Deep within the swamp, Agwé lives a peaceful life among his family and animal friends, with whom he shares a special gift. That is, until his life is torn asunder and he is driven from his home by the voodoo spirits. Lost and alone, he wanders the...
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As far as I can gather, our family's troubles began on account of our voodoo heritage. Gossip had begun to spread that a "strange and unnatural" religion was being practiced by a "dangerous bunch of savages" in the bayou. Well you can imagine how those untruthful words stirred up quite the hornet's nest in the surrounding towns. "Bayou Beasts". That's what they had begun to call us. Now you got to remember, folks at that time especially were of the notion that if a culture or lifestyle was different from what they knew, then that thing must be dangerous.
Enter Jean-Pierre Laguerre. A powerful business tycoon in the nearby city of Saint Denis. Among the wealthiest in the entire country. A ruthless man, willing to do most anything to expand his influence. For some time his mind had been fixated on Bayou Nwa and the riches he might gain within this largely unexplored land. Rumor had it there were rich iron and coal deposits deep within the swamp, not to mention the huge price that the exotic animals and their parts could fetch on the black market. In Laguerre's eyes, taming the bayou was a way to etch his name into the history books. To be famous. Eternal, even.
Through the observation of his spies, he had learned of our village and the deep love we held for the land and creatures within. Thus, in his eyes, we were viewed as a threat; an obstacle standing in the way of untold wealth. It was Laguerre, that cunning snake, that first planted the rumors about us being dangerous. And once that fear had been born, it didn't take long for him to rile up the towns and assemble an angry mob to drive out these bayou beasts. For it was either them or us, or so Laguerre had poisoned their minds.
The mob arrived in the dead of night. Rifles in their hands. Malice in their hearts. Our people had no previous quarrels or enemies, and had never felt the need for someone to stand watch during the night. We were in a deep slumber when the onslaught began. I can still hear the screams these many years later. The deafening cracks of gunfire that erupted through the night. They attacked without warning. Without explanation. Without humanity.
Mama and me were the fortunate ones, as our hut was furthest from the mob's arrival, giving us a few precious seconds to slip out the door before becoming detected. Torches in all directions confirmed that our village was completely surrounded. Despite the choking fear and confusion, I guided Mama to a nearby bog that I had often used during games of hide-and-seek years earlier. Once there, we submerged our bodies into the thick mud and slathered it upon our faces. Doing my best to cover every inch of my body that now stood six-and-a-half feet tall and nearly 250 pounds. And there we lay in panicked silence as the chaos continued around us.
I made to return to the village and my family's aid several times, but Mama's tight grip convinced me to remain hidden each time. We lay still in that cold mud for hours, terrified every moment that the invaders would discover our hiding place. Praying that the rest of our family would find a way to escape their pursuers. My heart slipped down into my gut as I heard the voices of two men growing progressively louder. They ceased their approach only a few yards shy of our hiding place.
