Abebi's Life (Ntsoreasee Otuko)

[Baba Ahmed]

Recently I posted excerpts from a new book, KEBUKA!, Remembering The Middle Passage Through the Eyes of Our Ancestors. This is another view from the inside. I'd appreciate some feedback..Baba Ahmed
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I am Tikar; I live near the Sanaga River* not far from Douala. My name is Abebi ( It means ask for her & got her) this is my life.
My husband is Asim ( it means protector). I am the second wife; my co-wife is Asibi ( it means she is of choice birth) .. We get along very well as long as I remember she is first wife. My husband is a well known and respected elder of our nation. He is a farmer raising yams, wheat, millet and cotton. And a renown weaver. Asim is a leader in his age group and listened to in the council of the elders who govern our village.

We are wealthy for we have many goats, cattle, and chickens. I also raise cassava, okra, millet and wheat. Me, Asibi are getting ready for two ceremonies. Asibi’s son is getting married and Jabari is completing manhood training. We will have a big feast with lots of music, dancing and singing.

Tonight while we plan the food and calculate the amount of beer Asibi will braid my daughter’s hair. She is better than I on braiding with designs. My daughters name is Ife, she is four years old. Sita and Laterfah had sons only, mine is the only daughter. My son is Adisa (who makes his meaning clear,) he is ten years old. He has starting his rites of passage which will take two years. He is learning from his uncles and father farming and fighting techniques. He secretly wants to train with a griot his uncle Akil. He is ten years old and should have started training at three years. Asim feels griots are born into families of griots. Aism feels our next son can become a griot. Let Adisa learn farming and become rich.

Adisa and I will leave early to get to the river to obtain the white clay I need for my pottery. I plan to make a special offering to the ancestors, for my father, who was well known as a griot. Asim has stated that everyone must remain in the compound at night because of the wars going on in the north and of the river.. Asim and the council have been discussing the unrest and decried none to leave the village without an escort. It was said that bands of slave catchers roam the bush. The village has placed sentries outside the village but Adisa knows where they are so we can avoid them.
Asim will be very angry and punish me but I must get the best clay. Adisa sings and plays the kora very well already. He is almost too old to start the training but the ancestors will decide and the beautiful clay pot well help.

Adisa and I almost made it to the river before we were captured. Adisa was clubbed on the head and thrown in the canoe and I was put in different canoe. I was gagged and bound before I could say ransom would be paid for us. When I awoke I was lying in the bottom of a canoe and that was the last time I saw anyone from my village ever again.

My name is Abebi I have been on the march for months. The women are tied together and the men are chained together. We march all day with one rest for food and to relieve ourselves.If you cannot walk you are left in the bush with no food or water. The little ones are not tied so when they can’t keep up we take turns carrying them. By the end of the third month we reach the great sea..

Men and women are separated and placed in a great white stone building. I collapsed and lay as if dead for two days and night. This is a cold, dark, dank, ugly place. We women are all together. We are fed once a day, a combination of rice ,peas and once in a while yams all cooked together. We are taken out in the courtyard once a week to walk around.
There are many nations here with many languages. I cannot speak with anyone. Women in groups of ten are being removed and brought back crying. I know what happens because it happened to me. We were branded like animals on the hip others on the breast. I am alone. I can never be found by my family and I will never see them again. My son, I have not seen him since the canoes were separated.

Today we were taken out of our cells and marched down to
The large canoes on the beach. Buckets of water was thrown over us so we could wash. They would not let us wade into the ocean because we would keep going. Our sarongs were ripped off and we were prodded into the canoes, young women ,nursing mothers, young girls, matrons all naked as babies. Then we got into the canoes chains and all and were rowed to a big house on the water(ship)..

When we got on the ship I got a look at our masters. I thought at first they were some kind of evil spirits. They were red in the face and red noses with skin peeling off in spots.. They had small blue eyes ,with a brown ,yellow or red hair. They bright colored jackets and pants on but most of them just had pants on.. They also had a terrible odor this convinced me they were a new kind of man. Spirits don’t smell... They look like large pigs. They speak but it sounds so ugly. It’s a sort of hiss, much spitting and a growl . I learned much later this was called German or Dutch.I think these are men but recently made so they are not yet human.

Naked as babies we were placed below deck and chained to the boards which became our beds. I thought this heaving wallowing ship would be my tomb. It was so hot that all human behavior like, eating, urinating, defeating and sleep was done in this place. Love was not present I this place.

