Barracoon Read online

  “But in de Affica soil dey teachee de boys long time befo’ dey go in de army. Derefore, you unnerstand me, when de boy ’bout fourteen dey start train him for de war.

  “Dey don’t go fight right away. No, first dey got to know how to walk in de bush and see and not show theyself. Derefore, first de fathers (elders) takee de boys on journey to hunt. Sometime it go and come back befo’ night. Sometime it two, three sleeps (nights).

  “Dey got to learn de step on de ground (tracks). Dey got to know whether whut dey hunt turned this way or that way. Dey learn to breakee de branch and turn it so dey kin find de way back home. Dey got to knot de long leaf so de folks behind kin know to follow.

  “De fathers teachee us to know a place for de house (a camp site) and how we must choppee bark of de biggest tree so somebody else whut go running (traveling) kin know it a good place to sleepee.

  “Me make de hunt many time. We shoot de arrows from de bow. We chunkee spear we kill de beastes and fetchee dem home wid us.

  “I so glad I goin’ be a man and fight in de army lak my big brothers. I likee beatee de drum too.

  “Dey teachee us to sing de war song. We sing when we walk in de bush and make lak we goin’ fight de enemy. De drum talkee wid us when we sing de song, ‘Ofu, ofu, tiggy, tiggy, tiggy, tiggy batim, ofu ofu, tiggy tiggy, tiggy, tiggy batim! Ofu batim en ko esse!’

  (“When the day breaks the cock shall crow

  When the day breaks the cock shall crow

  When the day breaks the cock shall crow

  When someone crosses our roof we shall tear

  A nation down.”

  The actual meaning is, “When we get there we shall make our demands and if we are crossed we shall tear down the nation who defies us.”)

  “Every year dey teachee us mo’ war. But de king, Akia’on, say he doan go make no war.1 He make us strong so nobody doan make war on us. We know de secret of de gates so when de enemy come and we don’t know dey come, we kin run hidee ourself in de bush, den dey don’t see nobody dey go ’way. Den we come behind dem and fight till dey all dead.

  “Four, five rainy seasons it keep on lak dat, den I grow tall and big. I kin run in de bush all day and not be tired.”

  Kossula ceased speaking and looked pointedly at his melon rind. There was still lots of good red meat and a quart or two of juice. I looked at mine. I had more meat left than Kossula had. Nothing was left of the first installment, but a pleasant memory. So we lifted the half-rinds to our knees and started all over again. The sun was still hot so we did the job leisurely.

  Watermelon halves having ends like everything else, and a thorough watermelon eating being what it is, a long over-stuffed silence fell on us.

  When I was able to speak, somehow the name juju came into my mind, so I asked Kossula what he knew about it. He seemed reluctant to answer my question, but finally he did so.

  “I tellee you whut I know about de juju. Whut de ole folks do in de juju house, I doan know. I can’t tellee you dat. I too young yet. Dat doan reachee me. I know dat all de grown men dey go to de mountain once a year. It have something to do wid makin’ de weather, but whut dey do dere, Cudjo doan know. Now, dat’s right. I doan make out I know whut go on wid de grown folks. When I come away from Afficky I only a boy 19 year old. I have one initiation. A boy must go through many initiations before he become a man. I jus’ initiate one time.

  “One day I was in de market place when I see a pretty girl walk past me. She so pretty I follow her a little way, but I doan speak. We doan do dat in Afficky. But I likee her. One ole man, he saw me watchee de girl. He doan say nothin’ to me, but he went to my father an’ say, ‘Your boy is about breakin’ de corn. He is getting to be a man an’ knows de secret of man. So put goats down or a cow an’ let us fix a banquet for him.’ So my father say, ‘All right.’

  “But first dey doan fix de banquet for me. Dey have in Afficky a small stick on a string an’ when dey make it go ’round fast, it roar like de lion or de bull. Dey have three kinds. One, dey call it de ‘he’ one de ‘she’ and one dey call it de dog ’cause dey make it bark data way. (The bull-roarer.)

  “No woman mus’ hear dis thing; if she do, she die. So dey stay inside and shuttee de door tight.

  “Dey put me in de initiation house. After a while I hear a great roaring outside de door an’ dey say to me, ‘Go see where dat is.’ Soon’s I went outside I doan hear it at de door no more. It sound way off in de bush. They tell me to go in de bush to hunt it. As soon as I go to de bush to find out whut it is, I hear it behind me. I hear it behind me, in front of me, everywhere, but I never find it. De men are playing wid me. Way after while, dey take me into de banquet an’ tell me de secret of de thing dat make de sound.

