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Natalie Arteaga
Professor Gatson
African Civilization
8 November 2016
My Slave Story
In the beginning, we lived life in peace and abundance. My name is Abeni and this is
how I lost my home and myself. It was an early morning and mama kept telling my brothers how
we needed to cut down on food to make sure we had enough for everyone. I was always helping
mama prepare the food and make sure we kept our home clean. Although it wasn't much, it was a
good life we had. A week after we cut down on our food again, mama and papa were being extra
nice to me and saying that they loved me, I didn’t know why but I should have known. Being the
youngest of six and the only girl, I couldn’t do much to help my family. Mama explained to me
that this was the only way I can help them right now. Papa said I needed to spend some time
away from home and work. With tears in their eyes they sent me away. I fought hard and felt my
world collapse. I didn’t want to go with these men who pushed me and grabbed me. I felt scared
and angry. Angry that my parents sold me to these people like an animal. I could have hunted
with my brothers, or ate less. I could have done more.
They pulled me by my arm and wouldn't loosen the grip no matter how loud we were
screaming and crying. I heard stories about these men coming and taking you from your family
and people never returning. I didn’t want to leave my family. They grabbed my kicking legs and
fighting arms and chained them up to the tall man in front of me and the boy behind me. We
were forced to take slow dreadful steps to the future we all knew we could not escape from. My
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emotions were ranging from anger towards my family, scared of these strange men, and
desperation to get away. As I was shoved into a ship, I could see people from all ages being
forced to stand in this ship with no room to move at all. They fit more of my people onto this
ship than I ever thought could be possible. They treated us like animals. They had the audacity to
drag us out of our homes and did not even provide any sort of hygiene. At the very end of the
ship there was only one bucket where if you had to use the bathroom, you had to try and fail to
make it across. Severely hindered by the shackles that were tightly secured around our ankles,
the majority of us preferred to ease ourselves where we were rather than to bruise ourselves in
the process of trying to reach it. With my mother teaching me to have pride in my cleanliness,
this living condition was shameful. On the worst of days, the deck would be so hot and humid
that we were forced to lay in a layer of our own waste, vomit and sweat. I made company with an
older lady in my neighboring tribe from back home. She was quite older than me but not quite as
mature as my mother. Her name was Esther and in times when the men would not be on deck,
she told me stories of back home before the men invaded her home and she spoke of her lover
who was on the ship before us. I can tell she was heartbroken and just as scared as I was, but she
somehow managed to remain calm when she noticed I could not take the filth and torture. I thank
her for that. One night, as a crew member came down to empty the waste bucket, he called over
one of the other men up stairs and they pointed at Esther and gave each other a grin. The taller
man grabbed her by her chain and dragged her up. We all knew what was going to happen. As
they left with her by their side, she turned to me with this look of despair and that's when I knew
she would not come back the same women who spoke of the times of life and hope, but a women
who got stripped of her light. When she returned the next day, she did not say a single word. She
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would not speak again. Esther was almost hypnotized, staring into nothingness and almost as if
she was a shell of a human. I am forever heartbroken for Esther, as she had reminded me a bit of
mama, until that night.
I never understood how people can treat us so poorly to the point that suicide on the ship
was desirable. Suicide attempts occurred daily and in painfully cruel ways. Many people tried
jumping overboard and would even asked others to strangle them. One of the most common
ways to avoid further punishment on this horrid journey was to avoid eating. Starvation suicide
attempts became so common that crew members started to force their mouths open and shove
food down their throats. It was always so sad to see another human being reach that point of
frustration and exhaustion that they would rather take their own life, but it was said that once we
die, our souls will go back to our home and away from these awful men. Although it seemed
easier and more pleasant to leave this life of torture and inhumane for an afterlife worth
experiencing, I could not do that. I had to fight in hopes of someday getting back home to mama
and papa.
When we arrived at what seemed like a new world, many merchants and planters came
on board and examined us. We were then taken to the merchant's yard, where we were all pent
up together like sheep. On a signal the buyers rushed forward and chose those slaves they liked
best. On arrival, we were prepared for sale like animals. We were first washed and then shaved.
Sometimes the men’s skins were oiled to make them appear healthy and increase their sale price.
The process did not take too long, or maybe I just could not tell since I was trapped on that deck
for what seemed like a lifetime. Sold, branded and issued with a new name, I was separated and
stripped of my identity. In a deliberate process, the white man who forced me to call him
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“master”, stripped me of my will power. For a period of two to three years, I was trained to
endure the work and conditions I quickly learned to obey or receive the lash. It was mental and
physical torture. Life at the plantation was grueling work. My master’s plantation comprised of a
multitude of buildings. The home of the master's family, overseer, and slaves, as well as
outbuildings, barns, and workshops. It was a large plantation that operated like a self-sustaining
village, and thus, we were isolated from the outside world. They had me, along with four others,
work up to 18 hours a day, sometimes longer at busy periods such as harvest. I begged for master
to give me breaks, but there were no weekends or rest days. I served as a domestic slave, tending
to the master's family as a cook, servant, and housemaid. My first few years working here, I tried
to revolt, but I quickly learned my place after a few punishments. I would be left to starve, forced
to eat crumbs off of the floor when no one was looking. I made the foolish mistake of not
checking if someone was around before attempting to eat scraps of leftover food, and it ended in
whips to my back. That was the last time I acted out against master’s punishments.
Master Johnson already had four children by other slaves, but he had never touched me in
that way. He would constantly harass me and threatened me about having sex. He stalked me out
as a sexual prize. He had us build a cabin far from his family home on the plantation solely for
the purpose of sex with slaves. I remember him yelling at me that I am his property, so I must
comply with whatever he demanded.
That I was not raped was unusual, given that he had a
tendency to either bribe slaves with extra rations or better treatment for their children, or beat or
starved them into submission. I did not fall into his desires, I resisted him even though that meant
he would bring physical pain to me. I knew that the physical pain would someday stop but if he
had followed through with his sexual threats, I would never be able to close my eyes without
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reliving that moment. Whenever I doubted if resisting was worth it, I thought about Esther and
the hope she once had. I like to cling on to that in hopes that maybe she was right. Maybe one
day I will be able to see my home once again and see mama and papa once more.
We were able to keep the African traditions and customs alive through stories of back
home when master johnson was not overseeing or at night when we were getting ready for bed.
Back home music was a big influence on our day to day lives and it was a shame that we weren't
granted access to instruments and were constantly punished for singing out loud. We found away
around the no music understanding. We would chant of happier times, stomp our feet and clap
our hands to get our spirits up. Although it was only for a short period of time, it seemed to get
our minds off of the fact that we were basically property to this family and we had no connection
to the outside world. We eventually did become a family, although unorthodox.
I still thought of mama and her food and beautiful voice. Papa came to mind every day
around dinner time. I thought of the days when he would get home from hunting with the boys
and just sit down and talk about what he saw that day. I wonder how they’re doing. I wonder if
they ever regret selling me, their only daughter, to these strangers. Even though my heart was
filled with resentment for a long time, I hope they are doing good and I hope selling me
benefitted them in the long run. I love my family, and I want them to live a good life even if that
means my life is now filled with fear and pain. I do not hold hate in my heart for them anymore.
I know that they had to do what's best for the family and I had less to offer. I just hope that one
day, when I have my future family, I will never disappoint my child as my parents did me. As for
my life now, master Johnson may have controlled the work, meals, and living arrangements, but
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he would never be able to control what I cherished the most. My mind and memories. I know
who I was and who I am. I may be a slave, but I am no animal.