Rococoa

by Balogun Ojetade (ed)

  As Ijeoma and Aneesa’s boat came around the bend, they saw another craft with two boys throwing their nets into the water. One youth was the size of Ijeoma. The other one was much larger and had longer hair.

  Both boys seemed strong. Their skin was as dark as midnight, and their muscles shone bronze in the sunlight. The young men’s teeth were so white and shiny they could be seen across the river. The larger boy threw a sharp stick into the water with a rope tied to the end of it.

  “Meeng-gah-bou!” said the larger boy as he looked down at his fishing partner. “The women are here early, too! Don’t let them see that we haven’t caught any fish yet.”

  The sisters steered their boat up beside the men. “Ga Kojo, I see you came early to see if you can out fish us!” Ijeoma called out. “I’m sorry, but you and Kwame will not be winning today. We have a hungry village to feed.”

  “You will lose this time!” Ga Kojo said.

  “I have a new fishing tool. And we have already caught a few fish.” Kojo said.

  “Is that why Kwame’s net is dry?” the young woman taunted. “Do not lie to me Kojo! You are no better a fisher, than Kwame is a fighter. Let us get on our way then, and see who will be the better team.”

  Aneesa stood and almost fell, as she threw her fishing net over the side of the boat. Kwame quickly stood and threw his net into the water as well.

  “We cannot lose to these girls again Kojo! Enough with your silly fishing pole! Fishing has not changed since the time before our fathers. Now sit down and help me win this contest.”

  ####

  The two groups fished until sun set. As the river began to darken, they made their ways to the shore. They quickly pulled their boats out of the water, and unloaded their baskets of fish.

  “Those are very big fish that you have caught, Aneesa,” Kwame said. He smiled slyly. “Let me see one of them.” He reached toward her basket.

  She balled up her fist, and shook it in front of Kwame’s face. “Touch one of my fish and I will toss you in the water!”

  The young man laughed. “Look at this small fist.” He cupped Aneesa’s hand. “It looks like a decoration. What, may I ask, do you plan to do with a little fist like this?”

  “I bet this little fist caught more fish than you did.”

  “Just be glad we let you fish here, in our tribe’s water.” Kojo retorted.

  “What do you mean?” Aneesa bristled. “The river is not the possession of any single tribe. It is here for us all.”

  “You are as wise as you are beautiful. You will make quite the wife one day. Maybe I will come rescue you away from your poor tribe, and bring you to live with the kings and Nanas of my tribe.” Kojo grabbed his fishing pole, and placed it next to their pile of baskets.

  “You can’t even out-fish me, how will you be able to afford me.” Aneesa said, while smiling. She dropped her last basket, making her and her sister’s total of four baskets one more than Kwame and Kojo’s three.

  Ijeoma grinned. “We won again! It is always nice to fish with you.”

  As the four sat down, a twig snapped loudly behind them. Kojo grabbed his fishing pole.

  “That sounds like a monkey or something,” Kwame scoffed. “Put that fishing stick down!”

  The brush behind them was pushed aside. Ten heavy-set white men stepped through. Two of them were holding long rifles. The men wore clothes that fitted around their legs, chest and arms loosely. Their bodies were hairy, they looked dirty and they reeked of body waste.

  “Look what we’ve got here!” the fattest one of the white men said in a language the four barely understood.

  “Yes, Cortland,” his blond friend replied. “It seems they have also brought us lunch.”

  “What do you want from us sicklings?” Ijeoma demanded. She spoke the language of whites, once helped by her tribe.

  “Dirk, this one knows English!” the fat one exclaimed. “And we’re not sick!”

  He grabbed Kwame.

  The youth flipped him over his back.

  Another white man punched Aneesa knocking her to the ground.

  Kojo grabbed his fishing pole and threw it into the chest of a white man.

  Ijeoma was punched in the stomach.

  She returned with a blow to the face of her attacker.

  Kojo rose to throw another of his fish spears, but was shot in the chest before it could leave his hand. His body was blown across his boat, landing in the water.

