My Life as a Slave

this is a story i had to write for my old African American studies class, and my teacher absolutely loved it

i write this as a short biography because a friend suggested that I tell my story to future generations so that they could see what it's like to be a slave. I was born in the center of Africa to a village chief. My father had many wives, each with a separate house on his land. The houses were built out of wood. I have no idea how many children my father had. I know that he only had three with my mother, two girls and myself, the only son.

The daily habits of our people are unknown to me, as I was barely five years old when I was taken. I was alone outside, walking back to my mother's house when they caught me. They caught me in a net and dragged me off, kicking and screaming like an animal. One of my captors covered my mouth to stifle my scream for help. It might seem strange that I can't remember the daily habits of my people but I can remember this, but that's probably because it was such a traumatic experience. I didn't actually get to see my captors until we were far away from my home. I couldn't run away. Even if I could, in my five year old body, manage to overpower four grown men and escape, I had no idea where I was or how to get home, so I didn't struggle anymore. What would be the point? When I finally got a good look at them, I realized that these were some of my own people taking me away. I was also relieved, in a way, that they had taken my oldest sister as well. I had some comfort in that. At least I wasn't alone.

We passed through the hands of several owners, always together. Our fellow Africans were nice enough to keep us together and treated us more like family than slaves. Over the next few years we went through several different owners until at last we reached the coast of Africa. It was there that we first saw what we now know as white men. To us, they looked like demons. Their skin was so white and pale, so different from our own. Then there was their strange language. Most of our owners up until that point had similar languages to our own, but these men's languages were nothing like ours.

Our captors were paid in the local currency, small shells of various colors. Behind them was a slave ship, a massive thing I'd never seen before. I was convinced these men were taking us straight to hell with them, but there was nothing I could do to escape. i clung to my sister but once we were put on the ship, we were separated. She was kept above deck most of the time while I was kept below.

The first thing I noticed when they took me down there was the foul stench of human waste mixed with sweat. It's the most disgusting smell to have to endure for several months. Every so often they let us on the deck for exercise. we wouldn't be of any use to them if we couldn't move  when we finally got to their homeland. On my first time out, I had my first experience with suicide. There would be many over the course of the journey, but I remember this one because it was the first. I learned what happened to those that didn't drown.

This first time it was three of my fellow slaves that decided that death was better than slavery. They broke free quite suddenly and jumped overboard. There was quite a bit of commotion as the white men rushed us back below deck while others got into small boats and went after them. Two of the three drowned but the other was captured. We were brought back on deck to see his punishment. To make the whipping more painful, the man in charge of discipline soaked the whip in salt water before he began. They had him propped up on something while they whipped him across the back. When he fell they whipped him across the chest and face. He bled the whole time. By the time they stopped, he was an unrecognizable mess lying in a pool of his own blood. I'm pretty sure that man died. It was understood that this man was an example of what they would do to us if we tried the same thing. Of course, they didn't kill every slave that tried to escape, but they whipped them all good enough to leave welts on their bodies. Though I thought death would be better than slavery under this strange race of people, I didn't want to die so painfully, so I never made such an attempt.

I endured months of being below deck, fighting over the scraps of food they gave us to keep us alive. It's quite difficult to fight while laying on your back or stomach but you do what you have to do to survive. There was no way I was going to go hungry. Death through starvation would take entirely too long. No, I would live through this. I might be a slave, but I'm alive.

Finally we got to these men's homeland in the Americas. It was time for us to be sold again. They stripped us all and made us stand side by side while potential buyers looked us over. Obviously they were looking for those with the least amount of welts and scars. A rich white man named Garick Homes bought me. He lived on a plantation as large as my father's land was, maybe even larger. I was made a house slave because of my age. Garick was a nice master. He taught me to read and write, which is how i'm writing this story. I did a lot of cleaning with one of the other slaves, a woman named Maria. Everyday we dusted in each room and prepared the master three meals. We were never beaten, mostly because we never gave reason to be beaten. I never saw my sister again. We were nowhere near each other when the auction had taken place, so someone else bought her.

The only faith I've ever known was the Christian faith Garick taught me. He was a devoutly religious man. The slaves were required to attend a church made just for us on Sundays. Anyone who didn't attend received a whipping. I was enslaved for 20 years with Garick before he died. I was lucky enough to be freed in his will. I returned to Africa to try to find my family, but I really had no idea where to go. I never found them. I settled down and got married at the age of 36. We're a little more cautious now. I don't intend to ever be enslaved again. Now understand that I was one of the few fortunate slaves that was freed after the death of the master. Most stayed on the same plantation under the new master. Most aren't favored by their masters. I suppose that's the end of my story. It will be up to my children to include my death, as I can't very well write when I'm dead.

Reviews

[Amanda Dawn Sanderson-G..]

Very sad; I am glad he was lucky enough to have been sold to a good master that taught him to read and write so he could express his story. I know it must have been hell to have stayed on the boat as long as they did, I would have assumed drowning would have been better as well; even if it did sound painful and a miserable way to die- it would have been better than being beat with a whip until you were left dead in a pool of your own blood. As I read this I recall watching the series of 'Roots' and feeling such hurt and pain for Kunta... I regret that my ancestors of the past would do such things to people.... I understand it was help, having them work the land... but there is ways of going about treating a person and the way they went about things was indeed wrong and distasteful. I am glad times have changed... although race is still an issue... I wish God was in more lives then maybe we could focus on happiness for all and not focus on the color or gender or sexual orientation of the person... but them as a child of God. Maybe one of these days... until then we will all face hardships, I imagine.

Good work; I'd point out typos or grammar mistakes, but with those it proves more that your story was written by a slave, as he may not have the ability to write as strongly has his master could have, even if he was taught to read/write. I can tell why your teacher really enjoyed it, you really got inside the mind of the slave and the understanding of how one felt by being traded over by their own race and then being tormented by this white demon....

Beautiful work.

[Chris]

Pretty good. I could picture the narrator's voice pretty well. I feel like there's a lack of detail since it's all kind of summary, but that's understandable since this was a class assignment, and I'm sure you probably had no desire to make it too long.

There are a couple things I want to point out, though. First, you're opening sentence; I don't feel like it's a very good hook for the story. My honors English professor has emphasized many times during the first several classes of the importance of using a strong opening sentence for anything you write. When I read the sentence, I didn't feel like it grabbed my attention that much. Maybe it leaves some curiosity if someone wants to see what the person's slave life was like, but other than that it doesn't really do much in my opinion; I think it could be improved if you gave it some thought.

Also:
"I was alone outside, walking back to my mother's house when they caught me. They caught me in a net and dragged me off, kicking and screaming like an animal."

In this passage, I feel like it kind of disrupts the read a little bit since "caught" is used twice in such close proximity. Maybe combine the two sentences to get rid of one caught? Also, the same kind of applies for this next passage:

"We passed through the hands of several owners, always together. Our fellow Africans were nice enough to keep us together and treated us more like family than slaves. Over the next few years we went through several different owners until at last we reached the coast of Africa."

The use of "several owners" twice kind of disrupted the flow for me a little. Try to change up the wording for one of the two instances if you can.

The ending seemed a bit rushed to me, too, but, as I said, I guess it's understandable since this was an assignment, and the rest already has that same kind of feel to it. The last couple sentences weren't real strong either.

But other than that, I've got nothing else to say. You probably don't plan on changing this, but I thought I'd throw suggestions out there anyway. And forgive me if I'm nitpicking. I do that from time to time, and since you're pretty talented in the craft, I figured you can handle it.