Everything is Lost

The sound of heavy breathing came from the long line of tired, copper skin men
as their bare feet dragged across the dirt in unison. Their heads hung from their necks
as they carelessly walked through the forest. Early morning mildew filled the hot, humid
air. Only the strong, physically and mentally, made it this far.
The dirt got softer and softer the closer they got to the edge of the forest. The
ground was speckled with the light shining through the small gaps between the leaves.
The light shone onto the wooden stick that linked them all together. As they moved
forward, the sunlight slowly made its way to the back of the line. The line stopped when
a white man pushed through the leaves and yelled Cape Coast! Cape Coast! The hot
sun shot through the opening, blinding their eyes. The white men forced everyone to
continue walking a little faster. Once Kwaku reached the opening in the leaves, it was
like a portal to a second world. The dirt was white and soft like silk and mounds of water
were crashing against the ground. In the distance, near the water, other groups of
Africans were walking in a line much like Kwaku. All of the lines of people met at this
large towering building made of much stronger material than what they used at their
village. Screams came from the walls of the blinding white structure and it smelled of
blood and death.
Kwaku closed his eyes and listened to the waves crashing and the birds singing.
The world started spinning, sounds faded and everything went dark. He slowly opened
his eyes and saw his mama and papa standing at the edge of the forest. Kwaku now by
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himself, free, ran to his parents jumping into his dad's open arms. They walked into the
forest where they found Afi behind a tree waiting to scare them. Kwaku and his family
walked back to their village while Kwaku talked about his long adventure. When they got
to the village all of the houses were ash and bones spread across the dirt.
No. This can't be true! Kwaku said. His family walked in front of him and one by
one they slowly vanished into dust.
Kwaku turned from side to side whimpering No, no.
Kid, are you ok? Kwaku woke up with a sudden jolt on the cement floor. There
was a man from another tribe at his side nudging Kwakus shoulder. Kwaku was
surprised to see another man speaking his native language. The room was dark with
light coming from small holes punched in the ceiling. The ground was wet from urine.
His nose scrunched up from the smell of feces.
Kid? the man asked.
Where am I? Kwaku asked still looking around the room.
You passed out in front of the building. Luckily the white men just brought you to
this prison. The trenches in the middle of the room is for going to the bathroom and
twice a day they shove food through the door on the left.
Kwaku just looked around and took in his surroundings. There were hundreds, if
not thousands, of people crammed into this large dungeon. Coughing and sneezing
came from other captives. Their faces were dusty and covered with dry blood. The door
creaked open and left-overs were shoved through the door. Kwaku, relieved, slowly got
up to eat. But by the time he stood up all the food was gone. All he could see were

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people fighting for food and pushing past each other to get the last couple of crumbs.
The man who talked to Kwaku sat next to him and shared part of his food.
The next couple of days Kwaku just watched the sun as it slowly passed; keeping
track of when the food would be delivered. Each day a white man would check for the
dead, and whenever he would find someone, everyone would respect and pray for that
person. Every once in a while, new groups of Africans were dumped in with the rest.
They always had the same terrified and skittish face. One day they brought a new batch
of Africans, like normal, but this time three people tried to escape and all three died
trying. Many people believe that if they die, their spirit will be released and they can join
their family in a better place.
One afternoon, the door opened, but it was nowhere near the next feeding time.
They were all brought out of the prison in groups. They had to walk to the center of the
building and line up in front of a white man. Each person stepped up one by one and
were sent one way or another. Kwaku took one step at a time in an attempt to get to the
front of the line as slowly as possible. Three people remained. Two. One. Kwaku was
finally up and was terrified of what was to come. The white man poked and prodded at
his body and mouth. Kwaku did not refuse, after having seen what happened to the
previous people who did. The white man then pointed to the group to the left and Kwaku
scurried over trying to not get whipped or worse. Another white man shaved his head
bald to prevent any lice from spreading.
After everyone went through the line, the group Kwaku was in walked out of the
fortress and into a wooden hut next to the endless blue sea. While the other group was

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sent back towards the chamber of horror. White men, in Kwakus group, broke everyone
apart and tied their wrists tightly to the wooden posts. Some people were on the inside
and some were on the outside of the wooden hut. Kwaku was surprised to find that he
was more comfortable tied to the ground than he was on the stone floor in the dungeon.
Each night Kwaku listened to the waves crashing against the rocks. Each
morning he awoke to one less person from the outside. No one knew where they
disappeared to, but they knew they would never be seen again.
On the night a fire was lit, Kwaku saw a white man holding an iron rod into the
fire. To his left, there were other white men holding Africans down. Once again,
everyone got in a line waiting for their turn to be tortured. The ground shook with
screams and yells as they were branded with the hot iron. When it was Kwakus turn,
two white men held him down while another applied the searing iron onto his skin. It
wasnt so much the pain from the heat as it was the sound of sizzling skin and the scent
of burned flesh that made Kwaku want to scream. But, Kwaku just stood there, biting
his tongue, refusing to yell. Tears dripped down his face as they removed the iron and
shoved him over to the others who were branded. As the steam rose off their tender,
bloody shoulders, Kwaku focused on the horizon. He could feel the wind and hear the
waves crashing against the sand, but his mind was a thousand miles away.

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