This is a story of the perspective of Aminata Diallo’s daughter, May, in the novel of “The Book of Negroes”. Aminata is an African woman who, at a young age, had been abducted by men from her small village called Bayo. She is later at a plantation by the owner of a man named Applebee. Chekura is the love of Aminata’s life and she is soon holds her own son. As she nurses her son for a year, he is taken away from her by Applebee and sold to another plantation. She is not only furious with Applebee, but she also loses her will to do any of the work on the plantation. As a result, she is sold off to a Jewish Plantation owner, Solomon Lindo. As an owner of the plantation, he believes that slaves should be called servants. He also teaches Aminata how to read. Aminata moves to Nova Scotia and Chekura meets her again. She gives birth to her daughter, May. May is taken away by her employers, Mr. and Mrs. Witherspoon in the midst of the riots that had been occuring in Nova Scotia.
Swiftness appears in the thickness of the dark green grass. My head darts to the other direction like something I have never encountered before. I pretend, like everything else, that it is just a figment of my imagination. I hear the calls of my mother. Her words crying out in desperation. I never got to see the sadness in her eyes. I was taken away too quickly by the people I knew I loved the least. I was always left in the blackness of my own little room. With nothing but the feeling of my hard, brick like bed and a tiny desk for my school work. The only light that spread through the room was my lamp that sat at the corner of my desk. I despised every moment of the long, excruciating hours. Tears would drip out of my eyes with the desperation of wanting to experience what the other kids were doing outside. I could see the light in their eyes and the laughter that floated throughout the air. I longed for the opportunity just to see the bright sun and the warm evening breeze. I longed to touch the daisies blooming from the cracked earth swaying in the air. I longed for the smell of food being sold on the street in the afternoon and to hear the buzz of the mosquitoes and bees in the sweltering, hot atmosphere. All this was impossible. The people who took me away did not only take away my beloved mother, but my freedom. The freedom that I was supposed to have for so many years. I was too little to understand that I was being taken away. I was too little to understand that I will never see her again. When ever I had asked where my mother was or who she is, they became more infuriated. I remembered the boldness of my mother plastered onto the smile of her face. The only thing that kept me sane within the small box of my isolated room was my books in the corner. It was the only reminder that came from my mother who had taught me to read at a young age. It is uncommon for women of my color to read books, if a white man had seen anyone of my type reading, they would have been seriously beaten or killed. As time went on into my teenage years, I came to later understand that she read her books in secret.
In the long, restless years of isolation, I try to connect myself to the other half that has always been gone. My eyes glance over to someone that may be my mother, but as I look at their eyes, I do not see myself Disappointment is painted all over my face. I later come to accept that I will never see her again. My mind stops remembering how the beauty of my mother used to look like.
Eventually, a few months later I would come to remember her face again as I see her in a newspaper. The black and white image shows every small detail of what I craved to learn more of. Her wide smile was so similar to mine, it felt like an unimaginable dream waiting to be erased, but I couldn’t let that happen.
On my way home from school, I never went back to the life that had previously caused my self-destruction. I was on my way to look for her.
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