The Savagery that Saves Us
Zara Lockwood
The ‘Zong’, 1781: slave ship, home and death place to hundreds of Africans. Leaving the West coast of Africa on September 6 1781 on a voyage, known as the Middle Passage, to Jamaica, innocent but such poorly bodies were catapulted into the air to meet their cold, watery grave.
The Savagery that Saves Us
Dignity and pride makes an awful diet. Dignity and pride results in a shortened life. Some believe what is a life without quality? I say if your heart is still beatin’ and you have chance to love and be loved then that is quality. Dignity and pride would get us thrown away, thrown overboard to the hungry savage sea. Dignity and pride only taught the chillun[1] how to die young. Being reproached by a man for not having the dignity and pride that Mintah has does not make me less of a woman. Mintah is Mintah. God put her on a different path but that does not mean I will follow.
We are hungry and exhausted. Our bodies are mangled and malnourished. We are scared and we are scarred.
When we give our consent for bread and cheese, this doesn’ mean we are acceptin’ the abuse, acceptin’ the force of the white mistus[2] into our tired bodies. If we refuse- we will lose contact with the grain and instead we will meet the swayin’ sea where we will rock and writhe until our souls are vacuumed and left tossin’ and turnin’ on their last journey to the sandy bed.
Our midnight skin invites them to our bodies. The white men they play with us. We are stripped, beaten, raped; impregnated with more slaves.
We are not weak. When our pelvises are punched against the grain of the deck and our ears are met with the sounds of lewd directives from the drunken white crewmen and our noses are subjected to the breathin’ stench of rum and cigars, we are not weak. We are vulnerable. Mintah’s journey may embark on the dangerous discovery of dignity and pride but if we are ever to be as strong as she is so lucky to be, then this acceptance of after-hours bread and cheese is all we got. We are not acceptin’ sexual savagery- we are acceptin’ longer life.
We are not belittlin’ ourselves, we are protectin’ ourselves. We are too proud of our chance at life on this earth to risk a floatin’ grave. When we are returned to our captive cages, semen leaks onto the deck, our insides throb and our outsides bruise, our tears remain silent. We shudder in silence and are greeted by our fellow women with a sympathetic gaze, perhaps the occasional nod or a weak pat that is almost too much effort than it’s worth. There is nothin’ erotic about us women slaves. There is nothin’ erotic about having your womb ambushed by a devil. The devil who’s possessed in mind, body and soul. The devil that does not deserve the title of a man, that does not deserve to ever be in the presence of our female form.
These revoltin’ white crewmen have little idea or care as to what will become of their offspring. It don’t make sense. They are breedin’ slaves with their blood that runs with the gafa.[3] The gafa- the evil spirit- is spread inside our stomachs. The mistus treat their unborn infants with the same disgustin’ level of respect they treat us with. Where is there dignity and pride?
