The Life of Elijah Ndongo: A Slave Fighting For His Freedom

I’ve been up for a very long time now, since before the break of dawn, and I am the first and only slave on the Tobacco fields at this moment. To the horizon, I see the almost transparent sun rising over the Big House. Smoke begins to funnel out of the chimney, contrasting against  the bleak, dry sky. All this time alone has given me time think about my life. Before I was captured, I was a warrior, fighting for my proud homeland. I had a wife and two children, and the white men came and ruined my life. As I look down at my hands, I see the blood of my people. Those devils in fancy clothing shot my wife in my own arms. They pulled me away from her breathing corpse and put me on a boat. I have no knowledge of what has happened to children, or my village. I look down at the plow I am using. Back in Angola, my wife had one just like this. A tear drops from my eye but I quickly clean it up, for my master must not know of my pain.

“Elijah,” a soft voice behind me says. I turn my head around and see the Master’s wife, Mrs. Bridgely. “Yes?” I ask back to her, looking down at the ground. “As you know, David is very sick. We are afraid that we will lose him in the war, so we have decided to put you in his place. December is just around the corner, and the cold temperatures won’t be very good for him. You have until noon to make your departure.” The wind spins around me, as if provoking me to make a response. Looking up at her cold, unforgiving eyes and know I have no choice. I nod and turn back towards the Slave house, where I will make the announcement of my leaving.

As I turn my head around, I see the now closed gate behind my head. I can’t turn back, as the punishment will definitely be severe. I have nothing but the clothes on my back and the letter of service my master signed. My instructions were clear. Go into the city and sign up for the war. I walk down the Cobblestone path, and with each step I take, I lose a bit more confidence in the outcome of this so called trip to the city.

             Wagons congest the street. With each step I take, suspicious looks are thrown my way. I make my way to the town square. “Where do I go now?” I mutter, feeling completely lost. As I look around, the lack of diversity in this city makes me feel disgusted. I haven’t seen another African like me since the plantation. I look for the nearest Blue jacket soldier. As I hand him my paper, he reads with a sneer. “A negro, eh?” He says out loud. “Your kind hasn’t been very useful to us so far. But it’s not my choice.” He continues, fully aware of my presence. He points in the direction of the magazine and tells me to show the note, which is now severely crumpled. “They shall let you in, provide you with everything you need.” I take my paper and walk through the town square, trying to be as quick but as respectful to others as possible.

              I run my hand on the smooth blue jacket, feeling the buttons as I make my way down. I tap my feet, looking down at my brand-new shoes with amazement. This may not be as bad as I thought. “Look up Ndongo!”‘a stern voice yells at me. As I become more aware, a large musket comes flying at me. I was able to sidestep it and catch with my hands extended. I lift in the air and scan around the field. All the other soldiers are loading their muskets, preparing to shoot a volley at a tree. A white man begins to laugh, his eyes locked on me. “You might wanna turn that musket around.” He bursts out in complete laughter now, and I fumble over the musket as I begin to load it. “Not the same as a sword,” I think to myself. “Ready! Aim! Fire!” I let go of trigger and almost fall of my feet. A fellow African soldier helps me up. “This is going to be a long drill,” I wonder to myself.

               I open the flap and step into the tent. I feel a foot with my hand, and I stick my head inside. “What a small tent!” I exclaim, completely dissatisfied.  I crawl to my corner of the tent. I lay my head on the cold dirt, head looking up at the stained sheets that make our tent. To my right, a voice says something which I don’t understand at all. “What?” I ask in response. My back to his location. I try and turn facing him, but my shoulder is on his collarbone, and I feel like I’m being suffocated. I close my eyes and attempt to sleep, hoping things will change for the better.