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.
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.
The days blurred into each other and time meant nothing. Survival was their only thought, when they could contain their emotions. The fierce and unrelenting sun made everything worse. The hunger and dehydration wore them down, hour by hour. At night, when the winds blew from the north, the women piled even closer together to stay warm while their guards slept by a small fire.
