Soon, captors splashed us with seawater, and we cried from the sting of salt in our open wounds. They were preparing us for something we couldn’t have imagined.

Other boats advanced from various directions. An ominous feeling overwhelmed us. Pale people stood along the coast, waving at kinsmen long the seaside. We beheld their women, covered in cloth from the neck down. They smiled, although they appeared uncomfortable, wrapped so tightly at the waist we wondered how they breathed. There were men, too, dressed more neatly than our crewmen. Some sported pants that stopped at the knee and shirts with extra cloth around the neck and wrists. We surely would’ve laughed had we been home. But we were not home. So we stared, overcome with dread and the frightening anticipation of what was to come.

Sailors erupted with joy. We didn’t understand their tongue, but we knew they spoke of extraordinary profits and pretty women with whom they would share it. They danced around us like we were mere objects of cargo.

Small boats, more square than oval, raced to meet the captors’ ship. There had to be five or six of them, dashing across the water like anxious fish prepared to devour a meal. Crewmen, more drunk than sober, stumbled among us, pointing to those they seemingly preferred. A light wind blew as we huddled together in horror. The monsters of the sea that swam alongside us the day before were gone now. We were utterly alone. And terrified. Captors mocked our vulnerable lot by feigning fear and shivering, then laughing at us. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to swim, no land with which we were familiar. They had brought us to a new world, and we had no choice but to be there. Stripped of home and dreams, we were about to be introduced to a life far worse than what we’d already known.

With an air of excitement, well-dressed pale men climbed into the vessel and, in broad daylight, examined our bodies. They poked and prodded our flesh. They touched our genitals. They bent us over and checked our anuses for the bloody flux. They pried open our mouths to check our teeth. They paid sailors money for our bodies. They bought Chisanganda and left Abuto behind. He wailed as he watched his dream unfold. His arms and legs jerked with the strength of the mighty giraffe, but the chains were stronger. Chisanganda heaved in her weeping as two new captors dragged her away. Abuto collapsed to the floor of the ship. Nothing we said or did soothed him. Before disappearing, Chisanganda raised her hand and waved quickly. Yet, blinded with grief, Abuto did not see her.

We were examined head to toe, all of us, the way hunters examine a freshly killed carcass. We were touched with uncaring hands, frowned upon because of our stench, and sneered at because we were obviously different. They parted our thick, coarse hair with their small, pink fingers in desperate search of some miniature deficiency. They inspected our eyes without looking at us. They seemed to be probing for irregularities or abnormalities of which we were unaware. While their shame was hidden with layers of clothing, ours was exposed without reservation. They explored us as if they actually owned us! They caressed our women’s breasts and nodded with sensual approval. They bore our penises in the palms of their hands and grunted with pleasure. Our trembling went unnoticed. Our quivering meant nothing to them. Buyers gawked and grabbed their preferences and wouldn’t let go. The undesirable were ignored. We learned quickly what they didn’t like: full, pronounced lips, wide flat noses, the darkest complexions. And what they did: full, pronounced buttocks; narrow, oval faces; lean, chiseled torsos; hips that promised spreading; small, perky breasts. A man’s large feet, thick thighs, and massive hands. They exchanged money for our flesh. And smiled.