  “At de banquet dey make me sit an’ listen wid respect. Dey tell me, ‘You are jus’ below us. You are not yet a man. All men are still fathers to you.’

  “There is plenty of roast meat and wine at de banquet an’ all de men dey pinchee my ear tight to teach me to keep de secrets. Den I get a peacock feather to wear. In Americky soil I see plenty wimmins wear de peacock feather, but dey doan know what dey do. In Afficky soil a boy got to gittee plenty secrets inside dat he doan talk ’fo’ he gittee de peacock feather.”

  V

  When I gittee de peacock feather, I stand round de place where de chief talk wid de wise men. I hope dey see Cudjo and think he a grown man. Maybe dey call me to de council. De fathers doan never call me but I likee very much to be dere and lissen when dey talk.

  “I likee go in de market place too and see de pretty gals wid de gold bracelets on de arm from de hand to de elbow. Oh, dey look very fine to Cudjo when dey walkee dey sling de arm so and de bracelet ring. I lak hear dat—it sound so pretty.

  “One day I see one girl I lak very much to marry, but I too young to take a wife. But I lak her. I think ’bout her all de time. Derefore I go home and say to my folks, ‘Be keerful how you treat such and such a girl.’

  “Dey look at me den dey go ask for de girl to be my wife when I git li’l older.

  “One day derefore I in de market, three men come whut strange to us. Dey say dey from Dahomey and dey wantee see our king. De king say, ‘Alright, he talk wid dem.’

  “Dey say, ‘You know de king of Dahomey?’

  “Akia’on say, ‘I have heard of him.’

  “De men from Dahomey say, ‘Den you know all de strong names he got. You know he got one name, Tenge Makanfenkpar, a rock, the finger nail cannot scratch it, see! You know dey speak ’bout him and say, “Kini, kini, kini, Lion of Lions.” Some say, “A animal done cut its teeth, evil done enter into de bush.” (The “bush,” meaning the surrounding tribes who feel the sharpness of Dahomey’s tooth.) Dis king send to you and say he wish to be kind. Derefore you must sendee him de half yo’ crops. If you doan send it, he make war.’ (See note 1.)1

  “Our King Akia’on say, ‘Astee you’ king did he ever hear de strong name of Akia’on? Dey call me Mouth of de leopard? That he take hold on, he never let go. Tell him de crops ain’ mine. Dey belong to de people. I cain send and take de people crops to send to de king of Dahomey. He got plenty land. Let him stop makin’ slave hunt on udder people and make his own crops.’

  “De king of Dahomey doan lak dat message, but Akia’on so strong, he ’fraid to come make war. So he wait. (See note 2.)2

  “De king of Dahomey, you know, he got very rich ketchin slaves. He keep his army all de time making raids to grabee people to sell so de people of Dahomey doan have no time to raise gardens an’ make food for deyselves. (See note 3.)3

  “Maybe de king of Dahomey never come make raid in Takkoi, but one traitor from Takkoi go in de Dahomey. He a very bad man and de king (of Takkoi) say, ‘Leave this country.’ Dat man want big honors in de army so he go straight in de Dahomey and say to de king, ‘I show you how to takee Takkoi.’ He tellee dem de secret of de gates.

  “Derefore, you unnerstand me, dey come make war, but we doan know dey come fight us. Dey march
all night long and we in de bed sleep. We doan know nothin’.

  “It bout daybreak when de folks dat sleep git wake wid de noise when de people of Dahomey breakee de Great Gate. I not woke yet. I still in bed. I hear de gate when dey break it. I hear de yell from de soldiers while dey choppee de gate. Derefore I jump out de bed and lookee. I see de great many soldiers wid French gun in de hand and de big knife. Dey got de women soldiers too and dey run wid de big knife and make noise. Dey ketch people and dey saw de neck lak dis wid de knife den dey twist de head so and it come off de neck. Oh Lor’, Lor’!

  “I see de people gittee kill so fast! De old ones dey try run ’way from de house but dey dead by de door, and de women soldiers got dey head. Oh, Lor’!”

  Cudjo wept sorrowfully and crossed his arms on his breast with the fingers touching his shoulders. His mouth and eyes wide-open as if he still saw the gruesome spectacle.

