“Tides of a Black Hope” Nneka Sophie Amalu Tides of a Black Hope - Smashwords Edition Published by Nneka Sophie Amalu at Smashwords Copyright© 2012 by Nneka Sophie Amalu All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system without permission in writing from copyright owner. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, events or locale is entirely coincidental. Smashwords Edition, License Notes This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. “Move fast! We cannot delay anymore! Can’t you see its getting late? They guards roared. “Let u..us rest a lit…little before we continue the journey” a stammering captive suggested. Fear gripped Amanabiefori as the voices and footsteps of the local soldiers and the captured villagers drew closer as he ran back to inform his friends who were at the swamp hideout of the approaching soldiers. They trembled on their feet as the heard the bushes rustle; in readiness to run thinking, it was the soldiers, only for Amanabiefori to rush in panting like a frightened dog. “Shhh be silent! Be silent!” He said before placing his fingers on his mouth for emphasis. This was their sixth day of hiding and running from one place to another without food or clean water to drink. The fear of wild animals and numerous insects of the swamp were frightening; more frightening was the fear of their own soldiers capturing and selling them to the Whiteman. They had their hearts in their mouths, as the voices became clearer. “Leave me alone, you’re very wicked,” another captive said aloud after the whip had landed on his back. Amanabiefori seemed to have recognized the voice of the captive, but was not sure of whom the captive was. “Could it be Obelem, his cousin? Was he released from prison or was he caught trying to escape?” he pondered confusingly. “We must leave here as soon as possible,” his friend, pointed out the obvious. “Not as soon as…but right now!” Amanabiefori shouted with order in his voice after he gave up trying to decipher whose voice it was. Chaos, slave raids running and hiding, killings, weeping and sympathizing were the major events of the day in Bonny, a State in the Eastern Delta regions, at the end of the 18th century, the year 1769 precisely. An era when buying and selling of slaves in Africa became the main commodity sought by the European traders and all other items of commerce like palm and fish became secondary to the lucrative business of supplying the Americas with cheap labour force. The slave raid intensified even more quickly as they British established treaties with King Perekule and the local chiefs. The chances for Amanabiefori and his friends to escape were very slim. He thought of how his mother and his little sister, who was barely four years old, would cope without him. “Who would cut the firewood and fetch water for the drums?” he asked himself guiltily. However, in the midst of his friends; Finiyenimbo and Abbiyesuku, he couldn’t understand why this sudden feeling of loneliness had engulfed him. He would have wished to be a slave in his fatherland if only he knew what white slavery was all about. His legal position would not be much better though, but his customary situation would have been significantly different. He would be a member of his master’s family, be a worker but a worker with rights. Punishment was certain if he did wrong, and if he had management and military skills, he could rise to an eminent position. The idea of slavery to the Europeans was a different ball game entirely. A slave was a person who was an absolute property to his master; he could never own property or even marry without the consent of his master and could never own his freedom. The master could treat his slave anyhow and could even kill him. Tamuno-Igoni paced from one corner of the room to another with thoughts of what might have happened to Amanabiefori, it had been twelve days now and yet, no news of his whereabouts. “He would come back when everything is all right,” Tamuno-Tonye her twin sister, told her hopefully. Igoni cried out aloud, “maybe he’s dead or captured”. ‘The gods forbid’ she rebuked loudly. She never really understood what the slave raid or trade was all about; all she knew was that their able-bodied men, sold by their so-called king and chiefs, taken somewhere unknown deprived them “the locals” of the labour needed in their farms, poultries and homes. Most of their people even benefitted from the trade as intermediaries. The slave trade or the trans-Atlantic slave trade was a big business employing many men, large capital and was highly organized both in Africa and in Europe. The commercial demand came from the Americas, the distributive initiative from Europe and the supply from Africa, West Africa especially. Tonye had to leave in other to make supper and for whatever reason, she had wished that such an episode of brutality, barbarism and dehumanization were only scenes in her dream, but this was reality! Suddenly, it crossed Igoni’s mind after she had brought the tray of fish, which was drying on the rooftop of