Many people die during the night. The rats grow fat and bold. Sometimes the dead are not removed for days but remain chained where they die. When they are removed they are thrown overboard to feed the sharks.

Some of the young girls are taken upstairs for a week or so and when they return they are no longer girls. At first I wanted to go up to smell fresh air, perhaps to jump overboard and feed the fish. I was never chosen. Why do I still live? Why?

The ship has stopped; they are taking us up into the air. Some of us cannot walk without help our legs are so weak.We were only fed once a day a thick paste made of ground beans paste and lard. Its so thick you just grab a handful if you can. We are weak from inactivity and hunger and despair.

The air is so sweet after the stench of below. I see trees. We are here. I am alive!


I’m finally off that ship of evil but the ground is still rocking. We had three days of rest and allowed to bathe oil ourselves and put on a clean cloth. I have learned a few words of French, Spanish and Yoruba from the others.
After this period men and women were herded to the square, where we were surrounded by this newly made men. I noticed these look different from the pig faces ones on the ship. They are not so white and pale. They have dark eyes, hair and skin and they are slender not square. These whites were carrying ropes and at a signal they rushed towards us yelling. We tried to run also even with the chains. We thought perhaps they were going to kill and eat us. They used the ropes to tie and capture as many as they could. I thought I was going to be killed. After our master whose name is Jacque gathered us together we were branded again. This time I knew what the big fire was for. That night we were placed in a building with straw covering the floor and bars on the window, and we slept.

The next morning we started our march to where we would live. I know no one in this group my ship mates were all caught by different whites. It took us five days to get to our plantation . This place reminds me of Africa sweet Africa. One of the head men looked at me as if he were going to speak. I think he is Fon. He is very old. He told me that the work was very hard. He said they prefeeed to work slaves to death and just replace them. He said he would try to help me. He speaks, Fanti, Yorouba and fon. He speaks very halting searching for the correct words. He warned me not to speak any African language so no one could hear me. Its cause for a whipping.. He called this place Haiti.

The men and women all do the same work. The lash falls on men and woman who are too slow. We are shown what to do by the older slaves. We started pulling grass, then preparing the ground, then planting the sugar cane shoot. We are called by the bell before dawn. It is misty, cold and damp. We get a bowl of cold mush and water and go to the fields. After the sun comes up you feel better until you find you can’t stop till noon. At noon we get a hot meal of mush and water when it’s too hot to eat. I was told to eat because we don’t stop till dusk when we eat again.


This place is called Santo Domingo,(Haiti) , Hispanola, or Cuba its one of the sugar islands. We are surrounded by mountains. On the seventh day we are allowed to rest or work on our gardens. The older slaves say you must have a garden if you want to eat better. I go into the forest to collect the plants I need first then the garden. I’m learning to understand Creole, French and Spanish I only respond to Creole. Its not good to let everyone know all that you know. I remember the proverbs we used to recite around the fire,�Silence produces peace and peace produces safety,� A chattering bird builds no nest�, If I listen, I have the advantage, if I speak, they have it�. I ask what the drums are saying. I’m told its about Macandal who was arrested and executed. He wanted the slaves and free blacks to organize and poison all the French. I’m told that there is a priest called Bookman who will be coming soon.

I fear I will never leave here alive. The drums beat all night; the whites weld their whips all day. What & who is Bookman? The cane fields will kill me unless I do something. I can’t wait for Bookman,I’ll try fire first.

I am called Clara, my masters name is Robert Murphy. He is a small pale white man. It is said he comes from another land also, called Scotland. He’s a narrow man, pinched nose, narrow chin, narrow frame and droopy belly. I call my mistress Miss D. Her eyes droop, her cheeks sag, her hair hangs lank, and her lower lip turns down, her breast droop, her butt I flat and hangs low. Every time I look at her I smile. She is the saddest looking person I ever saw. Of course I don’t let anyone see me smile.

I live in North Carolina now in Bladen County. I speak English but I don’t say much. My master’s slaves grow cotton, tobacco, rice, many vetatables and they raise hogs, chickens, ducks, geese, sheep and cattle. I ‘m a field hand. I prefer being in the field because after your work you don’t have to be around the whites. I go back to my lean-to and tend my garden, wash and try to sew. I used to be in Cuba in the cane fields, that was going to kill me.

