life I had left behind. I knew I would never know true happiness again, and I wondered for hours what darkened road lay ahead of me.
For weeks we trekked through steep mountain passes, blazing deserts, and waded through gushing rivers. Many slaves died from starvation. There was barely enough food to go around, for we were fed only what the white men could find from the wilderness surrounding us. Many nights I went to sleep with an empty stomach. I lost a large amount of weight and my body was soon just skin and bones. My muscles ached from both lack of food and exhaustion, however there was nothing I could do but struggle through the pain. Some days I felt barely alive, just a ghost of a being, tortured and forced to forget any memories of comfort, home and love. The white men ruthlessly cracked their whips and my back was soon covered with deep wounds. I was permanently scared, the memories etched in my skin, as a reminder of the terrible life I was destined to live.