Arriving, the West Coast of America:
We were marched down the plank to the land, into a strange land. I looked around me then, White people, all around us. Women and men walking around a central stall in what looked like a square. We were so astounded and scared by what we saw around us that we just carried on walking. They were a community; they were walking around in peace, talking to each other, respecting each other. I couldn’t understand, how could these White men treat the White women with so much respect, but treat us like animals? Then I got it, we were different from them, we were darker skinned, taller, stronger built and spoke in a different tongue. I didn’t realise until too late where we were walking and why we were walking there.
We were walking towards the stall in the middle of the square, it was like we were being paraded around, so that they could get a good look at us. We were then thrown, yet again, into another cage, in the midlle of the centre stall. Everyone was looking at us, it was like we were the merchandise waiting to be sold to the highest bidder. I was scared, what was going to happen next. I didn’t know, I haven’t know for the whole of this and I still don’t know what will happen to me now.
Auction, a city square on the West Coast of America:
I think I was in that cage for three days, all I did in that time was watch the White people pass by, going on with their own peaceful lives. It was at noon on the third day that me and the other women were dragged from our cage, placed on the stall, chained up to a post and then had a sign hung around our necks, which said something like this. It was slightly different for each woman, but mine said:
“For sale, middle aged, hard working woman, Slave. $200 or more.”
Soon a crowd had started to gather in front of us, looking us up and down, like we were items for sale. The bad news was that we were for sale, as Slaves to the White people. Each time the Slave Trader stood next to one of us, people started shouting out random things and putting their hands up when they shouted out. Each time the Slave was unchained and given to the highest bidder, so far it was the same person both times. I was third in the line so it wasn’t long before it was my turn, for what I didn’t know.
It seemed like ages that the shouting went on for then went suddenly quiet when the same White man that had bought the two women before me, put up his hand and shouted out the highest bid. He was tall with bright blue round eyes, short curly ginger hair and a stern look on his face. He looked me up and down, for the tenth time, then shouted something at the Slave Trader and handed over quite a few paper sheets with weird marking on them. The Slave Trader then cam and unchained me from my post, handed me over to the White man and went on to the next African woman in the line. Who was yet again bought by my buyer, and with that he walked away dragging me and the other African women behind him. From that moment on in my life, I was now his Slave.
YOU ARE READING
A Diary of a Slave GirlHistorical Fiction
This is an account of what African Slaves went through, if they were lucky. With events, punishments and work that actually happened, see their life through their eyes. From an horrific capture to a catastrophic journey and hard labor at the end. Wo...