This is a historical adventure set during the era of the slave trade in one of the Middle East’s grandest and most influential kingdoms…
Imagine a colossal ship, akin in size to a city, gracefully gliding across the surface of the Atlantic Ocean on this moonlit fourteenth night. The world around us is a symphony of the pale moonlight dancing upon the sea’s gentle waves. For those with keen eyesight, a panoramic view extends from east to west, south to north, but all that meets the eye is the boundless expanse of the Red Sea. Our journey has carried us from the African continent into the heart of the Sahara…
Onboard this vessel, an eerie calm envelopes everyone as if they are not adrift upon the open sea. The majority of passengers on this ship are Arabs and Europeans bound for our African land, intent on capturing and enslaving its people. The diverse skin tones among the captives reflect their origins across various African nations. Some arrived clothed, while others were stripped bare. Five of them, each a masterpiece of beauty in their own right, caught my attention. At the end of this remarkable lineup stood a young woman who had drawn my gaze. She was crouched in a corner, concealing her face between her thighs, as a nearby white man nonchalantly blew cigarette smoke in her direction. Her skin, fair as milk, featured delicate, slightly thin lips tinted in a rosy hue, reminiscent of red lipstick. Her prominent nose accentuated her bare head, making her hair length impossible to discern. It glistened, a testament to her natural allure—a divine beauty, untouched by human hand…
Her body trembled, teeth chattering as she huddled in a small box. All the passengers lay on the plane’s floor, her belly pressed against her, and she murmured, “Bimbii is hot, your body is very hot.” Though her words were plain, her silence spoke volumes. The man responsible for their care approached, inspecting Bimbii’s body. He winced as he sensed her discomfort and uttered a hesitant “no.” He panted in frustration, for incomplete slaves were his bane; he feared losing them before reaching the point of sale. Not everyone bought a slave lacking sufficient value. On the other side, an Arab man strolled with his servant. He glanced at the white man and remarked, “She’s not good enough.” The white man joined them, smiled, and countered, “If you wish, we can trade slaves; give me yours.” The Arab man chuckled, studying the white man’s lineup, and retorted, “Show me your servant, and I will choose mine.” The white man grinned and presented his team of servants, mostly young, robust men, many from tribal backgrounds. Their gazes locked until the white man’s eyes settled on a tall, muscular man with a powerful presence. One of the servant supervisors signaled for the man and placed him under the white man’s ownership, adding him to his team of servants…
Among the servants, only five women could be found, each speaking a different language, rendering communication impossible. The remainder were men. Since joining this group, she had become mute, hindered by the language barrier. The heat within her body intensified, her hair tousled and without cover. A young Igbo man approached and removed his own clothes to shield her from the cold. She stared at him for a long moment before tucking her head back between her knees. When one of the caretakers offered her a bowl of water, she paused, then moved quickly, accepting the bowl with gratitude, offering a plain “thank you” in her language…
