Hey guys, so I have been working on another slave narrative and this time, it is a double narrative of 2 slaves (made up characters that are related to each other). I have been working on this for about 3-5 days on Microsoft word. I have finally finished it and I hope it turns out well. Anyways here it is:

A TALE OF TWO SLAVES

Personal Narrative of Ismail Ibn Bana (slave name: Willie Dickens)

Chapter 1: Home Sweet Home

“Pop! Pop! Pop!” We faintly heard in the distance, but that did not deter us from our mission. It was a sweltering, hot summer day in August of 1764. My friends and I ventured out into the forest. The goal was to hunt down animals. We were all about 15 years of age. We were all approaching manhood and we wanted to prove to the elders of the Bantu clan that we were reliable. As we held our cudgels and spears and trekked into the dense canopy of trees, we could not help but remember the tales told by the clan’s storyteller. Many of these atrocious tales were filled with anguish. We never really took these tales seriously, but in reality we quailed in fear on the inside. One particular tale was that of white men approaching the sandy shores of Angola. They came on large ships with many white sails. Their weapons were
different. They dressed differently. They spoke a different language. But the worst thing of all is that they kidnap members of the clan when they least expect it. And those who were kidnapped were never heard from again. Little did I know that this was soon to be a harsh reality.
The time for Asr Prayer was quickly approaching its end. We all stopped and made our prayers as we always seek providence from the Almighty. The golden rays of sun were hugging the horizon as it was setting. We heard some rustling among the trees and we were sure we would found our prey. To our dismay, we found humans of this white color pointing their weapons at us.

Chapter 2: The Capture

I yelled “RUN!!!” In the frantic and turbid moment, we all ran in separate directions. Each of us was alone as we attempted to escape. Two
white men were closing in on me. I ran in the opposite direction of home so as to not lead these strangers to my clan. My feet writhed in pain. I was not paying attention to the ground before me and I unfortunately fell over a fallen tree. The two white men quickly grabbed each of my arms. I tried to break free but to no avail. They were simply too strong and over powered me. They gave me a look of torture which seemed to be a source of happiness among the whites. They kept mentioning this word ‘slave.’  So many thoughts were dancing in my head. “How could this happen? What will become of me? Were my friends captured? What will my parents think? I am only a boy!” I could soon see the massive ship on the shore. Fetters were placed on my hands, feet and neck. I was loaded onto the ship with many of my kind. I did not see any of my tribesmen. We were all taken below deck and were tethered to the walls of the ship’s hull. This debasing moment was beyond me. Tears welled in my eyes and as I looked at my fellow brethren, all I could see was the languishing of poor defenseless souls. We were mere animals. I refused to be taken any further on this trip. I fought all the while as I felt a surge of energy to
fight with all my might. The next thing I knew was a group of white men surrounding me and approaching me from all directions. I then felt lots of pain and blood was everywhere and then nothing. I woke up, finding myself still chained to the wall with other colored people, and I was in a ship floating out to sea. The colored man next to me told me that I was one of the luckiest slaves alive. I got shocked when I heard the word “slave” because I now know that I was captured as so. I asked him why he thought I was lucky and he replied,” You were unconscious and numb after that beating, so you didn't experience any more pain.” The next thing I heard was a white, egotistical
man walking and laughing. I then learned that he was a slave trader.

Chapter 3: The Journey

As the ship set sail, I tried to peek out of a small opening to bid farewell to my beloved homeland. “Could this really be happening?” I thought to myself. I just wanted to go home. The cries seemed immutable (including my own). I must have sobbed for hours. I stared at the planks and joists of the ship’s floor. I felt helpless. It was not too long when putrid odors imbued the already stifling air. I for one felt sick from the rocking of the ship. Many others suffered from this motion sickness. We were all throwing up all over the place. Furthermore, we
had no choice but to urinate and defecate on the floor before us. My hands started to have lacerations from the shackles. There were blisters festering on the soles of my feet. I asked myself, “Are these white men really human? How can they treat other humans this way?” My source of solace was looking out the small opening to see the stars. I know Allah is watching and I know that there is a purpose for everything. Food was scarce to say the least. Every once in a while, a few men would bring down some food and water for us. They would release one hand from the shackles to enable us to eat and drink. The food tasted like garbage and I know they were giving us ocean water from how salty it was. Many of my brethren died under these profligate conditions. The bodies were just thrown overboard. No proper burial, no nothing. These white beings must come from a society that lacks refinement. “How much longer can this last?” One night, I couldn't take it anymore. I almost wanted to know what my fate was going to end up like because I wanted to know whether I was going to die before my horrible life as a slave was to begin.  Again, the air in the hull of the ship was unbearable. Some of the white men led us out to the deck for fresh air. The weather became stormy and harsh while we were sailing, The white men on board went to their cabins below the ship’s deck to relax and left us chained and exposed to nature’s harsh elements. It was not enough that we suffered at the hands of the slaves as they whipped us incessantly; we had to suffer from the freezing cold air beating on us throughout the night. And all throughout, we could hear the loud laughter of the white men as they mocked us being tortured. The worst part was that the cold air was not enough to make me fall unconscious from pain; however, I was still full of gratification at how my body turned numb from the cold. The numbness was somewhat easier to bear compared to the pain.