I have been sold many times; they say I have the evil eye. In Haiti, & Cuba I found many plants I could use to make poisons. I have been suspected of many deeds but never proved, so they just sell me away. If I had wanted too I could have killed them... Killing them would have cause much trouble and making them suffer was enough. Here I find it hard to find the plants I need. I will save what poison I have to use when and if I need too. I’m getting older and I think I will die here in North Carolina.

I have had many husbands. I call them all Joe. They are not true husbands because they can’t fulfill their responsibilities. Joe can’t protect me, h built me no house, he doesn’t’ control the fields I work in, he can’t keep me from being sold away or raped by any white man who wants to.he can’t even protect his children from being sold. The other slaves call me names, I don’t care. This Joe, I’ll keep, he is a good fisherman and hunter. We do have fish and fresh meat. We don’t have children because I don’t choose to breed for the master. Because I don’t breed I’m not considered very valuable by my master. My price is not high, because I have the mark of the lash on my back these other slaves brag about their cost and their master’s wealth. They were born slaves, me I born free. I’m still free inside myself. I know my name, my language, my country and my religion, these fools know only their master.

You asked me what the most important part of my life was. I’m not sure what was most important but I know what the best time of my life was.

I was born near the Sanaga River, not far from the Douala. I know you don’t like to hear about Africa, but you asked. I had a husband Asim, and one co-wife. We were well fed, well dressed and well respected by our husband, family, friends and community. I had my own house for me and my children. I had a beautiful boy my own parcel of land, chickens, and goats. I had cotton and flax to weave into cloth and dyes to color it. We had everything we needed and some of what we wanted. We were able to trade for what we wanted. We worked very hard for ourselves and family. You get very tired but it’s different when you work for yourself not a master. Now that the war is over you’re find out the difference in working for yourself.

In Africa we women had our own secret society just like the men. We solved our own problems by consulting with the women’s organization. Each family had an representative on the village council. The village sent a representative to the district council and the district was represented to the regional council up to the King’s advisors. Information about our state was discussed in the village square. The family head then discussed in our family meeting all that we should know. We knew about the many wars going on and that a new kind of man was about wanting slaves.

Africa was not perfect but it’s where home is. I have tried to pass on my knowledge but none want to learn the old ways. They say we must forget, we are now in North Carolina and we’re free, so forget Africa.how can you forget what is written on your face and body? I’ve been able to survive for almost seventy years as a slave because I remembered Africa. I knew how to take care of myself and take care of some of my masters. I’ve been sold many times because they said too many overseers got sick and died. Cane fields and houses caught on fire. I tell you this I am Tirkar, I am African and that how I’ll die African!
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*Baba note: Sanaga River is in the Cameroons, Central West Afrika. Ntsoreasee Otuko is twi for a "forced genocidal emigration, exile and captivity used to replace the neuter The Middle Passage.

[CreatorsCollege]

This a a very engrossing narrative! I read Roots, and was HOPING that nothing happened to her when she went to ge the clay. I was so into the story, that I was kind of "dazed" into the fast-forward that I am reading it because this is OurStory.

Many might not want to read narratives such as this, however it is vital to our healing, IMHO that we Africans come to terms with what happened to us.

This story created such imagination in my head that I mourn for hte naturalness of this existence.

Pleace post more!!

[Baba Ahmed]

medase! u kno how it goes: FIFO (first in first out) I've little choice. I don't even remember who sent this to me. It struck a chord, tho.

So this excerpt is from Alex Haley's ROOTS? I did not know that.
Baruti's new book, KEBUKA! details descriptions graphically. Purposely, I think, to fire up some awakeness. Such stories live yet in us.

U've hit on what many of us refuse to do: search for and or refuse to face reading about our Ntsoreasee Otuko. It can be extremely painful. Provided one's sense of OurStorical empathy lives and accept it as further fuel in our battles. The Strange ones think and act in a military fashion. Peace & Love are loving nothings in this WAR as they see it! Their historical mindset is clear and again is b n manifested in its broadest scales. I'd not be surprised to see or hear that a group of white folks soon commit some open deathly rebellions.

The Weathermen yt group during Black Power 1960's, tho suspect, were quick to bomb power stations, rip off banks, etc. A European group to the core.

But this brief scenario also points to a few cultural actions we today can use: family structure, use of rites of passages, male & female roles, social political structures, etc kwk. Altho the names suggest they were Muslims in Afrika, the family structures weren't unusual.

Even then folk didn't wanna hear about the "old" ways. The last paragraph speaks volumes!

[CreatorsCollege]

Originally Posted by Baba Ahmed

medase! u kno how it goes: FIFO (first in first out) I've little choice. I don't even remember who sent this to me. It struck a chord, tho.

