"A Woman’s Life" by Sandra Bassett

A Woman’s Life

by Sandra Bassett

The harsh wind hit the boat with a force that made the brute lose his footing, and his whip struck the port side railings. Amongst isolation and the unknown, the captives could feel the water’s desire to capsize the large vessel. But the brute didn’t care. No one cared. They drank. They laughed. While the black masked man, if you call him that, a man, whipped the man’s dark skin, blood particles flew through the air, mixing with the ocean scent to produce a feeling of dread and death in all who watched.

They were lined up in rows across each side of the deck. Forced to keep the spectacle in view- a signal to them all that where they once held freedom in their own lives, they now belonged to the zonbi on this vessel. The soulless, the disconnected from humanity. She knew that even though many called them this, it was not their real name. They were worse. They weren’t empty vessels moved to torture by instinct; they did it for pleasure and money. They were worse than a zonbi.

She watched as the masked brute ripped open the chained man’s skin, lash by lash, as he screamed for mercy.

Most of her life had been permeated with war, but her family was strong, and the sun always shone on her village. When she first woke up, she and her sisters would make yam fufu for her family while her brothers kept watch for intruders. Her village and the Nashi Kingdom had been at war for centuries. But that was just life. The sun shone on her and her sisters as they laughed and pushed their fingers into the pliable surface, kneading the yam dough.

That was, until the Nashi discovered that they could unburden themselves of their village and get some rum and guns for the trade. When she first saw it, she thought it was lazy hunting- to use metal shooters to bring down antelope. But the noise still pierced her soul, telling her that her life was about to change. And not in a good way. The day came when the sun no longer shined and she was dragged away in chains to the men in strange clothes waiting on the beach.

As the ship continued to thrash about, she tried to look away while some of her brethren’s blood struck her teeth; tears ran down her face. The laughing, drunk men were so pale she was sure the sun had never touched their skin. The wind was mighty, the ship rocked, and she had not seen land in many days. She didn’t know where they were going, and the salty air hit her lungs like kerosene hit fire.

She turned her face away from the sickening scene and looked over into the depths of the water. It was cold, but she felt like maybe if she focused on the waves striking the side of the ship, she would no longer hear the laughter, the screams of her brethren.

The ocean was formidable. The dark, deep blue of non-oxygenated liquid below would offer her nothing. The air, even mixed with salt and blood, gave breath to her body. But even so, she felt like she was barely alive. The Ekwensu had taken over these men from another land. They were no longer men. And now she belonged to them like their bottles of rum.

She picked up her heavy leg-iron ball, and with all her weakened strength, she tossed it overboard. It hit the waves with a splash. The last thing she saw before her leg was ripped out from under her was the wide-eyed face of the enslaved man standing next to her. Her body hit the cold water as it was quickly dragged under by the falling metal ball chained to her ankle. She looked up to the surface of the ocean water, as liquid fire hit her lungs, and thought, this is my home now.