  Ijeoma and Aneesa froze, as the other whites pointed guns at them.

  Kwame turned toward his brother’s motionless body, floating on its back in the Niger’s water. “Kojo!”

  Rifles were pointed at each of the three friends’ heads. They were shackled and led to the brush to a group of other shackled Africans.

  They were dragged through the woods and forced to walk the whole night.

  The other African captives were so battered, they could not utter any words.

  Just before dawn, they reached a large stone building surrounded by water.

  Kwame was separated from the women, who were pushed into a dark room with only a small opening in the top.

  The room smelled of human waste and rotten flesh.

  They could hardly see each other and could not make out any of the other women.

  “Aneesa are you okay?” Ijeoma said.

  By now, both sisters were tired and scared.

  “Yes. What happened? Is our tribe at war?” Aneesa asked.

  “I don’t think so. They told us this building was a castle, but it’s a dungeon of some sort. This is no war! War is fair, this is a sneaky capture!”

  “I wish Kojo had killed all of them!”

  “We must calm ourselves, so we can think of a way out,” Ijeoma said.

  The other women in the room moaned and cried. The sun beaming through the small window, was the only light they had. Ijeoma held her sister close. They closed their eyes and the smells and sounds of their Slavers faded.

  ####

  The wooden door opened. “Bring him four women and one boy for me,” said a white, red-haired man pointing a rifle. Two other pudgy men strained to keep the heavy door ajar.

  Ijeoma and Aneesa fell back, covering their eyes from the glaring sunlight. One of the men walked through and grabbed Ijeoma, Aneesa and two other women.

  “Let me see them first.” The red-haired man said.

  The captives were pulled to their feet and spun around before the man. Two of the women were thin, and coughed when their clothes were opened.

  “I will take these three,” the man with the rifle said, as he pointed to all but Ijeoma. “Take this large one back to the hole. She will fetch a high price at the market – that is, if she, or any of these withered animals, can make it.”

  Ijeoma jerked Aneesa back as they pulled her away. “Get off of my sister!”

  One of the pudgy men hit Ijeoma in the back.

  She turned toward him, blocking the next blow and two more before the butt of another white man’s rifle crashed into her jaw, knocking her to the ground.

  “Gentlemen,” the red-haired man ordered. “You must stop playing with these savages!” “As you can see, they get quite aggressive when they are from the same tribe or family. That is why you must separate them all. They must not be able to even communicate with each other. We will ready the ship and leave before night fall. Notify the crew that they have two hours to finish up their fornication.”

  Ijeoma was dragged into another dark room and thrown inside. Before her blurry vision fully dissipated, she saw Aneesa taken upstairs.

  Two

  Ijeoma rocked from side to side. Her eyes opened and closed. Images of her Slavers, Kojo being shot and Aneesa being snatched away, flashed before her. The screams of Kwame and Aneesa grew in volume, growing louder and louder – so loud her head began to throb.

  The screams merged with the moans outside of the realms of her mind. She opened her eyes to find she was shackled to the other female
slaves. The smell of salt and the rocking of the room, told her she was in the Palm of Yemoja – the endless water only the big men of her village could fish or swim in.

  “Wha, wha!” the lady next to her screamed. Ijeoma jumped and nudged another woman in her side. The woman’s only response was a soft moan.

  “What is this place? Where is my sister? Aneesa! Kwame! Somebody tell me what is going on!” Ijeoma cried. A chorus of voices answered her.

  “We are captives of the Devil, being punished for something we have done wrong!” a man’s voice said.

  “They are white traders!” another voice exclaimed. “Maybe they are going to sell us to the Arabs or Moors!”

  “They can’t be Arabs, they did not mention Islam,” another voice from the far end of the room said.

  “I was taken with my sister, Aneesa, and another boy named Kwame!” Ijeoma said. “We were just fishing!”

  “The Arabs don’t have boats this big!” the male voice said. “My village was raided by Arabs two seasons ago. We were converted to Islam and I was given the name Kalif.””