the kitchen that she had not seen her ‘soon-to-be mother-in-law”, Amanabiefori’s mother for a while. “Sister I’m coming o,” she shouted while leaving the kitchen. The trade by barter with metal bars, knives, guns and ammunitions, liquors, clothes and mirrors with their indigenes increased rapidly, many White masters had to complete their transactions as quick as possible in other to leave the next day in other to avoid loss of life from tropical diseases. Unknowingly, to some runaways, that night was their last on the soil of their fatherland. Before the cocks crowed and the birds sang that morning, the chiefs had already sent some soldiers to go in search for the runaways who would never had expected it at such an hour. Amanabiefori and his friends, unfortunately, were victims of this raid. As the boarded them on the ship for the journey across the Atlantic commonly called the ‘middle passage’, Amanabiefori found that the other slaves were not only people from his area, but also a ship filled with both women and men from both yorubaland (old Oyo, Egbado) and the Western Niger- Delta (Lagos, Itsekiri). Though he had never seen a ship this gigantic, even bigger than his village, there wasn’t enough space for everyone. They kept them in a crate called a ‘baracoon’ where they were laid and treated less reverently than cattle. As they sojourned to the Americas, the spread of diseases became alarming due to the brutal and unhygienic conditions in the ship. Many slaves never made it to America; Amanabiefori lost his two friends to leprosy. However, the shipmasters also were prone to these diseases; but the £5 to £36 on each slave was worth the risk. Throughout the journey, he thought of Igoni, his mother and sister, they were his only hope of staying alive; he secretly wept and felt so sorry for them that they may never see him again. At Africa, his mother just recovered from a severe heart attack after hearing that the soldiers had captured and taken her son overseas. “It will never be well with them that took my son away” She silently cursed their chiefs who were deeply involved in the slave trade and whom were accumulating wealth in an unsatisfactory form of luxury goods hoarded in their compounds. They used it to increase their political influence and to reward services done. Igoni on hearing what had happened ran in tears to her future mother-in law’s hut to confirm it. “Could she still call her ‘mother-in-law’, when she may never see him forever?” she clapped her hand in a hopeless manner as these thoughts ran through her mind after confirming the news of his capture. Two days later, Igoni woke up filled with thoughts of what she would become without Amanabiefori by her side. “Will I be able to survive without seeing him even for one more time?” “I can’t live without him” she exclaimed loudly. Suddenly, her face brightened like a child who had just seen her mother after one month. She thanked her personal god for giving her such wisdom. “What if this is going to be the worst decision ever made” She wondered as she left her room. In the Americas, the Caribbean regions of Jamaica and Barbados welcomed Amanabiefori with loneliness, tears and fears, though some strength came from somewhere unknown. It was not Igoni, it was neither his mother nor his sister any more. In this area, a black code was enacted to emphasize their status as properties, they had no legal rights, though white slaves were there, but different punishments were prescribed for both who committed the same offence. The conditions there were so damning and they worked each day in a sugar plantation that was wider than the Atlantic Ocean until the sun kissed the earth but they never had the taste of sugar. After few weeks, he made new friends; this helped him forget all about Africa, and when served with dinner at midday, if for any reason they had to leave the plantation together, they carried loads to avoid wasted labour. Many of the slaves were so sick that a lot of them died from diseases such as Small pox, chickenpox, coco yaws and leprosy. The slaves brought these diseases from Africa and it spread like wildfire due to the extremely poor housing, which was small and thatched. Each slave had a mat to lie on, a pot to boil their rations in, spoons and knives and they ate only yams and potatoes with salty fishes. The sufferings were so dehumanizing, brutal and draconian. Amanabiefori and his new friends encouraged each other with hopes of returning to Africa where all their sufferings would end, where they would recollect all the times in America, probably with their children and grand children all seated around them. Sometimes, he pondered, “will such a hope ever come alive? Will he ever get to see Igoni again, his mother or even his sister?” He pictured his death when he woke up one morning and saw that he had gotten chickenpox, now he knew in his heart, that the return to Africa was a mind-play that no one or even he could see in reality. He escaped death, though he didn’t know how but one thing was certain, the climate and topography