To America

Thursday 23rd/1/1770

Aba

Thursday 23rd/1/1770

Dear diary

I sit on a boat surrounded by people no more than six inches away. I stare into the space in front of me and see bodies that manifest the horrific sight in front of me, rows and rows of bodies crammed together no where to move, Some even lifeless. Some of these people are gone and it took me awhile to understand what that meant. Some of them died because of these diseases the putrid white people brought with them, Some just of old age. The smell in here is horrendous its the smell of death, the smell that everyone should fear i cant stand it.

All I ever seem to hear is groans they seem to get louder and louder i cant seem to shut it out. Sometimes I will sing myself to the point of exhaustion that all I can do is sleep.

I start to wonder why am I on this boat where are we going and what will happen once we get there. I'm so young yet i feel older by what I have lived through these last couple of months. Under the deck which we lay is like a white mans dirty secret but that secret seems to be told when they need entertainment or pleasure it's their sick little joke. They pull us out row by row onto the top deck to dance for them it feels good at first once the freezing cold air hits my face but is soon sent out of my mind to me not wanting to move at all the frost biting air hitting my face hurts and soon i am grateful to be back surrounded by bodies.

I wonder if anyone here knows its my birthday happy birthday to my 16th self i hope pa and ma are okay. I wonder if ill ever see them again