American Paid in Full



CHAPTER 2



Numbness. No, that would not explain what Ojubo felt. It was more like standing on the outside of your body and feeling nothing when you know that you should be experiencing pain. No, it was not the numbness from the cords that bound him to a post, nor was it the numbness from the repeated blows he had received to his body, but rather a numbness to his spirit. He could not have moved even if he were released from his bonds. He no longer heard the screams of torment, nor the shrill yelling of triumph. No, everything took on a blur with a humming sound in his ears.

Just a short time ago, Ojubo was standing under a tree next to his thatched hut enjoying the peacefulness of the midday. There was no thought given to an attack to his village, but there was an attack. He had been caught by surprise and beaten by club-wielding men from a people that lived two days' journey away. He had seen all but eighteen men of his village killed, and those were bound as he was, some still unconscious. His three small sons were brought before him, to have their heads crushed by a single blow of a club, possibly the same club that had caused him to be taken captive. He watched as his captors argued over who would have which of his four wives and twelve-year-old daughter. He had seen his mother along with the other aged women pierced with spears until their life's blood drained from their bodies. What he did not understand was why he was still alive. He was not ignorant of such happenings. He had, in fact, participated in such events. Even two of his wives were the result of such a raid, but always a warrior dispatched his enemy, and then relished in the spoils of war.

Two nights passed, and Ojubo and the other men remained tied to the posts. On the morning of the third day he watched as the women were led away by half of the attacking band. Then he and the other men were released from their pole and retied to their fellow villagers, each tied about the neck with the cord continuing to the neck of the next prisoner. Ojubo was weak, not because he had no food or water for three days, but because he had lost much blood from the gash on his head. The hot African sun was beginning to take its toll.

Eight days they were marched and only at dark were they given each a few mouthfuls of water. Their captors knew just how to keep them weak enough that they could not escape; but escape had only come to Ojubo's mind after the second day of walking, for until then his mind had been dulled by the attack and the beating he had received.

On the ninth day the grade of the land became mostly downhill, and when the sun was high, the group broke onto a sandy beach. Ojubo had never felt this kind of earth under his feet and never had he seen this much water. All that water, and floating out in the bay was a ship, though Ojubo did not know to call it a bay, or the floating object a ship. To him it resembled a large hut turned upside down. Shortly after they had arrived, a small similar vessel was launched from the larger one with three men in it, but he only knew that they were men by their shapes, for he had never seen a white man, nor had he ever seen a man wearing more than a loincloth. These men had their whole bodies covered with unusual skins, but, of course, cloth was another thing that Ojubo had never seen.

Before the sun had set, Ojubo had seen even more things to remember, more white men coming from the ship, gifts being given to his captors, and then on board the ship he had seen and felt the grip of steel on his ankles. Two metal bands connected by eleven rings of metal, with the center ring twice as large as the others. The last thing he saw, before darkness would close over him, was the hold of the ship, and what he saw was more men, not white men but men as he was: Black, Naked, and Chained.

Was this how he would spend the rest of his life, in this wooden cave? "No" was the answer that came to his mind, for what good would it do for men to keep other men chained in a place like this. There was no reasoning to this. It was something exciting in attacking your enemy, something stimulating in the killing of one that if given a chance would do the same to you, something rewarding in taking what your enemy had owned, animals, skins, food, and women. But there was nothing in treating another man like this.

He had counted the times that the light had entered the two small openings, openings that he could not get his body through, even if he were to get free of the chains. Four times: four times the light had entered, and four times the darkness came to cover his fear. He had learned much in these four days. He had learned how the chaining system worked. There were three slatted shelves on each side of the ship. Each shelf had room for twenty men to lay. Every two feet at the aisle edge of the shelf were steel cleats, bolted through the wood, in which the large ring of the ankle chain was placed. Then a long chain was passed through all the cleats. This chain was fastened into the wood of the ship's hull at one end, and the other end near the entry of the hold was locked with a padlock.