of the Caribbean regions was a blessing not only to him but to all the slaves. They had less need for clothes and however, got clothes only on Christmas day. They spent most of their free times planning on how to escape like some of their colleagues who escaped successfully and formed ‘maroon communities’. Despite the mountains that encouraged their meetings, they still had to be very careful of the white soldiers who guarded the entire region. Most of their friends had died while attending meetings or trying to escape. As Bonny wept for their sons and daughters, Igoni’s plan had materialized. She started seeing a shipmaster called Townsend, who loved her so much and promised to take her with him. Unknown to him, her plan neared fruition. On the night before she was to leave Bonny, she had developed a cold feet but “courage in danger is half the battle,” she encouraged herself. Only her mother-in law and her best friend, Ibiayemi, whom she had discussed it with, knew about her plan and they promised not to tell anyone, even her family. On board, she prayed fervently and with so much faith that she would see his handsome face even if it was for the last time in her life. It was now that she really had the time to appreciate his manly features. She could see his wide smile and his white set of teeth, his dark big brown eyes she had always made fun of, by calling them owl’s eyes. She smiled as she remembered all the fun they had and it somehow strengthened her. Luckily, although oblivious to her, their stop was in the Americas. She settled down with Townsend in the Whiteman’s lodge, which was far away from the thatched huts of the slaves. She had to know her environment very well and to prove to Townsend that he could trust her with anything before she could make moves in finding her ‘Amana’ as she fondly called him. After three months, she had to stop beating around the bush and search for him. Townsend usually checked on the plantation and monitored the slaves on a weekly basis. He took accounts on both the produce and the slaves who may have died. Impatiently, Igoni decided to follow him for this routine, in order to get a chance to search for her lost African love, Amanabiefori. The most compelling thing was that, they all wore the same clothes and looked almost the same. Hardship had disfigured all of them and she had problems identifying him because they all had to be at their best performances when their masters came around. Crying bitterly in her heart, one morning, Igoni regretted her actions. She had lost hope. “I have served myself stones and I must eat them!” she told herself in tears. She wiped her tears with her hands as Townsend came into the room with the new clothing meant for the slaves. She was to share the clothing the next morning. “Don’t give any piece to ghost” Townsend warned. By ghost, he meant someone who didn’t come to get his piece. “Have you had your dinner?” she rather diverted. As sundown approached the next day, she had about twenty slaves to settle when she noticed she was thinking about those who were at the sick room and couldn’t make it. “Could he be a ghost? Could he be sick?” “Should she follow the voice of her heart or Townsends orders?” “Moreover, this is almost one year that I have searched for him, is there hope of finding him again?”She asked herself. She stood up suddenly, and asked one of the slaves to take her to the slaves’ sickroom. Having disobeyed her man, her “Whiteman”, she had to clear the last ray of hope in her heart that Amanabiefori wasn’t in the sickbay. She had promised to eat her heart if she didn’t find him there; there and then would she know that she had made the worst mistake of her life, a great mistake. These thoughts flowed in her mind as she walked into the sickroom. Seeing the sick slaves, she felt sorry for them. She knew she would be sorrier if Amanabiefori was here. Amanabiefori on his own part had not forgotten his love, his mother or sister, but never felt sorry for leaving them because he had hoped someday he would escape back to Africa. He fantasized how he would go and ask for her hand in marriage as the news of his ordeal, which would have proven his manly ability and capability, should have spread throughout the village. He had pictured what she would wear on their marriage day. “She would be the most beautiful woman in the world that day,” he let out a smile as he imagined. Nevertheless, would his dreams come to reality, when he often fell prone to almost all the illnesses in the slavecamp? He had even imagined her being pregnant probably with their fifth child, he would not mind if they had ten, twelve or even fifteen children. Besides he is the thirteenth and last child of his father, he had decided to make his fifteen as he smiled and forgot about his ailment. The ulcer pangs brought him back to reality, ‘America’ and didn’t even realize that their masters’ mistress was in the room. Igoni saw the first half of the sick slaves and wondered whether to return as the whisperings from the slaves became increasingly