Born in the Caribbean I have never experienced life outside of this prison called slavery and can only imagine the free way of life that the other slaves from Africa speak of and were ripped from. Free Life. Both words seem interchangeable in that one cannot truly live unless they are free, but my life has taught me that the two do not go hand in hand. The effects of slavery and becoming the property of another are more than physical. Deep wounds are inflicted upon me daily, not all of them visible. I have a husband and two children. My husband was sold away to the highest bidder 3 months ago leaving me with our two children. Even though this is something that happened often on plantations, it didn’t lessen the pain or stabbing in my heart whenever I think of it.
One would think that with all the mental, physical, and emotional pain that slaves withstand in their daily life that we would grow immune to it but it hurts just the same. It hurt knowing that my children, in reality, are not really mine and could be sold away at any time the master saw fit. If the master felt that they should be punished then I had no say as their mother. It does something to a woman to know that she has no real control over the beings which she bore; creates a sense of helplessness. Watching my children constantly being beaten until the brink of death with my tears being the only way I can respond. Then I would constantly be chastised and abused in front of my children, like I myself am a child. Being at the beck and call of the slave master’s children while they call me girl or by my first name is something, though degrading, a slave has to get used to and accept. I am a domestic servant with duties such as taking care of the master’s children, cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, and anything else my master or mistress felt I needed to do. They were to all be done right in every way or I could risk severe punishment. The field slaves saw us domestic servants as a separate entity though we all are the same. Only if they knew of the horrors some of us women face at night they wouldn’t think us so lucky. How hardened must your heart be that you could see other human beings as objects and could be so hateful and cruel to them?
Being in this constant nightmare had become a way of life for many, but I will always hope one day to be free. For others fear may be a temporary state of mind. For slaves it becomes a way of survival and so in grained in us that it influences many of our actions and thoughts until it possibly consumes us. I am tired of feeling helpless and in fear. Fear that if my master is having a bad day he could whip or kill my children or I at any moment. Fear that I could be separated from my children at any time seeing as that I have already been separated from my husband. Fear that my master will rape or sexually abuse me, because we live in the same house and he sees me as his property; an object that is there to satisfy and work for him. Fearful that one day I grow too weary to do my work to the standards of my master and could be beaten or made an example out of. Fear of doing anything to offend or anger my master or mistress, then feeling helpless because I have no control of it all. This is why I will keep hope of one day my children and I becoming free from slavery and fear and gaining some type of control in our lives. Until then I will continue to work to keep my heart pure in a world so full of hate. On paper I am the property of my owner, but something no one can ever beat out of me or change is that he can never truly own me.
Inspired by Mary Prince
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