An Empathy Essay on Slavery as a Slave

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.

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 breathe in fresh air. We women and children were luckier than the men, free from the chains, while we were on the deck but the men were still attached to their chains however the whites watched us ever so closely while we were on the deck.

Dancing on the deck used to be the time I enjoyed the most when I was on the slave ship but after mother's death, I hate going up there, the sea had always remind me about mother's death. The crews whip me often for I always stop dancing when the picture of mother being thrown into the sea.Back to the smelly, filthy place below the deck after the dance every day, no whip crying to lash my back, no eyes of whites stare at me - as long as I keep quite lying on the hard, dirty floor, I no longer want to go on the deck to breath the fresh sea air after my dear, loving mother's death. Now that mother is gone, I have only got Baako, but who knows how long she would be there with me? Day by day, my fears increase, fearing that what happen to mother would happen to dear sister. I would much rather I got tucked into the sea than mother or sister do.

But sometimes, I envied the dead - alone in a foreign country as a slave working like an ox belongs

to the evil whites. What is the point of life?I was full of surprise and joy when we finally reached our destination, Caribbean about ten weeks after we were on board knowing that Baako had actually survive the inhumane Middle Passage for she had always been very weak ever since we got on the ship. I was not alone. After all, someone I know, someone from my family was with me, and we would be able to support each other whenever the one of us need any help like mother had taught us; that was what I thought.

I still did not realize, in the eyes of the whites, we are only animals. For them, our feelings, emotions, cultural and even families worth nothing. Nothing. We are but working machines, slaves whom are properties of the whites. Valuable we are, only for the money that we could be sold depending on the qualities of the goods - us slaves.

After we got off the ship, we were cleaned and polished with oil so that our skins were shiny and attractive to the buyers. Then we were displayed in the middle of a circle of white buyers, I was feeling very uneasy with eyes staring at us; I hold on to Baako's hand tightly. But the worse was to come.After a while, which seemed to me like years, at the sound of a beating drum, these whites who were forming a circle rushed to us, one of them grabbed me onto my arm, I held onto Baako's hand even more firmly and she did the same but me and Baako were gabbed by two different white men to

two different direction. We, two little girls whom just got off of the slave ship from a terrible, long journey from West Africa of the Middle passage were too weak to resist the two strong men's grabs. We were separated within a second.

Of course, the two men whom grabbed us never did know neither what we were doing with our hands nor what their easy, simple grabs meant for us. I am not the only one who went through this, many of us whom I know from the plantation had the same happened to them, they never see their family ever again. I was indeed very lucky, forty years after that I finally manage to meet my deer old sister but nothing would be the same after we left beautiful Africa home - the place where we belong to.The men who separated my only remained family was my master, who my body belongs to - he could beat me, he could make me work as if I was an animal but he could never control me.

Though my body belongs to him, my mind and heart belong to me; always and for ever, my memories, culture, the image of my dear families had and will be with me no matter how they treated or will treat me or how far I am from home.I was then, like many other 'cargos', made to jump and they open our mouth by force to check our teeth like a horse so that they could make sure the quality of the 'cargos' were good enough for them to buy. I was given a European name, Sally, and no-one

use my real name. That is not me, Sally is not me, I am Abeni, not Sally.

I would not put up with that, they have killed my mother and now they wanted to ignore my father's decision. Though thought my life, I had always called myself Abeni.All that was only the beginning.At first, I was brought as a house slave, as a maid for my master's wife. Their house was grand and beautiful with wonderful varnish furniture but all these, I latter found out from one of my fellow slaves in the field, was built by us, black African slaves and yet, most of those who built this grand, varnish house had crossed the dreadful Middle Passage on the filthy floor below deck for weeks and lived in the small, dusty slave quarters when they arrived - when they were building the grand house and after they finish building it!Very soon after my arrival to the big house, however, I was put to work in the sugar plantation as a punishment for not doing what they told me to do.It was hard, it was not long at all after I saw mother being tucked into the sea by withes with my own eyes, I could not make myself to serve the whites knowing that mother could never be worshiped by her descendants and would just disappeared in our family tree.

I wanted to take revenge for my mother and kill these evils with my own hands but of course I would not dare. Whenever my mistress ordered me to do anything, I would stand there and ignored her. The first time I did that, she

was very cross and looked so shocked as if never in her life had she been ignore by anyone. She snapped me onto my face so hard that I fell on the floor with pain at once.Miss Mary did not do much after that, but I still did ignore her. The next time, I was sent to the Lashing House where a special and legally-appointed functionary would do the whipping for Miss Mary.

Masters and Mistresses of slaves would not officially do the whippings themselves for the social grades of slaves are too low for gentlemen to whip, beating slaves is to the social grade of overseers or constables (the slave-whippers are called); as for the ladies, they think they have too much sensibility to inflict complete chastisement. Lady, too sensible to inflict the whipping to me? Yet, Miss Mary merely wrote on a bit of scrap paper she grabbed at handy, telling the slave-whipper to give me fifty serve lashes. Lady? What lady? She is everything but a lady! Bad tempered, selfish, lack of manner - to us slaves anyway, but are we not human, are we not breathing the same air? Would we not bleed if we were pricked? Do we not laugh if we were tickled? Should we not die if we were poisoned? So are we not humans like the white?I was then sent to the lashing house in the town with Miss Mary's note in my hand which says 'Mr Smith, will you give Negro-girl Sally 50 lashes, and charge to account of Mr. Greys.

'The lashing house was old, prison-like quarters, built of brick and limestone. The slave-whippers are well paid

and more than often make a handsome living for their ugly work.In there, I was made to pull dress down and was whipped unmercifully on my bare back; steams of blood came out of my deeply cut flesh. I held my lips tightly, bared every single one of the fifty harsh lashes in silence, telling them I could not be made suffering by them. Thinking about mother's stories, I could see mother telling me not to give up and one day I would fight the freedom that I and every single man on earth do deserve; and that no-one should be harm by anyone. I could barely walk after that but I still made my way back to Miss Mary's house.

The reason why Miss Mary sent me to the lashing house was really to announce her high social grading in the community. She whips us herself often when she is on a mood or when she feels like whipping us. It is hell living with her. Some of the house slaves try to avoid being beaten by pleasing the mistress of the house. This often means our act against the masters and slavery like learning how to read and write, reading works by the abolitions of slavery.

.. were reported to the mistress and masters by our own fellow black slaves. It is traumatic know your fellow black slaves might betray you at anytime without warning.

However, you can always tell that if someone had been betrayed if they start to show off their 'beautiful' present given by Miss Mary when it is not a special date. All that 'beautiful' present is an ugly handkerchief, but

these traitors earn more than that - they are always the favourite ones of Miss Mary and they were whipped seldom. Still all of us had been whipped for at least once being slaves.I can sometimes understand why they would do such a thing as betraying people whom are going through the same difficulties, after all, white or black, as humans, we are all selfish, are we not? But they don't understand how painful is it not being able to trust anyone when facing so much pressure after a long hard day. Perhaps, it is one of the ways that our masters use to shun us from united each other and turn against them.

Clever our master and mistress are, I must admit, but they are as evil as the devil.