The Penguin Book of Migration Literature
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However, that isn’t the whole story: other writers voice a triumphant mood of presence and innovation. Safia Elhillo’s elegantly woven poem “origin stories (reprise)” consists of multiplying and competing origin narratives that eventually settle calmly into a strong matrilineal sense of self. Atta’s “Green” closes with the exultant sequence “This is it. Me, scoring. My mom looking like she loves soccer. My dad looking like he really loves the President. Three of us, looking like we really belong.” Tato Laviera’s vibrant poem “AmeRícan” defies a simplistic model of assimilation as cultural loss, insisting that “we blend / and mix all that is good!” By revising “American” into “AmeRícan,” Laviera shows how Puerto Rican internal migrants alter their destination as well as themselves, just as Selvon’s migrants forcefully transform Britain into Brit’n. Food, music, religion, names, language: every element of both origin and host cultures changes irrevocably as new generations evolve and thrive.
RETURNS
Many of the pieces throughout The Penguin Book of Migration Literature emphasize the continual and multidirectional nature of migration, which is not a discrete process but an ongoing condition. Therefore I have also included a brief, one-item mini-section to reinforce that sense of flux. Some of the migrations included here may be permanent, but others (such as those depicted in Unnikrishnan’s and Lewycka’s excerpts) are temporary or partial. In Laviera’s description, “across forth and across back / back across and forth back / forth across and back and forth / our trips are walking bridges!” And even when migrations are physically permanent, homelands still linger on an emotional level. This last section consists solely of Pauline Kaldas’s short story “A Conversation,” which captures a dilemma common to many migrants and their children. Kaldas’s unresolved dialogue stands in eloquently for a number of other literary explorations of migrant returns, such as Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Americanah, Naomi Jackson’s The Star Side of Bird Hill, Tayeb Salih’s Season of Migration to the North, and Zoë Wicomb’s October. These works present a multifaceted and composite vision of migration that is more complex than my own table of contents might indicate.
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The Penguin Book of Migration Literature contains those poems, stories, and excerpts that I have most enjoyed teaching, and feel most compelled to share with a wider audience. My selections are inevitably subjective and massively incomplete; there is practically an infinite number of other gorgeous and compelling works that I could have included. For this reason I have added a list of reading and viewing suggestions at the end of the volume—print sources as well as film and online materials. Here I have gathered many titles that I would have loved to include but could not for reasons of space. While I aimed for a wide range of migrations and migration experiences, given the breadth of the topic, many significant migration routes do not appear in this anthology. The “Suggestions for Further Reading and Viewing” is more comprehensive, comprising important routes (Europe to the United States; West Africa to France; Latin America to Spain); aspects of the migration experience (sex trafficking; statelessness; long-term detention; family separation at borders); and specific catastrophic events (Russian pogroms against Jews; the Armenian genocide; the Holocaust; the 1947 Partition of India and Pakistan; the 1948 Palestinian Nakba; mass exoduses driven by armed conflict, in Vietnam, Liberia, Rwanda, and Yugoslavia, among other places). Like the table of contents, the “Suggestions for Further Reading and Viewing” indicates the specific migration routes depicted in a particular text or film.
When planning the anthology I omitted some older materials (such as John Winthrop’s “A Model of Christian Charity”) that would have enriched the collection but that I felt had already been widely circulated elsewhere; Penguin Classics features an impressive collection of historical writings on European exploration and migration, including the travel writings of Marco Polo, Columbus, and Cabeza de Vaca, as well as the Mayflower Papers, to which readers may turn. I steered away, as well, from nineteenth- and early-twentieth-century US-based writings likely to appear in multiple anthologies of US immigrant literature. Many of these, too, are available in Penguin Classics, from Mary Antin’s The Promised Land to Anzia Yezierska’s Hungry Hearts.
The writings collected here represent only a sliver of literature on migration. Indeed, one could commit to reading only fiction and poetry about migration and still barely scratch the surface of this critical topic. The history of migration, after all, is the history of humanity. Even the supplementary list of suggestions for further reading and viewing is itself necessarily incomplete: migrations will continue; migrants will suffer and flourish; new migration stories will be written, sung, painted, filmed, and coded. I encourage interested readers to visit the website migrationliterature.weebly.com, where I will keep an ongoing list of migration literature to which I invite you to contribute.
In closing, I will turn to our contents pages and ask readers to consider how the bleakness of the first epigraph (“no one leaves home unless home is the mouth of a shark”) contrasts with the optimism of the last one (“defining myself my own way any way many / many ways”). It is up to those of us already in destination countries to mitigate the former and ensure the latter—and to act toward better conditions in origin countries—so that all migrations may be as optional and joyous as they are enriching.