  “Everybody dey run to de gates so dey kin hide deyself in de bush, you unnerstand me. Some never reachee de gate. De women soldier ketchee de young ones and tie dem by de wrist. No man kin be so strong lak de woman soldiers from de Dahomey. So dey cut off de head. Some dey snatch de jaw-bone while de people ain’ dead. Oh Lor’, Lor’, Lor’! De poor folkses wid dey bottom jaw tore off dey face! I runnee fast to de gate but some de men from Dahomey dey dere too. I runnee to de nexy gate but dey dere too. Dey surround de whole town. Dey at all de eight gates.

  “One gate lookee lak nobody dere so I make haste and runnee towards de bush. But de man of Dahomey dey dere too. Soon as I out de gate dey grabee me, and tie de wrist. I beg dem, please lemme go back to my mama, but dey don’t pay whut I say no ’tenshun. Dey tie me wid de rest.

  “While dey ketchin’ me, de king of my country he come out de gate, and dey grabee him. They see he de king so dey very glad. Derefore, you unnerstand me, dey take him in de bush where de king of Dahomey wait wid some chiefs till Takkoi be destroy, when he see our king, he say to his soldiers, ‘Bring me de word-changer’ (public interpreter). When de word-changer came he say, ‘Astee dis man why he put his weakness agin’ de Lion of Dahomey?’ De man changed de words for our king. Akia’on lissen. Den he say to de Dahomey king, ‘Why don’t you fight lak men? Why you doan come in de daytime so dat we could meet face to face?’ De man changee de words so de king of Dahomey know what he say. Den de king of Dahomey say, ‘Git in line to go to Dahomey so de nations kin see I conquer you and sell Akia’on in de barracoon.’

  “Akia’on say, ‘I ain’ goin’ to Dahomey. I born a king in Takkoi where my father and his fathers rule before I was born. Since I been a full man I rule. I die a king but I not be no slave.’

  “De king of Dahomey askee him, ‘You not goin’ to Dahomey?’

  “He tell him, ‘No, he ain’ goin’ off de ground where he is de king.’

  “De king of Dahomey doan say no mo’. He look at de soldier and point at de king. One woman soldier step up wid de machete and chop off de head of de king, and pick it off de ground and hand it to de king of Dahomey. (See note 4.)4

  “When I see de king dead, I try to ’scape from de soldiers. I try to make it to de bush, but all soldiers over-take me befo’ I git dere. O Lor’, Lor’! When I think ’bout dat time I try not to cry no mo’. My eyes dey stop cryin’ but de tears runnee down inside me all de time. When de men pull me wid dem I call my mama name. I doan know where she is. I no see none my family. I doan know where dey is. I beg de men to let me go findee my folks. De soldiers say dey got no ears for cryin’. De king of Dahomey come to hunt slave to sell. So dey tie me in de line wid de rest.

  “De sun it jus’ rising.

  “All day dey make us walk. De sun so hot!

  “De king of Dahomey, he ride in de hammock and de chiefs wid him dey got hammock too. Po’ me I walk. De men of Dahomey dey tie us in de line so nobody run off. In dey hand dey got de head of de people dey kill in Takkoi. Some got two, three head dey carry wid dem to Dahomey.

  “I so sad for my home I ain’ gittee hongry dat day, but I glad when we drink de water.

  “Befo’ de sun go down we come by a town. It got a red flag on de bush. De king of Dahomey send men wid de word-changer to de town and de chief come in de hammock and talk wid de king. Den he take down de red flag and hang a white flag. Whut dey say, Cudjo doan know. But he bring de king a present of yams and corn. De soldiers make fire and cook de grub and eatee. Den we march on. Every town de king send message.

  “We sleepee on de ground dat night but de king and de chiefs hang dey hammock in de tree and sleepee in dem. Den nothin’ doan harm dem on de ground. Po’ me I sleepee on de ground and cry. I ain’ used to no ground. I thinkee too ’bout my folks and I cry. All night I cry.

  “When de sun rise we eat and march on to Dahomey. De king send word to every town we passee and de head-man come out. If dey got a red flag, dat mean dey ’gree dey ain’ goin’ pay no tax to de Dahomey. Dey say dey will fight. If it a white flag, dey pay to Dahomey whut dey astee dem. If it a black flag, dat mean dat de ruler is dead and de son not old ’nough to take de throne. In de Affica soil when dey see de black flag, dey doan bother. Dey know it be takin’ advantage if dey make war when nobody in charge.

  “De heads of de men of Dahomey got ’gin to smell very bad. Oh, Lor’, I wish dey bury dem! I doan lak see my people head in de soldier hands; and de smell makee me so sick!

