Heart of a slave

Market place

Trigger warnings: This chapter includes violence and abuse.

After a few more weeks of journeying, the ship finally came to a stop. Siwhetta was told that other slaves had been bought and kept on the ship prior to her captivity. The voyage felt like years to her as she had never experienced such turmoil. She constantly had to remind herself that she was a Yoruba and that she must keep going. She had vowed to remain as inconspicuous as possible: she dreaded drawing attention to herself for fear that she would be victimized like some of the other slaves on board. 

Night after night she heard screaming. Her captors were like animals; they feasted sexually on both men and women. She had often tried not to cry in distress on evenings. She prayed fervently and woke up every day hoping that it was all a nightmare. She kept her chin up and her shoulders square. Over time, she had gotten to know other female captives. Quietly, she would listen absorbed in their stories of nostalgia about their homeland and their fantasy about daring means of escape.

On the following day, they were brought on deck. Persons were directed to line up. She nervously followed the orders and was placed on display like many of the other slaves. It was like a marketplace; people were throwing their money on the floor to purchase them. Siwhetta saw how they exploited some of the men who were born warriors and separated mothers from their children after being sold. 

When, eventually she went up, the bid was high. She was described as a good buy for a kitchen slave. Some people were not moved, the men were interested in more than just a cook; she heard them yelling to see more. Siwhetta had never felt so frightened before. The crowd was boisterous and intimidating. She tried her best to be brave. Suddenly, her seller ripped off her clothing and untied her hair. She squealed. The men brazenly whistled and openly gazed at her nakedness in lust. She tried to cover herself, but they wouldn't let her. A wave of embarrassment and hurt washed over her. She had never suffered this much humiliation before; the crowd was excited; she was revealed in full display to the public.

 Disgusted, tears rolled down her cheeks. A man gave the highest bid, no one attempted to surpass his bid; the deal was done. She was sold as someone's property. She gasped in disbelief as she was shoved at her buyer. With a haughty look on his face he claimed his prize. No one cared how she felt; no one made an effort to console her. Shattered now, she could not help but feel the urgent need to burst into uncontrollable tears; she whimpered. The man covered her up with a coat and left with his prize. 

The buyer had bought a few more slaves and, Siwhetta, although horrified by her experience, couldn't help but feel a modicum of relief that she had the company of her own people. Hopefully, I am not going to be his concubine, she thought.

They walked for a full day while her captor and his kindred were riding on horses. Her ankles were still shackled and bleeding; her feet bruised and blistered. She kept her eyes on the ground and continued the journey. By sunset, they were at an enormous estate. She saw many other slaves: some were in uniform; some were ploughing; others planting or harvesting. The land was really green and fertile; definitely greener than in her homeland, Africa. She was in awe when she saw how majestic her captor's home and other buildings were.

They were ordered to line up again and an older lady of perhaps sixty years, white like her captors, was introduced as her owner. Her hair was streaked with strands of silver. Siwhetta could tell that she must have been very beautiful in her youth.

Siwhetta glanced at her buyer. She noticed that his eyes roved over her, sexual desire ablaze in them. He was tall and lanky with his long blonde hair pulled into a ponytail. Siwhetta knew what he was thinking. She had seen this look in other men's eyes before. Fear gripped her. She didn't want to be anyone's victim for sexual pleasure. Siwhetta's heart was pounding and she began to take deep breaths to calm herself.

The silver-haired woman, owner of the estate, introduced as Lady Noelita, left the buyer to call orders. He introduced himself as Alton, the chief slave patroller of the estate. He gave full details of everything that was expected from them and they were now duty-bound to work with no pay. Their hours of labor in the field were to commence before sunrise and end at sunset, but house slaves were to work from sunrise and end at night when the household was asleep. No one dared to question; everyone stood silently in thought trying to adjust to their new environment. In the distance, beyond the house, Siwhetta saw an armed guard severely whipping an older man. Everyone looked but no one said anything for they were all fearful.

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