loud. “Was returning going to put her off from her misery or would it only complicate issues”? She questioned herself. The odour emanating from the sick slaves were however unbearable though her thoughts masked it a little. Without much strength, she continued while ordering her aide to share the remaining pieces to the slaves and threatening to sack them if a word leaked to their master, Townsend. She stopped abruptly while looking at a man few steps away; she was full of smiles while thanking the gods of Bonny that her plan wasn’t a mistake after all. The smile and praises to the gods died out when she called out to him, aloud ‘Amana’! ‘Amana’! Amanabiefori Odikibiebuma! There wasn’t any response. Coming close only to find out that the man had breathed his last that moment. She felt her heart failing, the room became more tensed as she cried out, “Oh! Have I found and lost my Amana at once!? Shouldn’t it be lost and found?” “Oh! gods of Bonny what have you done to your children?” “Is this how you suffer your peoples?” she cried out in anguish “My death is near!” she exclaimed. The slaves were stunned that their so-called madam who had smiled a minute ago was now crying, for a dead slave. Moreover, why she called him Amana when that was not even his name was more astonishing. Some thought probably he had another name by which she knew him with; others knew it was a case of mistaken identity because the deceased known as Adepoju was from Old Oyo in Yorubaland. A slave now told her, “Ma, he is not your Amana…ahh...Odi…k...Buma”, “He was called Adepoju and was from yorubaland not Bonny.” Another added. Those words went into her as if she had taken water after a hot-peppered soup. She rose up and confusingly said “you mean his name is not Amana…. and he is not from Bonny…Ah?” “Yes Ma” they chorused. Amanabiefori felt that he heard his name but wasn’t sure, so he asked a slave who was just returning from the scene, what was going on. Amanabiefori jumped out of his bed surprised; only his friends had known the cause of this sudden action because he had told them all about himself. The slave narrating the event was amazed by his sudden change and couldn’t understand a thing. He shouted, not minding the ulcer pangs, “don’t you know I’m Odikibiebuma Amanabiefori Dokubo eh! I’m from Bonny!” “Where is the mistress? I must see her at once, I may know her”. There was this sudden flow of strength into body as he approached their madam. He couldn’t believe his eyes as he saw Igoni’s figure from behind. ‘Am I dreaming or has this ulcer altered my vision’ he pondered humorously. “Igoni! Tamuno-Igoni! Is this you? Is this you?” he repeated ‘Who calls me by my full name? “Amana! Amanabiefori! Is this you”? She reversed the question as she turned. “In flesh and blood” he replied. “This is really you”. They both confirmed. After she and Amanabiefori had discussed their experiences, Igoni had mixed feelings as she lay down to sleep that night on the king-size bed in the master’s room while focusing on the giant chandeliers that gave the room an aesthetic look of a palace, making the palace at Bonny look like a dump house. She had found him, but how could her plans come to full fruition when her wedding to Townsend was in five days and they would be leaving the plantation to the city after two days after the wedding. “Could I have waited back in Africa until he was able to escape and come back?” She thought as the smell emanating from the burning candles placed at the corner reminded her of her grandmother’s clay pot when burnt. However, she knew from the onset that, Townsend would never let her go, not for any reason. Unknown to Amanabiefori, her plans were just to see his face and know that he was alive, but for her to be with him or be the mother of his children as he hoped, was a fairytale. She had made up her mind on what to do before she slept that night. “Amana! Amana! Please bring the blinds”. She called. “Who is Amana?” Townsend questioned ‘Oh! He’s the new laundry man I got from the slavecamp’ “I hope he can wash well?” He asked disgustedly. “Trust me on this one, he’s good”. Amanabiefori came in with the blinds and kept them neatly inside the cupboard. This was the only way Igoni could make sure he was alive and healthy by taking him as a servant in the master’s lodge. Probably when she said she couldn’t live without him before she came to America, maybe living under the same roof was the idea but as husband and wife, she was now certain it couldn’t work out anymore. At least he would follow her to the city, she was a little bit okay with that. “But what about my friends, Should I escape and go back to the slavecamp?” He asked himself. “However, I could die of illness or maybe regret my actions later. I can’t withstand seeing Igoni with another man, but I could loose her forever,” he thought helplessly. This was a painful truth and the cross he had to bear his whole life. “At least I can wake up everyday, see her face and know that Africa leaves with me in America” he concluded his thoughts as he left the room.