Chapter 4: The Arrival

The minutes seemed like hours, hours seemed like days, days seemed like months. We finally approached land. From what I could decipher from the white man’s language is that the journey took 27 days. Believe me, it felt like a year. I never thought we would actually reach land. After the ship docked, white men began to come to free the slaves from the chains connected to the wall; however, the slaves were now chained and linked to one another. Those of us who managed to stay alive were now being led to what seemed like a busy square. On the side of the square we were hosed down one by one and given odd looking clothing to wear. We were then led to the middle of the square. It resembled somewhat of a market as it looked like these white people were selling and buying things. I could hear in one section of the square a bunch of men screaming. We were led to that section of the square. Little did I know that this is where I would be
auctioned off to a new slave master. One by one each of us were brought up to a platform and the bidding began. I obviously did not understand much but sure enough it did not take long for me to be bought. I was strong, young, and healthy. My slave master approached me and poked me in the shoulder. He called me, “Willie.” Then he pointed to himself and said, “Master Wilkins.” The Master poked me again and said “Willie Dickens.” Once I figured out that he had given me another name, I was furious that he wanted me to deny my lineal descent. I jumped up and shouted, “Ismail Ibn Bana” and pointed to myself. I kept repeating my name. Master Wilkins was not happy with me and I was whipped on the spot. Here we go again…I soon faint from the pain. As I came to, I realized that I was being lead to a gigantic farm with fellow slaves. At this point, the slave master started laughing and explained that this farm and all the surrounding land was his and we would have to work on the farm as plantation slaves.  The slave master had hired a new white man to watch over the slaves and the plantation. The overseer is a white friend of Master Wilkins. His instructions to the overseer were to whip and enjoy the slaves as he pleased and desired. The overseer pretended to laugh with him and the overseer seemed a little unsure on why he was laughing. The slave master then climbed his expensive carriage and rode away. As the carriage traveled farther and farther away, all we could hear were the loud, cackling laughs of the Master, until his laugh became inaudible. The overseer looked over at the direction of Master Wilkins, pondering as to why he was laughing. The overseer seemed to have given the slaves a good sign of being somewhat kind. Thankfully, he does not seem to enjoy the slaves.

Chapter 5: The New Overseer

At this point, the overseer demanded the slaves to start harvesting on the plantation and he took out a rifle. We were afraid so we started working. He threw lots of tools for us to use. The lucky slaves would get a working tool and the majority of the slaves would get a broken tool or would have to work with bear hands. Sadly, I usually ended up with nothing. One day, the overseer started roaming around the fields asking us for our ages. The majority of us did not know how to answer. I then recalled that I used to know my age. But time has been lost to me. I honestly do not remember my age! “What is wrong with me?” I contemplated.  The impression on the overseer’s face was that slaves must be too dumb to even know their own age. Surprisingly, not a single slave has been whipped by the overseer since we started working on Mr. Wilkin’s plantation. I figured he must have not had experience with slaves. Other slaves that were bought by Master Wilkins told me horror stories of their lives with other overseers. They weren’t allowed to have any breaks and were often whipped to continue working. Many slaves often collapsed especially in the summer heat. I count my blessings that this overseer isn’t so bad.