  “My name is Maremba I was given to them with my uncle. We were supposed to be representatives from our tribe to their tribe. As soon as we got out of the village, we were beaten and shackled.”

  “My best friend, Kojo and I were taken in by the Mali tribe, after our parents were killed by Arab and Moor raiders,” a young male voice said.

  “Kwame, the fisherman is that you?” Ijeoma said.

  “Yes, Ijeoma! Where is your sister?” Kwame said.

  Ijeoma bowed her head. “I don’t know.” She began to sob.

  ####

  The door of the ship’s hull squeaked open and moonlight shone through. Three heavyset white men walked into the center of the room. A thin white man with a long beard followed. He was holding a scroll tablet.

  “Amazing,” the thin man said, while looking around the hull. “You have taken a three-mask, galley warship and simply boarded up the cannons ports. This ship was designed for the British Royal Navy. It carries eighteen six-pound cannons. It was not designed for human cargo.”

  “Take the dead blacks, and pile them over here,” The largest of the men said, pointing to the right. “We’ll wait until morning, and throw them into the water. I like to watch the sharks tear apart their flesh.”

  The thin man looked shocked. “Commander Millroy, you mean to tell me, you’re just going to throw them overboard?”

  “Mr. Clarkson, you may have been given permission from the Lloyds’ market to work with us,” Commander Millroy sneered. “But those prissy businessmen from London know nothing of the trade of these savages. I must remind you that this is a Dutch Trading vessel and you could find yourself fighting off sharks in the morning if you do not mind your tongue.”

  Clarkson turned red. “Captain Alonso, my employer, is far from a byproduct of Holland! I am well aware of your country’s pride and involvement in this Atlantic trade.”

  “But mind you this,” Clarkson went on, “I am not only an inspector for the Lloyds council. My trip is partly funded by the Brotherhood of Abolitionists. Therefore, my dear, Dutch trader, if you want to continue to brave these seas, and make a living in trade, you would be wise to make my return to England a safe one! Or you will find yourself in a British jail!”

  The white men inspected the various African captives separating the ones who were dead from the living. The woman shackled to Ijeoma was still moaning when they unchained her. She let out another soft moan when her heavy chains were unlocked.

  “What are you doing? This woman is still alive!” Mr. Clarkson said.

  “Mr. Clarkson this is not the work for the squeamish,” Millroy drawled. “This is a dirty job. You enjoy your tea from the East and sugar from the Caribbean. But you are having a hard time accepting where they come from.”

  “What does the treatment of this woman have to do with my love of tea?” Clarkson shot back.

  “She is rotten and will be jettisoned with the dead. She will die before morning. And if she hasn’t already infected these others God, has blessed us. A rotten one like her could destroy entire booty. We are very lucky if she hasn’t already passed her disease on.”

  Commander Millroy grabbed Ijeoma by the arm. “Look! She is next to this strong female! This young one could balance our books and yield a lot of your beloved sugar barrels when we make it to Hispaniola.”

  Clarkson shook his head in disgust. “I’m surprised any of these people make it anywhere, being treated like this. No wonder the Lloyds only insure one third of your cargo. These people need food and water.”

  “I have heard enough from you! If you continue to be a nuisance to me, I will have the captain lock you in your quarters for the remainder of the trip. That is something, my good fellow, well within our agreement with the Lloyds.”

  “Very well, commander Millroy. I will document my observations and you will hear no more from me.”

  The men continued to examine the African captives in the room, and pull dead slaves out. Then they passed out cups of water, and tossed them bread to eat.

  ####

  “Ijeoma, I do not know what is happening to us!” Kwame seethed. “But as soon as I get my hands free, I will knock one of those rock shooters out of their hands and seek Kojo’s revenge!”

  “Kwame, I think I have an idea,” said Ijeoma, “Do you remember why you have to club a Tiger fish when you take them out of the water?”

  ####

  The next morning, all of the captives were dragged on deck and allowed to exercise. Ijeoma gazed into the waters of Yemoja. She looked on as the sick woman next to her was pushed over the side of the ship.