So this excerpt is from Alex Haley's ROOTS? I did not know that.
Baruti's new book, KEBUKA! details descriptions graphically. Purposely, I think, to fire up some awakeness. Such stories live yet in us.

U've hit on what many of us refuse to do: search for and or refuse to face reading about our Ntsoreasee Otuko. It can be extremely painful. Provided one's sense of OurStorical empathy lives and accept it as further fuel in our battles. The Strange ones think and act in a military fashion. Peace & Love are loving nothings in this WAR as they see it! Their historical mindset is clear and again is b n manifested in its broadest scales. I'd not be surprised to see or hear that a group of white folks soon commit some open deathly rebellions.

The Weathermen yt group during Black Power 1960's, tho suspect, were quick to bomb power stations, rip off banks, etc. A European group to the core.

But this brief scenario also points to a few cultural actions we today can use: family structure, use of rites of passages, male & female roles, social political structures, etc kwk. Altho the names suggest they were Muslims in Afrika, the family structures weren't unusual.

Even then folk didn't wanna hear about the "old" ways. The last paragraph speaks volumes!

Greetings, Honorable Elder!

I apologize, I did not mean to suggest that this story is from the book "Roots," just that it put me in the mind of it with the writing style and cadence. Kunta's taking was of a similar scenario where he was out doing something and .....

The things that you point out about this article are the things that I mourn for, living in Kemet where family structure is very strong, I can see how the loosening of the bonds have impacted Africans in America.

I can attest the the reality that I have relatives, and not a family. My mama is so disgusted that her attitude is "let the dear bury the dead" and was the primary motivation for me leaving the U.S. for the Motherland.

Perhaps this year will be the year she stops "trying to help Ike, and go on and move to Ethiopia, where she wants to be."

I read in another post where you stated that you've started a "Home Grown" Foods CO-OP, getting back to our direct connection to the land may perhaps awaken our Divine connection to mama' Earth, that restoring that relationship may "feed" the familial and communal within us. We Africans don't know how hungry we are for each other!

The familial, social and spiritual connection that I "crave" cannot be satisfied in Kemet, for the man on the street's world-view and reference is Arab, and though Kemet is nice, this day it's not HOME.

Thanks for the illumination, keep posting, please!

[Baba Ahmed]

Applaudable greetings to u, my brutha Creator's College

Thanks for for the clarifier. And no, I did not start the Garden Co-op. That belongs to a sista friend of our family, as does the over 7 acres of land right in Atlanta's city limits! She's very sweet in recognizing that this old man ain't hardly a gardener nor farmer. Who avoids cold weather environments or other harsher weather conditions. But ahhhhhhhh! The Creator has made certain plants that grow in its season. Soo now we're slowly cultivating Winter plants, including a few herbs. IMO there's no "perhaps;" the feel of a re connection to MaMa Earth's is ever present. In this concrete, steel & glass jungle.

Re present day Kemet? Nasser announced years ago what's happening there when he called for a return to "their" cultures by forming the Arab League! Not Afrikan Arab League, but specifically the ARAB League. Dem mo fo's were still selling the political "construct" of a Middle East.

About your unsatisfied craving for connections in Kemet; understand, u're acquiring knowledge and experiences not found in books or DVDs nor CD's that can turn cravings into yearnings. We're in a time for visionaries to knowingly choose our ways and dig that their seeds will bear fruit likened to that of a Shea Butter Tree's life span. Very little cultivation's needed... the soil and seeds are prepared. We shall not, again, allow what happened when the Europeans "discovered" shea butter, its trees etc. Done and written about in 1797, here over 200 yrs later we on this side of the Kemetic Ocean have "discovered" it... again! We're learning a hard lesson of the Afrikan elementa need for establishing, maintaining and protecting FAMILY. As familes go so goes Nations.

And thanks for reminding us that home is not always where the heart is. My sons and their age set have established a company and named it

R World Shirt Co.

There it is: R World!

Favor, next opt u have, go to a "Tomb," a Pyramid, a Stela or the edge of the ancient Nile just quietly stand or sit and pray: Ancestors of those whose spirits are of the Ancients! Help them Rise up! They have the spirits of Greatness in them. Let'em Rise; Make'em Rise. help'em to walk, stand and or fly in those vibrations!!! Ase! Ase!! Ase-ooo!!!

Ameen, Amun, yeah! Be it.
Kwame