Chapter 6: Life on the Plantation

Day in and day out, we did the same routine. The primary crop of Mr. Wilkin’s fields was cotton. My fingers often bled from picking the prickly cotton fibers. I soon learned that if I did my job and did not defy anyone, I would be safe from torture. At the end of a day’s work, the overseer would lead us to our slave quarters. We were allowed to plant nearby the quarters so we could grow our own food. Also, the kind overseer,
would bring us bushels of rice grains ever night. There was also a nearby freshwater spring so we had plenty of water to drink.
I tried to continue my prayers, but I found that was not always easy to do. Other slaves constantly talked about Jesus. I spoke of Allah (swt) and Muhammad (pbuh). I had learned some English by now to know that many of these slaves were brought decades before me. They had assimilated with the culture of the white folk, and in doing so, have lost part of who they really are.I held on as long as I could, but I soon found that I was meshing with slaves around me. I started talking like them, singing like them, being like them. I felt lost but I also felt
accepted by the slaves around me. I married a slave woman named Mary. I really do not know if she is older than me or am I older than
her. The bottom line is that we both found comfort in each other. We had a son and daughter, both of whom grew up on the plantation alongside of us. They too worked on Mr. Wilkin’s ever-growing farm.

Chapter 7: The End of Contentment

Time seems to be flying by. “Where does the time go?” I contemplated.  Every night I gaze at the stars and ponder what could have been. I think of my family back home and wonder what everyone is doing. I constantly think to myself if I could ever make it back to Angola. Our son and daughter have grown. Our son Adam has decided to escape as he knows he cannot continue to live the life of a slave. He speaks of this “Underground Railroad” where slaves attempt to escape to the North where supposedly people of color can be free. Many have died on this ‘Railroad.” One summer morning in 1825, I wake up and my son is gone. I admire his courage, but my heart aches for him as I have no idea if he is alive or not. Losing a son to the unknown is unbearable. To top that, my lovely daughter Mariam comes home later that week looking as if she was beaten up. Her clothes were torn and she looked disheveled. To my dismay, Master Wilkins had raped her. I grabbed a nearby piece of wood and was about to leave the slave quarters to go and kill Master Wilkins. My wife Mary quickly held on to me. She refused to let me go. She kept shouting, “You will be killed! We will lose you!” She was right. I cannot leave her now. I need to stay by family’s side, but how can this atrocity be left like that? The world is so cruel. Just great…when it rains, it pours! Mariam is pregnant with the tyrannical slave master’s child. All we can do is support her. Months have gone by and she delivers a beautiful baby boy named Moses. He is really Moses Wilkins but obviously his slave name would be Moses Dickens. Baby Moses is healthy and thriving. My daughter Mariam is not doing so well after the delivery. Infection betides her and the Master refuses to bring in a doctor to help her. Within a few days, Mariam is dead. As I lay her in the deep ground, I am besides myself. There is only so much I can take. This is a clear test for me and I look up to the stars once again. The Lord Allah is looking out for me.  We raised Moses as our own. He grew into a handsome, strong and built, young man. Master Wilkins had bought a cotton gin. This contraption allowed the cotton to be picked faster. Many of the slaves feared they would soon be sold off to other slave owners. Unfortunately this was true. Early one summer morning, Master Wilkins came riding onto the plantation in his elaborate carraige, laughing as usual. Things were about to take an ugly turn. The overseer noticed that he had a huge gallon of wine that was half-full in his hand. The overseer now knew how Master Wilkins often dissipated his wealth on alcohol. He was clearly drunk. The overseer frowned in disgust at the slave master and spat on the ground. Master Wilkins noticed this and went on a rage. He demanded to know from the overseer how many slaves were whipped today and how many times did he whip them. The overseer replied, “None!” The slave master went ballistic and threw the gallon of wine on the floor and started stomping on it. He fired the overseer on the spot, but the overseer didn’t seem to care and he walked away. The overseer seemed happy to have finally left the depravity of the slave master. Meanwhile the slaves were stuck with the evil Master Wilkins. The slave master has gone insane. He is selling the majority of the slaves and even trades some slaves for gallons of wine! “Oh my Lord!” Moses is one of the slaves picked up
by another plantation owner. And for what? A measly three jugs of wine! He was shoved by several white men along with a group of other slaves onto another large plantation. I am tired. My wife and I have grown old. It is only a matter of time. Moses is on his own to fend for himself. May Allah protect him as he begins his epoch far away from his family.