  Ijeoma closed her eyes in horror, when she saw large fish devouring their flesh. She also observed the size of the ship… and each of the men working on it. Just when she heard the command to bring them back down to the dark room, the young woman fell to the floor and began moaning.

  “What is wrong with this big one?” a pudgy white asked.

  “She is too big to have her thrown in the water,” another slaver replied. “Give her a second ration of water and bread. Maybe it will strengthen her by morning.”

  “Very well then.”

  ####

  That night in the captive’s quarters, Ijeoma moaned and made herself vomit. She lay in the vomit and smeared it over her body. When the men came down to pass the drinking cups and inspect for dead, Ijeoma closed her eyes and lay still.

  “Well it seems Mr. Clarkson has brought us bad luck!” a slaver exclaimed. “This big one has caught the dead disease, from the old one we threw over this morning.” He unshackled Ijeoma, and tried to pick her up. He gestured to his pudgy friend: “Dirk grab her legs…”

  They tossed Ijeoma into the pile of dead. Ijeoma lay motionless until the door was closed again. The she pushed through the few bodies laying over her and stuck only her head out.

  Lying in the pile of dead bodies, Ijeoma was reminded of an experience with her father. She was clubbing fish in their boat, and her father asked: “Why are you so passionately killing the fish?”

  Ijeoma pointed to her father’s leg and told him she did not want the tiger fish to jump out and bite her like they did him. Tiger fish would lay motionless in the boat and, without warning, wake up and hop back in the water or bite the fisherman.

  Her father said: “Even a fish has a spirit. It is still a life you are ending. We are fishermen not killers. Killers take lives for no reason. We take lives for food. We honor the spirit of the animal by eating its body and not giving it a gruesome death.”

  He looked into her eyes. “Be mindful of the taking of life and ending spirits. Even ending the spirit of an animal has an effect on the hunter. If you fail to respect that, you can become a murderer. A hunter – even a fish hunter – can be a dangerous person.”

  After thinking about what her father said, she asked: “Father, why didn’t you tell me this before I clubbed my first fish?”

&
nbsp; Her father’s face was solemn. “I am telling you this now, so you will only club fish.”

  The smell of dead flesh was nauseating. But not enough to wipe out Ijeoma’s fear that she would become the very thing her father warned her of – a murderer.

  Dirk and two other men walked down the stairs to the holding room. “We are going to have to call in a claim for this entire booty,” Dirk complained, “If we continue to lose slaves at this rate.”

  “I think the captain enjoys fornicating with the savage women too much and we stayed at the fort longer than we should have,” another man said.

  Dirk joined in their laughter. “Well you can’t blame him for that. I find myself lost in the flesh of these primitives.”

  The third slaver held a long rifle pointed to the ground, as the two others walked among the Africans. “Just make this fast because I do not enjoy the smell of dead flesh. We only have two weeks left. I won’t make it, doing this every day. I’ll have to climb the mast or something.”

  A body slammed against the third man, knocking him into a group of waiting Africans. Ijeoma’s legs swung into Dirk, and the second white man.

  Kwame caught Dirk and twisted his head. He squeezed, gritting his bright white teeth until he heard the snap of Dirk’s neck.

  Ijeoma jumped on the other mate and delivered a blow to his groin.

  The mate was only able to open his mouth before her fist connected with his jaw, knocking him to the hard wood floor.

  Kwame found the keys to the shackles in Dirk’s pants. Free of his shackles, he joined the other Africans. He found another African, named Kalif, struggling with the slaver holding the rifle. In the next instant, the gun was pulled from the white man’s hand and the rifle barrel came crashing down on – and through – his skull.

  “I say we kill them all!” Ijeoma said, pulling the long rifle out of the fat white man’s head. “There are at least 75 of us and fifty are strong enough to fight! Twenty white men remain on the other side of this door! I am going to kill as many of them as my strength allows. I ask that you do the same.”

  Kwame unlocked Kalif and the rest of the captives. They rushed to the deck, attacking the ship’s crew with great speed and stealth.