DOHRA AHMAD
DEPARTURES
no one leaves home unless home is the mouth of a shark
—WARSAN SHIRE, “HOME”
OLAUDAH EQUIANO
From
THE INTERESTING NARRATIVE OF THE LIFE OF OLAUDAH EQUIANO
CHAPTER I
. . .
That part of Africa, known by the name of Guinea, to which the trade for slaves is carried on, extends along the coast above 3400 miles, from the Senegal to Angola, and includes a variety of kingdoms. Of these the most considerable is the kingdom of Benen, both as to extent and wealth, the richness and cultivation of the soil, the power of its king, and the number and warlike disposition of the inhabitants . . . This kingdom is divided into many provinces or districts: in one of the most remote and fertile of which, called Eboe, I was born, in the year 1745, in a charming fruitful vale, named Essaka. The distance of this province from the capital of Benin and the sea coast must be very considerable; for I had never heard of white men or Europeans, nor of the sea . . .
As we live in a country where nature is prodigal of her favours, our wants are few and easily supplied; of course we have few manufactures. They consist for the most part of calicoes, earthern ware, ornaments, and instruments of war and husbandry. But these make no part of our commerce, the principal articles of which, as I have observed, are provisions. In such a state money is of little use; however we have some small pieces of coin, if I may call them such. They are made something like an anchor; but I do not remember either their value or denomination. We have also markets, at which I have been frequently with my mother. These are sometimes visited by stout mahogany-coloured men from the south west of us: we call them Oye-Eboe, which term signifies red men living at a distance. They generally bring us fire-arms, gunpowder, hats, beads, and dried fish. The last we esteemed a great rarity, as our waters were only brooks and springs. These articles they barter with us for odoriferous woods and earth, and our salt of wood ashes. They always carry slaves through our land; but the strictest account is exacted of their manner of procuring them before they are suffered to pass. Sometimes indeed we sold slaves to them, but they were only prisoners of war, or such among us as had been convicted of kidnapping, or adultery, and some other crimes, which we esteemed heinous. This practice of kidnapping induces me to think, that, notwithstanding all our strictness, their principal business among us was to trepan our people. I remember too they carried great sacks along with them, which not long after I had an opportunity of fatally seeing applied to that infamous purpose.
Our land is uncommonly rich a
nd fruitful, and produces all kinds of vegetables in great abundance. We have plenty of Indian corn, and vast quantities of cotton and tobacco. Our pine apples grow without culture; they are about the size of the largest sugar-loaf, and finely flavoured. We have also spices of different kinds, particularly pepper; and a variety of delicious fruits which I have never seen in Europe; together with gums of various kinds, and honey in abundance. All our industry is exerted to improve those blessings of nature. Agriculture is our chief employment; and every one, even the children and women, are engaged in it. Thus we are all habituated to labour from our earliest years. Every one contributes something to the common stock; and as we are unacquainted with idleness, we have no beggars. The benefits of such a mode of living are obvious. The West India planters prefer the slaves of Benin or Eboe to those of any other part of Guinea, for their hardiness, intelligence, integrity, and zeal . . .
. . .
Such is the imperfect sketch my memory has furnished me with of the manners and customs of a people among whom I first drew my breath . . .
CHAPTER II
. . .
