Three
Enslavement
After the Benin Benins
short a time, because we had declined; our areas of influence taken over by the Aro and Abriba people of the northwest Cross River
Our parents marched along the rugged paths of the North Central, down to the Southern Benin kingdom of slavery, while they were being beaten and whipped by brutal warriors. In the process many Nris lost their lives. They could not withstand the torture of the warriors. As a result of the maltreatment, my mother went into forced labor, and I was delivered. I was born as a slave into slavery, greeted by fearful faces of heartless warriors and bred in the land of captivity. However, my arrival into the slave-stricken era of the 17th to 18th centuries, brought profound joy to my parents and their relatives, especially uncle Agu, who was an athletic- bodied and agile man in his youth, but whose strength and manhood could not survive the ravages of time. His wife had died while she was giving birth to his child, who also did not see the light of this world. Since the death of his wife, and unborn child, uncle Agu had remained unmarried, saying it was his way of honoring her. But I didn’t see any sense in that; all that youthful exuberance and manly vigor should have been expended on a pretty maiden, and procreation, rather than lay in waste, or be used for only farming and hunting.
Weeks ran into months, and months into years. I soon grew into a beautiful and attractive young lady with all feminine features in abundance. I could tell this from the amorous glances those slave guards cast on me. They would fix their eyes on my waste as I walked past, even though the fetters on my feet didn’t permit much swaying. My mother named me, ‘Nwougo’, which by interpretation is ‘a child of glory’. That was a contradictory to the period my parents lived in, and the period I was born. Out of curiosity, and inquisitiveness, I soon questioned my mother about my name.
‘Nwam, my child’ my mum said in Igbo, as she stroked my ebony hair.
‘Though we are slaves, living in a situation of shame, I still see you as my pride and glory. And that you will be to your generation someday, orgemekwa’ she continued still in Igbo.
Of all my relatives, I was most beloved of uncle Agu. He rather starves than watch me go hungry, whenever there was food shortage, which was always the case. In the morning, we had partly boiled white yam without oil, eba and vegetable stew with no meat was served for lunch; and we stuffed our stomachs with boiled white rice and smoked fish for dinner. Water was scarcely available. Even the little water we were given was untreated, and as a result, we were constant victims of water-borne diseases like cholera and dysentery. My feminine weakness subjected me to a high risk of contracting these diseases. More so, the compacted and untidy nature of the cages, filled with urine, vomit, mucous and horrific odors, led to the spread of contagious illnesses like measles and small pox. So many died from this, malnutrition, and dehydration from inadequate water rations, and diarrhea. Victims were treated inadequately and passed away days after treatment. In my case, however, uncle Agu sometimes escaped into the bush to get better herbs, with which I was well treated. He was usually punished upon his return from such missions, but he never minded. I was the niece he had long awaited, owing to my mother’s inability to give my father children, and mama told me when papa’s umunna persuaded him to take another wife, uncle Agu strongly opposed them, saying it was the gods who give children, and that papa should not take another wife, for he was sure mama will certainly give him a child. For uncle Agu, marrying two wives was like having two different fire woods of fire under your bed; one was enough trouble already. No doubts, this was why mama loved him so much and admired his courage.
Growing up as a teenager, attraction to the opposite sex was considered typical of my development; or may be I thought so. One of such children my age, who caught my eyes, was Dimkpa. He was a handsome dark boy, with well-chiseled and broad shoulders, whose name was a reflection of his ability to survive the harshness and cruelty of slavery at birth. His parents had thought he would die from malnutrition. He was so caring, that the nature of my countenance was of utmost importance to him. He wanted to be sure I was always happy and fine; I loved him so much I dreamt of loosing my virginity to no man other than him. He calls me Adabeke, the daughter of a white man. He was my first love, and I soon became attached to him; together, we survived the slave era. Even though we were always in chains and fetters and under the constant watch of the guards, Dimkpa sometimes sneaked out of his cave to see me. We would sit and talk about how fate brought us together in a situation like ours; and how we were going to get married and have kids when all this was over. We were going to have five children; two boys and three girls. The girls will bring the dowry, and the boys will carry on with the family name. We were going to be the perfect couple.
“You see, Ada