Personal Narrative of Moses Dickens (real name: Moses Wilkins)

Chapter 1: An Unfortunate Life

As we were being led by the white men with rifles to the new slave master, we walked through the plantation. When the slaves master was a few feet away, he gave us somewhat of a disappointed look coupled with an evil smile. As I peer into his eyes, I see an image of a weak black man lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. The new slave master started by introducing himself, he said that his name is Master Tom Flay. He took out a mighty whip and he lashed it to the ground demanding that the slaves fear him. He commanded us to begin working on his plantation immediately. “You can steer the course of a train, just as you can train a slave to do what you want,”  he stated over and over again. This obdurate slave master was quite different from Maser Wilkins. Maser Wilkins was usually drunk and left everything to the overseer. My new slave master, Master Flay was on the fields every day. He wanted to ensure that the overseer was as rigid and as mean as he could be. We were whipped daily. My clothes were torn wherever the whip hit me. The blood stains were near impossible to remove. New and old scars mottled my backside. Nothing can satisfy this overseer. Nothing can satisfy Master Flay. He wants more and more.

Chapter 2: Unbearable Atrocities

Months went by, I witnessed more and more unbearable atrocities. The anguish was often too much too handle. On incident is imprinted in my mind. A little slave boy lay on the ground. He was dehydrated. He could barely move. Master Flay was on the scene and low and behold he takes out his whip and starts beating the boy to get up. But the little boy was not getting up. He didn’t budge. He still couldn’t move. Master Flay then kicked him with his huge boot and blood came spurting out of his mouth. The boy stopped breathing and just like that he was dead. The image I saw the first day in the Master’s eyes suddenly reappeared before me. A huge group of his slaves were watching, and Master Flay suddenly demanded the slaves to kneel before him. He took out his rifle. Master Flay was asked by the overseer as to why he was so brutal to the little boy. Master Flay simply replied, “I want to gain homage by my actions. No slave will ever dare defy me again!” I was now done with my life, I couldn’t take it anymore!

Chapter 3: The Escape Plan

It has been about 3 weeks since that agonizing day. The food we receive is meager. And often the wheat grains that arrive at the slave quarters is defiled with slave blood and tainted with dirt. The days seemed to last forever…the agony of each day was infinite. One day as I worked on the God- forsaken plantation, I noticed an elderly slave man who was familiar to me. I realized that this old man was a friend of my grandfather Ismail. This man accompanied my grandfather Ismail on the horrendous journey across the Atlantic Ocean. This man’s name was Muhammad. He too worked on Master Wilkin’s cotton plantation and was traded to Master Flay for wine. He recognized me as well. Muhammad was surprised that he remembered me. It seems he is becoming senile and is forgetting quite a bit. He had forgotten my name so I told him it was Moses. Sadly Muhammad informed that my grandparents had passed on. I found some consolation in the fact that they would never have to work for a white man again. They were truly free. “When can I say the same for myself?” I whispered. I needed a trusted friend to confide in and I was happy I became reacquainted with Muhammad. I revealed to him that I had a plan to escape. I explained to him the details of the escape. He marveled at my plan and proceeded to tell other slaves. Some of the slaves were a bit hesitant. Some said, “That’s not a bad idea. And even if we get caught and are hanged, at least we will have a rest from this misery!” Others replied, “That’s a very good idea, and if we die, at least we will flee this ineffable life and if we escape, our lives can only improve.” It was obvious to me and to Muhammad that he majority of the slaves had reached rock bottom. Desperate times called for desperate measures. The slaves then began to spread the word while working on the plantation. We were not allowed to talk to one another while working. We were allowed to sing. We sang subtle messages to one another to familiarize everyone with plan. In the meantime, Slave Master Flay was yelling at another slave who was not working and the slave continued to disobey him. We then heard a dreadful gunshot, and we turned around and saw a black female slave on the floor. She was but a young mother! Right before she stopped breathing, her lifeless eyes was a clear intimation that we should proceed with the escape plan. It’s as if she uttered to the surrounding slaves via her heart as it beat for the last time. He words “escape, escape, escape...” slowly whispered in the soft breeze. Soon after, the slaves all agreed to escape.