  “De nexy day, dey make camp all day so dat de people kin smoke de heads so dey don’t spoil no mo’. Oh Lor’ Lor’, Lor’! We got to set dere and see de heads of our people smokin’ on de stick. We stay dere in dat place de nine days. Den we march on to de Dahomey soil.”

  Kossula was no longer on the porch with me. He was squatting about that fire in Dahomey. His face was twitching in abysmal pain. It was a horror mask. He had forgotten that I was there. He was thinking aloud and gazing into the dead faces in the smoke. His agony was so acute that he became inarticulate. He never noticed my preparation to leave him.

  So I slipped away as quietly as possible and left him with his smoke pictures.

  VI

  Barracoon

  It was Saturday when next I saw Cudjo. He was gracious but not too cordial. He picked me peaches and tried to get rid of me quickly, but I hung on. Finally, he said, “Didn’t I tellee you not to come bother me on Sat’day? I got to clean de church. Tomorrow Sunday.”

  “But I came to help you, Kossula. You needn’t talk if you don’t want to.”

  “I thankee you come help me. I want you take me in de car in de Mobile. I gittee me some turnip seed to plant in de garden.”

  We hurriedly swept and dusted the church. Less than an hour later the Chevrolet had borne us to Mobile and back. I left him at his gate with a brief goodbye and tackled him again on Monday.

  He was very warm this day. He glimmered and glinted with light. I must first tell him about the nice white lady in New York who was interested in him.1

  “I want you to write her a letter in de New York. Tell her Cudjo say a thousand time much oblige. I glad she send you astee me whut Cudjo do all de time.”

  I talked about the lady for a few minutes and my words evidently pleased him for he said, “I tellee you mo’ ’bout Cudjo when he was in de Dahomey. I tellee you right. She good to me. You tell her Cudjo lak please her. She good to me and Cudjo lonely.

  “Dey march us in de Dahomey and I see de house of de king. I cain tell all de towns we passee to git to de place where de king got his house, but I ’member we passee de place call Eko (Meko) and Ahjahshay. We go in de city where de king got his house and dey call it Lomey. (Either Abomey or Cannah.) De house de king live in hisself, you unnerstand me, it made out of skull bones. Maybe it not made out de skull, but it lookee dat way to Cudjo, oh Lor’. Dey got de white skull bone on de stick when dey come meet us, and de men whut march in front of us, dey got de fresh head high on de stick. De drum beat so much lookee lak de whole world is de drum dey beat on. Dat de way dey fetchee us into de place where de king got his house. (See note
5.)2

  “Dey placee us in de barracoon (stockade) and we restee ourself. Dey give us something to eat, but not very much.

  “We stay dere three days, den dey have a feast. Everybody sing and dance and beatee de drum. (1)3

  “We stay dere not many days, den dey march us to esoku (the sea). We passee a place call Budigree (Badigri) den we come in de place call Dwhydah. (It is called Whydah by the whites, but Dwhydah is the Nigerian pronunciation of the place.)4

  “When we git in de place dey put us in a barracoon behind a big white house and dey feed us some rice.

  “We stay dere in de barracoon three weeks. We see many ships in de sea, but we cain see so good ’cause de white house, it ’tween us and de sea.

  “But Cudjo see de white men, and dass somethin’ he ain’ never seen befo’. In de Takkoi we hear de talk about de white man, but he doan come dere.

  “De barracoon we in ain’ de only slave pen at the place. Dey got plenty of dem but we doan know who de people in de other pens. Sometime we holler back and forth and find out where each other come from. But each nation in a barracoon by itself.

  “We not so sad now, and we all young folks so we play game and clam up de side de barracoon so we see whut goin’ on outside.

  “When we dere three weeks a white man come in de barracoon wid two men of de Dahomey. One man, he a chief of Dahomey and de udder one his word-changer. Dey make everybody stand in a ring—’bout ten folkses in each ring. De men by dey self, de women by dey self. Den de white man lookee and lookee. He lookee hard at de skin and de feet and de legs and in de mouth. Den he choose. Every time he choose a man he choose a woman. Every time he take a woman he take a man, too. Derefore, you unnerstand me, he take one hunnard and thirty. Sixty-five men wid a woman for each man. Dass right.

  “Den de white man go ’way. I think he go back in de white house. But de people of Dahomey come bring us lot of grub for us to eatee ’cause dey say we goin’ leave dere. We eatee de big feast. Den we cry, we sad ’cause we doan want to leave the rest of our people in de barracoon. We all lonesome for our home. We doan know whut goin’ become of us, we doan want to be put apart from one ’nother.