I close my eyes...

“We must never forget the past or we are doomed to repeat our mistakes…” – unknown
         I close my eyes…

         I have lived in the forest all my life. I find myself chained to my brother; my cousin, my sister. It is the middle of my twentieth summer. My parents were killed by the tribesmen that captured us. They carried sticks that shot lightning and smote like God himself. We were paraded past the chieftain from a neighboring village. He was so drunk he could hardly stand on his own two feet. He was flanked by white men. I had never seen such pale skin until this day.

         I used to run through these trees, chasing after my little sister on our way back to the village. She would wait for me by the small stream that led to our village while I was gathering wood or hunting for our family’s food. I was a good hunter. I could kill a small animal with only one spear throw. Now I am shackled to many of my fellow villagers and family members as we are marched through the same forest I know and love, farther than I have ever gone and nothing seems familiar.

         It is nearly impossible to walk, chained as we are, let alone run away from the men that look like as and from the white men they are with. I have seen their sticks kill from great distances; my father was clear across the village when he was felled by a thunderous crack from one of them. I do not know where we are being taken. I do not want to die. I am more afraid than I have ever been in my life.

         We marched for three days by my reckoning. Two of our villagers were killed yesterday. They argued and pled with one of the white men for their release. I could not understand what the white men said; it was not a tongue I had ever heard before. One of the tribesmen pointed his stick at them and they were dead in a great cloud of smoke. My ears rang from the loud crack that erupted from it. Only when the Gods bless us with rains have I heard such noise.

         We are still marching as the sun is hiding behind the trees. It is getting dark. My feet hurt and are bleeding. The chains are very tight and I hurt all over. I do not know where we are. I see torches lining a road ahead of us. I pray to my dead parents that I survive whatever trial this is that awaits me.

         We come to a clearing and there are more men like me; chained and fearful. There are more tribesmen with thunder sticks that are directing us in our language. They tell us not to resist. They lead us into a large structure, much larger than any chief’s hut I have ever seen and made out of wood instead of bamboo or thatch. There are more of the white men and more tribesmen. They have more of the deadly sticks and some have long whips in their hands as well. As we enter we are closely watched by the drunk chief I saw the night we were taken. He is with a tall, slender white man who smells very sweet. He is paler than the rest and has long, curled white hair that does not look like any hair I have ever seen. He is making marks in some sort of book. I have only seen a book twice in my life so this must be a powerful man. Many other men, black and white, stand behind this man. The only ones looking at us are the very pale man and the drunk chief. No one else notices us any more than they would notice a speck of dirt on their foot. There are many fine things here as well. Barrels with three letters on them – “R – U – M”. I do not know what that is but there are more barrels than I know how to count. There are fine cloths hanging from the ceiling and many more of the thunder sticks that kill.

         We shuffle through a large door in the back of the structure. It is pitch black outside, and I can hear water. It does not sound like a stream, but more like the world is flooding. There are more torches and men ahead of us and as we proceed the ground becomes wooden and I am walking over water. I see a wooden structure that seems to be floating on the water. It is not a canoe like we have at home. It is much, much larger and looks like my entire village could fit inside of it. We walk onto the structure which is so large it hardly seems to notice the lot of us entering it. My brother is still right behind me and I hear him whisper a curse or a prayer, I am not sure which. White men lead us under the top of the structure down a wooden plank and they seat us roughly on the floor, still chained together and nearly sitting on top of each other. I am sweating with the stifling heat inside the structure. I am starving but dare not utter a word.

         After a while, I lose count of how many of us are inside the structure now. I see many of my villagers, my family. We are all scared but none utter a sound. My sister is crying. I do not know how we are not sinking into the water, drowning us all.

         I am so scared. I close my eyes…