This was not the end. There would be another day.

*   *   *

The next morning, we were dragged through mud to the auction block. We knew the routine—where to stand, not to speak, not to look pale people in the eye—but, frankly, they were not our concern. Our concern was who’d be next and who’d be last. The crowd was large, despite small pools of muddy water and a cool, crisp breeze blowing regret into our faces. We were huddled near the front, just below the raised platform, and made to wait until all anticipated buyers arrived. Then, one of us, Mawuli, was disconnected from the rest of us, and herded onto the block for all eyes to see. His people were the Ewe, he’d said, a creative people who valued nothing over their ability to speak. But not just speak; rather, to conjure through speech. He was the son of the village chief, in line to inherit the throne. He spoke often of his village’s storytellers, of their mastery of language and wordplay. Some of them knew more than a hundred thousand words, he’d said. This, coupled with a cheerful spirit, allowed them to bring stories to life before their people’s eyes. Crowds sometimes sat for four and five hours listening to the same tale spun without their ears ever tiring. Yet storytellers were not the only masters of the tongue. The people in general loved the art, Mawuli said, and used it in everyday greetings. It could take two adults several minutes simply to say good morning. “We honored each other that way,” he said. “Such was not to be skipped or simplified.”

Now, shivering upon the block, Mawuli’s lips shifted slightly as pale men made their bids. No one heard him, but deep within, he heard himself speaking to the God of his people. He’d been taught to acknowledge God’s grandeur before making any request, so he prayed as his ancestors had prayed: Mawu, Maker of the sky and sea, creator of life, great and small, master of ideas and riddles … Make me to know the purpose of this thing.… Give me insight where only anger dwells.… Make this lesson known! But if not known, make it knowable … that we might not give up hope.

“Can I get a hundred for this buck? Can I get a hundred? Can I get a hundred?”

All we have now is ourselves.… Can this be enough? Can we bear this weight a lifetime? It is hard to hear you … but we do not doubt … They can capture us but they cannot capture you.… Deliver us if it is your will.… We have suffered and survived what, in the past, would have killed us.… We are far more than we know … and you are far more than we can conceive.

“One hundred fifty, one hundred fifty, one hundred fifty? Can I get one hundred fifty?”