Chapter 4: The Escape

When it was night time, the escape plan was to begin. Muhammad and I checked on the Master’s house. We wanted to make sure that all the white folk were in a deep sleep so we could implement the plan without unexpected interruptions. We finally gave the signal to the slaves to start the plan.  I did not leave the Master’s house without taking his rifle. I knew that he was a light sleeper and any rustling from the slaves would immediately wake him up. Indeed, as I expected, Master Flay woke up and ran after me with a whip. I guess he thought I was too scared to shoot him. I furiously turned around and shot him in the head like an enraged snake viciously attacking its prey. I killed him relentlessly just as he killed those innocent slaves.  I walked alongside the unresponsive body and impertinently spat on Master Flay. He was a horrible slave master who deserved to be embarrassed. He was no longer my slave master! My fellow slaves and I proceeded into the Master’s house. Everyone else was still asleep. Then the group of slaves came and entered the slave master’s house. We found some white face make-up. We each powdered on the white make-up onto our faces and hands. We also wore the fancy clothing of the white folk. We took all of the Master’s hidden money. I looked all around us. “This could actually work,” I thought. We fled the plantation and arrived at a port on the coast of Virginia. I noticed that I never even knew where I was. Thankfully other slaves were more learned than me. Ignorance is not bliss! A ship was there and it was headed up the coast to Canada. This was our chance as colored people are free in the North. No one questioned us as we paid for the ship’s fare and then some. We carried luggage with us that had some valuable goods. We wore large hats that covered our faces partially, along with gloves so our true skin color would not show to the white folk. We arrived in Canada, a few days later. We constantly had to reapply the white make-up. There was little suspicion since we had so much money with us. As we walked off the ship onto the Canadian harbor, the air we breathed was one of freedom. I will never be a slave again. I will never be at the mercy of the white man’s hand again! What an invigorating feeling. For the first time in a long time, I saw my fellow slaves smiling. Relief was in the air. We washed off the makeup and shined proudly as colored people. We had much of Master Flay’s wealth left over. We divided it equally amongst us to enable us to start fresh in this new land. We were well off and I was elated that my plan worked.

Chapter 5: A Happy New Life & The End of Slavery

Colored men were arriving on the Canadian borders daily. Some arrived via the “Underground Railroad” crossed into Canada via the New York border. Others arrived with their own escape plans and harbored ships as fugitives. Some slaves had even bought themselves from their slave masters after saving up a lifetime. I found that there was a family with the same last name of Dickens was living in nearby Toronto. Even though I never met him, I found out that it was my uncle Adam Dickens. My grandfather Ismail told me stories of how he escaped via the “Underground Railroad.” I felt blessed that I was reunited with family as I was feeling I had no relatives left. I stayed with Uncle Adam and his family until I bought a house of my own. I had enough money to buy the house a small lot of land to farm from the equipage I sold.  My cousins were getting an education and they taught me how to read. I felt empowered to read some books on my own. I went to the local library and it was there that I met the woman I would marry. Her name was Anna. Things were moving in the right direction.
The town I lived in was now a mix of colored and white people. There were also some mulattos living in the area. We were all happy. Muhammad had kept very busy too. He went back to America several times to help free more and more slaves. He felt this was his calling and it was the least he could do. I was in awe of this old man and his determination. He was seen as the town’s ‘David.’ He died quietly in his sleep one wintery morning. He was honored and respected by all who knew him. He certainly left a notable legacy behind him.
January 1, 1963, the papers are headlined with “SLAVERY FINALLY ENDS!” President Lincoln of the United States of America signs the Emancipation Proclamation decreeing that slavery is abolished. Oh how I have longed for the day where my brethren were no longer ripped from their homelands and hoarded in shackles! At least I no longer have to fear for the safety of my children. I know there is a long way to go but in my heart I know that eventually the colored man will equal the white man. I only wish that my dear grandfather Ismail could have witnessed this historical day. I bet he is smiling upon us from up above. He always used to say, “Home is where the heart is.” I finally understand what he meant. So long as you are satisfied and are surrounded by loved ones, you can call any area ‘home’ – whether it is Angola, Arica, Georgia, USA, or Toronto, Canada.

THE END

Dang. This turned out a lot longer than I thought. I do hope people are able to at least read some of it so my work doesn't go to waste. Well, thats it. I hope you were touched by this story and have a nice day on vizzed!

Okay, fine. Take the red jersey for all I care! But this is a pretty neat story. Tomorrow, I need to get cracking on the next chapter of Golden Tales! Thanks for reminding me! Your story was none of the less, very good.