I have already acquainted the reader with the time and place of my birth. My father, besides many slaves, had a numerous family, of which seven lived to grow up, including myself and a sister, who was the only daughter. As I was the youngest of the sons, I became, of course, the greatest favourite with my mother, and was always with her; and she used to take particular pains to form my mind. I was trained up from my earliest years in the art of war; my daily exercise was shooting and throwing javelins; and my mother adorned me with emblems, after the manner of our greatest warriors. In this way I grew up till I was turned the age of eleven, when an end was put to my happiness in the following manner:—Generally when the grown people in the neighbourhood were gone far in the fields to labour, the children assembled together in some of the neighbours’ premises to play; and commonly some of us used to get up a tree to look out for any assailant, or kidnapper, that might come upon us; for they sometimes took those opportunities of our parents’ absence to attack and carry off as many as they could seize. One day, as I was watching at the top of a tree in our yard, I saw one of those people come into the yard of our next neighbour but one, to kidnap, there being many stout young people in it. Immediately on this I gave the alarm of the rogue, and he was surrounded by the stoutest of them, who entangled him with cords, so that he could not escape till some of the grown people came and secured him. But alas! ere long it was my fate to be thus attacked, and to be carried off, when none of the grown people were nigh. One day, when all our people were gone out to their works as usual, and only I and my dear sister were left to mind the house, two men and a woman got over our walls, and in a moment seized us both, and, without giving us time to cry out, or make resistance, they stopped our mouths, and ran off with us into the nearest wood. Here they tied our hands, and continued to carry us as far as they could, till night came on, when we reached a small house, where the robbers halted for refreshment, and spent the night. We were then unbound, but were unable to take any food; and, being quite overpowered by fatigue and grief, our only relief was some sleep, which allayed our misfortune for a short time. The next morning we left the house, and continued travelling all the day. For a long time we had kept the woods, but at last we came into a road which I believed I knew. I had now some hopes of being delivered; for we had advanced but a little way before I discovered some people at a distance, on which I began to cry out for their assistance: but my cries had no other effect than to make them tie me faster and stop my mouth, and then they put me into a large sack. They also stopped my sister’s mouth, and tied her hands; and in this manner we proceeded till we were out of the sight of these people. When we went to rest the following night they offered us some victuals; but we refused it; and the only comfort we had was in being in one another’s arms all that night, and bathing each other with our tears. But alas! we were soon deprived of even the small comfort of weeping together. The next day proved a day of greater sorrow than I had yet experienced; for my sister and I were then separated, while we lay clasped in each other’s arms. It was in vain that we besought them not to part us; she was torn from me, and immediately carried away, while I was left in a state of distraction not to be described. I cried and grieved continually; and for several days I did not eat any thing but what they forced into my mouth. At length, after many days travelling, during which I had often changed masters, I got into the hands of a chieftain, in a very pleasant country. This man had two wives and some children, and they all used me extremely well, and did all they could to comfort me; particularly the first wife, who was something like my mother. Although I was a great many days journey from my father’s house, yet these people spoke exactly the same language with us . . .
Soon after this my master’s only daughter, and child by his first wife, sickened and died, which affected him so much that for some time he was almost frantic, and really would have killed himself, had he not been watched and prevented. However, in a small time afterwards he recovered, and I was again sold. I was now carried to the left of the sun’s rising, through many different countries, and a number of large woods. The people I was sold to used to carry me very often, when I was tired, either on their shoulders or on their backs. I saw many convenient well-built sheds along the roads, at proper distances, to accommodate the merchants and travellers, who lay in those buildings along with their wives, who often accompany them; and they always go well armed.
From the time I left my own nation I always found somebody that understood me till I came to the sea coast. The languages of different nations did not totally differ, nor were they so copious as those of the Europeans, particularly the English. They were therefore easily learned; and, while I was journeying thus through Africa, I acquired two or three different tongues. In this manner I had been travelling for a considerable time, when one evening, to my great surprise, whom should I see brought to the house where I was but my dear sister! As soon as she saw me she gave a loud shriek, and ran into my arms—I was quite overpowered: neither of us could speak; but, for a considerable time, clung to each other in mutual embraces, unable to do any thing but weep. Our meeting affected all who saw us; and indeed I must acknowledge, in honour of those sable destroyers of human rights, that I never met with any ill treatment, or saw any offered to their slaves, except tying them, when necessary, to keep them from running away. When these people knew we were brother and sister they indulged us together; and the man, to whom I supposed we belonged, lay with us, he in the middle, while she and I held one another by the hands across his breast all night; and thus for a while we forgot our misfortunes in the joy of being together: but even this small comfort was soon to have an end; for scarcely had the fatal morning appeared, when she was again torn from me for ever! I was now more miserable, if possible, than before. The small relief which her presence gave me from pain was gone, and the wretchedness of my situation was redoubled by my anxiety after her fate, and my apprehensions lest her sufferings should be greater than mine, when I could not be with her to alleviate them. Yes, thou dear partner of all my childish sports! thou sharer of my joys and sorrows! happy should I have ever esteemed myself to encounter every misery for you, and to procure your freedom by the sacrifice of my own. Though you were early forced from my arms, your image has been always rivetted in my heart, from which neither time nor fortune have been able to remove it; so that, while the thoughts of your sufferings have damped my prosperity, they have mingled with adversity and increased its bitterness. To that Heaven which protects the weak from the strong, I commit the care of your innocence and virtues, if they have not already received their full reward, and if your youth and delicacy have not long since fallen victims to the violence of the African trader, the pestilential stench of a Guinea ship, the seasoning in the European colonies, or the lash and lust of a brutal and unrelenting overseer.