Nalla screamed for Mosi but he did not answer. In the darkness, the men were separated from the women. She screamed for her little boy and when she could not stop screaming, an attacker struck her with a club. She fell down and felt blood on her jaw. In the light of the fire she could see men armed with long machetes and knives shoving and herding the villagers, her friends and neighbors. They shouted harsh commands and threatened to kill anyone who disobeyed. The fire grew in size and got louder. Nalla was knocked to the ground again, then ordered to get up and walk toward the jungle. There were about a dozen women chained together, almost all of them young mothers who cried and yelled for their children. They were ordered to shut up, and when they kept crying a man with a whip lashed them.
When they were away from the village and deep in the jungle, they stopped in an opening where an oxcart was waiting. It was filled with chains, cuffs, and shackles. The women wore only their usual loincloth around their waists. These were stripped off, leaving them naked. The assailants hooked iron cuffs around their necks and clamped them tight. One neck cuff was chained to the other a few feet away, and when they began walking again single file the women were linked together so that if one tried to run away, the entire line would stumble and fall.
But the women were too terrified to run. The jungle was dense and pitch-black. They knew it well and knew its dangers, especially at night. The oxcart led the way with a teenage bandit guiding it, a torch in one hand, the reins in the other. Two other armed raiders escorted the women, one in the lead, the other in the rear, both with whips. When the women tired of crying they plodded on; the only sounds at times were the rattles of the chains.
They were aware of other movements in the jungle. Perhaps others from their village being led away. Perhaps their husbands, fathers, and brothers. When they heard the men’s voices, all of the women immediately began calling the names of their loved ones. Their captors cursed them and cracked the whips. The voices of the men faded away.
The oxcart stopped at a creek, one the women knew well because they used it for bathing and washing clothes. The captors said they would stop for the night and ordered the women to gather by the oxcart. They were still chained together, and after an hour the neck cuffs were rubbing sores on their skin. A heavier chain was tied to a wheel of the oxcart and looped around the necks of two of the women. The captives were secured for the night.
The teenage boy built a small fire and cooked a pot of red rice. He mixed in cassava leaves and okra, and when it was ready he and the other two men had dinner, eating from the same wooden spoon. The women were too tired and frightened to be hungry, but they watched the men eat because there was nothing else to watch. They huddled together, their chains rattling with every small movement. They whispered among themselves and grieved for their children and husbands.
Would they ever go home again?
There had been rumors of slave hunters in the northern part of the country, but they were still too far away to worry about. The ruler of their village had met with other tribes and heard the warnings. He had ordered the men to keep their weapons close at night and take precautions when hunting and fishing.
As the fire went out, the night grew even darker. Their whispers could be heard by the men so they kept their thoughts to themselves. The teenage boy fell asleep by the fire. The two men disappeared. One of the women whispered they should try and escape, but it seemed impossible. Even breathing rattled the chains that bound them together.
Suddenly the two men were back. They grabbed the youngest captive, Sanu, a girl of fourteen whose mother had been left behind. They unlatched her neck cuff and freed her from the chains. She jerked and protested and they hit and cursed her. They disappeared with her but for a long, terrible period of time the women could hear the assault as the men took turns. When the girl returned she was sobbing and shaking as if in a seizure. The men chained her again and threatened the women with the same treatment if they spoke or tried to escape. They huddled even closer in terror. Nalla stayed close to the girl and whispered soothing words, but nothing stopped her trembling.
The men were spent and exhausted and soon fell asleep. For the captives, though, sleep was impossible. Physically, they were too uncomfortable. Emotionally, they were devastated and wanted to go home to their children and husbands.
At daylight they began walking farther away from their village. The jungle thinned and the sun rose high and hot. By midmorning they were in a valley most had never seen before. The oxcart stopped and the women were led to a tree and told to sit. The teenager built a fire and cooked another pot of red rice and okra. The men ate first, from one wooden spoon. The leftovers were offered to the women, who let Sanu eat first. She said no, she had no appetite. The sparse amount of food was carefully rationed by the others and everyone took a few bites. They were starving and needed water.
In sad single file they moved onward; the only sounds were the axle of the oxcart and the constant rattling of the chains that stretched from neck to neck. The men took turns riding in the back of the oxcart where they napped. They also watched the women constantly, as if sizing them up for the night. At a creek they stopped to drink and rest for an hour or so in the shade of a cotton tree. Lunch was a small apple and a piece of hard bread. After eating and getting enough water to drink, the women were allowed to wade in the creek and bathe themselves.
After dark on the second night, a woman named Shara was selected. As the men removed her neck cuff, she tried to free herself and fought with them. They beat her with a walking stick, then tied her to a tree and bullwhipped her until she was unconscious. They cursed the other women and threatened the same punishment for those who resisted. The women were terrified and crying and clutching each other.
One of the men walked over and pointed to Nalla. She knew better than to resist. Shara had fought back and was now practically dead. They took Nalla into the trees and raped her.
Though exhausted, starving, dehydrated, frightened, and in pain, the women found sleep almost impossible for the second night. Poor Shara didn’t help matters. Still tied to the tree, she groaned pitifully through the night. At some point during the night, the groaning stopped.
5
At dawn the men began arguing. Shara had died during the night and they blamed each other. They forced the women to walk close to the tree as they left. They cried as they said goodbye to their friend. The neck cuffs made it impossible to turn their heads, but Nalla managed one look back. Shara still hugged the tree, her hands bound to it with rope, her naked body covered with dried blood.
For days they walked the hot dirt paths and grew weaker and weaker. They knew they were headed west and the ocean was getting closer, though they had never seen it. It was part of the lore, the legend of their Africa. Their village was so far away now, they knew they were not going home. For over two centuries the Congolese and other West Africans had been attacked, chained, taken away, and sold into slavery to the colonists in the New World. The women knew what awaited them. Nalla’s only remaining hope was that she would see Mosi again.