The Village People
Kwame continued on his stroll through the village. He had learned from his father how to become a community leader. He knew everyone had a unique role in the town; a good leader recognized this and frequently praised the people.
Kwame was thinking about Yaw, a young boy who had overcome a serious injury, showing resilience and a spirit that exemplified the courage and fortitude of his people, when he came upon a group of villagers building a new well. Kwame told the group, “This looks like a good way to spend the morning!” He pitched in and began helping with the digging.
As he worked, Kwame’s mind returned to the memory of that day when Yaw had fallen down a rocky slope. The boy’s scream echoed through the dense forest. He tumbled over and over. His leg snapped loudly as it was twisted. The pain hit him immediately and radiated from his shin to his thigh. Yaw lay there for a while, gasping for breath, fighting back the tears. He wondered if anyone had heard him.
He was alone for minutes, but it seemed like hours as the pain continued. Suddenly, Yaw heard the rustling.
Yaw sighed with relief as he saw Mma Thandi step out of the heavy bushes and knelt beside him. In English, she would be called Mother Thandi. She was one of the main healers in the village and was dressed in a wrap of dyed cloth which bore ochre and indigo designs, symbolizing her skills in healing and protection. “Yaw,” she said softly, “ Don’t worry. I am here. Let me look at your injury.”
Mma Thandi quickly and gently examined Yaw thoroughly. “You have fractured your leg, my boy. Lots of minor scratches and bruising.” She reached into the satchel around her waist and produced a vial of liquid. “Drink this, it will help with the pain.”
She waited a few minutes for the medicine to take effect as she gathered some branches to make a splint and a stretcher to drag Yaw back to the village.
Looking deeply into Yaw’s eyes, she said, “You must be brave, my boy. I am going to need to set your leg. It will be painful.”
Yaw tensed and replied, “I will do my best, Mma. Thank the gods that you were nearby.”
Mma grasped Yaw’s leg and manipulated it into the proper position. Yaw tried not to cry out but moaned as she did this. Mma quickly secured the leg by wrapping vines. She gently placed him on the makeshift stretcher, demonstrating strength exceeding her size. She then began the slow journey back to her hut. Thankfully, Yaw fell into a deep sleep.
Yaw was determined to regain his mobility and strength over the next few weeks of his recovery. He followed Mamma’s advice and worked hard to improve every day.
Kwame’s Capture
On another day, Kwame patrolled alone through the dense forest. He was searching, his eyes and ears alert to every sound. He had gotten word of a warring tribe encroaching on their territory, and Kwame, one of the village’s skilled warriors, had decided to scout the area.
He silently moved through the underbrush, and a sudden snap of an actual twig drew his attention—a net dropped from the trees above wrapped him and halted his movement. Kwame struggled to get free; the tighter the net became, the more he thought.
Men with faces painted with more symbols and anger and determination in their eyes moved out of the cover of the trees. These men had been waiting, anticipating the warrior’s arrival. They moved swiftly as a team, binding the prisoners’ hands and feet with ropes.
The invaders threw them onto the back of a horse. The tribes leader stepped forward to him. He was tall and had a commanding presence. “You are a brave warrior, the chief said, “today you are also our prisoner.”
Kwame glared at the leader, his voice steady, even though he was fuming angrily. “Yes, you captured me, but my spirit remains free.”
The enemy leader’s eyes narrowed. “We will see about that.”
A small group of the warriors escorted Kwame. His mind was focused on his village and his people, whom he knew he had to protect. He knew that his capture would hurt them around him. He had to stay strong. The journey was long and complex as they crossed more rugged territory, approaching the tribes camp.
Kwame was led to a small makeshift prison in the invaders’ camp. The prison was made up of the surrounding wall of wooden stakes. The tribes camp was alive with warriors sharpening their weapons, children playing near the tents, and women preparing to cook fires. The air was thick with the smell of roasting meat and the rhythmic drumming.
Several of the warriors stood guard at this makeshift prison. Their faces were stern. Kwame was pushed inside the prison. The door slammed shut behind him. he looked around, noting that the guards were placed strategically and studying the camp’s layout. He could see the layout. He could see the layout. He could see the layout. He could see that this tribe was well-organized and prepared for theimpending conflict with the village. Kwame sat in his cell. He pondered his training in the wisdom of the village elders. He had to remain calm and focused.
It was a long night. Kwame knew that his village would come and try to find him. Until they did, he would wait, biding his time to gather his strength for any opportunity to escape.
The sun broke over the horizon when the tribe leader approached the prison. “And have you reconsidered your position, warrior?” He asked.
Kwame glared into the leader’s eyes, “I will never betray my village.”
The leader nodded and seemed to have respect in his eyes. “You’re going to remain our prisoner, but I find your courage admirable.”
Hope was beginning to dwindle as the days turned into weeks. One morning, the tribes leader returned with a stranger dressed in fine robes. The stranger’s eyes gleamed with interest as they looked Kwame up and down.
“This is the warrior I told you of,” the leader told the stranger. “He’s firm, he’s very resilient.” The stranger smiled and nodded. “He will fetch a good price.” Kwame suddenly realized that this tribe intended to sell him. He was devastated. They led him out of the enclosure and brought him before the stranger, who examined him closely. “You will come with me,” the stranger said coldly.
Kwame was bound again and placed in a cart alongside other captives. They were traveling to the slave market. It was a long, difficult trip; the captives weren’t
The Slave Market
When they got to the slave market, the captives were paraded around, being shown off to the gathered merchants looking to purchase enslaved people. The man who had brought him here bragged about how strong and skilled they all were. The potential buyers murmured among themselves, apparently interested, and some bids were placed. Kwame searched for and considered methods to escape, but the guards were vigilant.
One man who was not from Africa spent a great deal of time examining Kwame. Kameko tried to look as if he didn’t notice the attention, as he studied the strangely dressed white man.
The man finally approached the band leader, who had captured Kwame, and said, “I will have this man.” He offered a substantial amount of money. The merchant accepted the offer and returned the Kwame to the new owner. As they were leading him away, Kwame promised he would find a way to regain his freedom and return tohis village. His battle was far from over. He was determined to face whatever obstacles lay ahead.
Kwame’s new owner rapidly arranged his transfer to a slave ship. Their journey to the Port was grueling. Kwame and the other captives were chained together, and they were forced to march despite the scorching hot sun. The guard showed no mercy. They prodded the enslaved people with occasional whiplash and harsh talk.
When they reached the port, they saw an enslaved person ship, a massive vessel towering in a dark, foreboding presence. Seagulls cried out as the smell of salt was in the air. Kwame and the others were herded onto the ship, their chains clanking as they walked across the wooden deck. The ship’s captain, a burly man with a weathered face, looked every enslaved person over with a critical eye. “These will do,” the captain told Kwame’s owner. “This one will especially fetch a good price in the overseas markets.”
Kwame ended up below deck. This is the living area, which was cramped and suffocating. The only light came from tiny barred windows; the air was stale and repulsive. All of the captives were chained to the walls. They could only move a few feet in either direction. The sounds of the ship creaking and the waves crashing against the hull filled the air. As the ship set sail, quiet thoughts returned to his village and his people. He knew his journey would be long, and he hoped to one day regain his freedom. His battle was far from over. He knew he would face whatever challenges with the strength and resilience he had learned from his father.
Exposed to harsh conditions and very little food, his spirit remained unbroken. He knew, though, his fate was now uncertain.
Bill Clark 