Freedom day

Sam walked to the shed, as was his custom every morning except Sabbath. He was not as spry as he used to be and his body though strong from the daily toil of his duties were getting older by the moment. He knew in his knower that somewhere there were eyes on him. That didn’t bother ole Sam though. He was an honest man, a peaceable man, and thanks to his wife considered a good man. He worked hard for Massa Jones and never ate more than his share. Some of the blacks like the whites called him Sambo in ridicule but he never let that bother him none. He was slow to speak and never raised his voice in anger. MeLinda often teased him about how such a deep voice could be so soft spoken. Melinda was his wife and he loved her with all of his soul. He was one of the few slaves who Massa Jones allowed to have his own wife. Massa knew that Sam could be counted on not to destroy his property. He would fix anything that need fixen, and in a pinch, he could quiet down his fellow slaves when things got heated. Sam kneeled on his knees, as was his habit in front of an old log sitting on a bench and prayed. He thanked God for allowing him to see another day. He thanked him for MeLinda and their son Willie who was growing up to be quite a man. He prayed that the war would end soon and that the chains of slavery would be broken. He prayed for the boys fighting in the north and the south that they would be protected. Finally, he prayed that his children would be free in his lifetime so he could see it. That they could own a piece of land of their own and be almost as good as the white folk. The same people that would cuff him at the slightest provocation, or for no reason at all. He prayed that his children would be free to learn to read so that they could live as the good book said. Then he raised his head as he whispered amen just like the white folk.

MeLinda Dale Simpson was not a sleep when her man rose up to pray as he supposed. She smiled to herself as she notice how much care he took not to wake her. They were in the mating cabin. The cabin where married slaves were allowed to sleep with their wives if they had one, two to three times a week. This of course depended greatly upon the amount of married slaves one owned, and how many of them massa would allow to marry. When the field hands were out with their drivers and overseer the masa or his sons would take a slave of their choosing in there. Her mother bore her in a laison just like that. Her mother had been bought at the auction which was curious because slave auctions and the importations of Africans were illegal in the colonies. Oh slaves were still bought and sold like horses, dogs, and pigs; but the importing of Africans to the colonise was considered illegal even in the ones south of Virginia. Her mother was supposed to be the property of an white man in the caribs. She knew this because her mother told her the story constantly. He rangled out of the contract when her mother a proud Nigerian kicked him in the balls. She was whipped right there on the spot until her back and arsh ran blood like water. They thought she would die and her prospective owner stated that she was damaged goods, so the slavers put her back on the ship to die. She would be thrown in the ocean when they left port and was far enough out to sea to be fish food. But this her mother told her was key; they underestimated her will to live and not die. When the time to choose my daughter she would say when only they could hear. “choose life” She rose up out of her musing to greet Sam, her man, her big black warrior king. He would never be slave to her but king just as her mother taught her. And she was his warrior Queen. By his side MeLinda her mother would say is where an African woman stands, not behind him like some quivering dog but beside him . she rose from the mattress of old clothes that they shared for a bed and waited for her king to return from speaking to The Ancient of Age.