Name: Elijah Meltzer March 2017
Humanities Africans in NY: Creative Narrative Assignment
Third Time’s a Charm
It’s unfair. It’s simply unfair that we’re trapped here after being plucked from our own homes in Angola where we were living peaceful lives. Now, we are to be slaves in New Amsterdam for the Dutch. I remember sitting alongside many people who were dear to me, only to watch them hurl themselves over the bow of the ship, to get out of their cruel fate. Going through the Middle Passage was the worst thing I can remember. There was no room and we were all huddled up together in a miniscule space. I was one of the lucky ones, and was near the door so I got enough food to keep me alive. I’m afraid I can’t say the same for some of my friends. Between starving, disease, and suicide, so many died before even entering slavery. When we finally got to New Amsterdam, I was shoved up onto an auction table with my hands tied behind my back, and sold to Mr. Jacob Reigner. Mr. Regnier was not a nice man, not even close. But he did appreciate my hard work and my strength. He knew I was very helpful which made him treat me with much more respect. Of course that doesn’t mean much when it comes from Mr. Reigner. We have to stay strong in order to survive in this world.
One day, a couple of years after I made it to New Amsterdam, I got really fed up. A group of my friends got together and devised a plan. A plan to get back at all of those people who oppressed us. A plan of revenge. A plan of triumph. A plan of conquest. We gathered together all of the weapons we could. We set a fire on Kip Street and hid in the bushes. All of them white folks went out in a hurry running, and screaming, trying to put the fire out. We ambushed them with all of our weapons. We killed nine people. Fire and blood was everywhere. It soaked through the cobblestones as the weight of our actions sank in. There was a brief pause as we looked around at each other, and at the ghostly white dead bodies on the ground. We ran like hell with screams of horror lofting behind us. I went straight to my home. Well, it was more of a house than a home. A home is where you’re happy, where you’re safe, and this place is neither of those. No this place is a house. My home is in Angola, my home is far from here. Now I was taken to court for this. I was charged with murder. But Mr. Regnier knew he needed me, so he testified on my behalf. I was found not guilty. But the Attorney General had an old grudge against Mr. Regnier. He tried me again, but again Mr. Regnier aided me and I was found not guilty. But the Attorney General persisted. He was a devious man, and he charged me with a different crime. Because I had been charged with murder before, this next crime already was weighted against me. I was found guilty and sent to be hanged. Luckily the Royal Governor Hunter stepped in. He knew the Attorney General was only using me as a way to get back at Regnier. He then issued a reprieve for me. I was not hanged, and went back to Mr. Regnier. He died later that year. He set me half free. Then I went to the Land of the Blacks, and was a buffer for the Dutch. For people like me, any small victory is a massive triumph.
