After leaving port for the second time, we began to disregard him. This increased his wrath. In his native tongue, he said, “You are nothing but animal guts! If you don’t obey me, you’re going to die! You’re here because you’re weak and stupid!” His blows left streaks of open flesh across our bodies. Worst of all, when his temper flared beyond control, he muted voices so completely some never spoke again. Those who pleaded with him to return to his original self had their throats sliced with a blade that left them speechless for the rest of their lives. As far as we know he never repented. He spoke the captor’s tongue. He spoke our tongues. He walked with confidence and assurance, as if he owned the ship. His steps were heavy and loud, like those of a fat man, although he was average size. His demeanor smelled of arrogance; his character stank like rotten meat. We would’ve killed him as quickly as we had killed the ship’s crewmen. But then we would’ve been guilty, once again, of shedding our own people’s blood. We sighed heavily. There was no way to win.

The evening and the morning were the ninety-eighth day.

* * *

Our only clarity was that he was Asanti—those warring souls rumored to love battle more than peace. Their king was reported to have the heads of enemies staked on posts outside his palace. Only maggots and birds were allowed to touch them. The Asanti weren’t all rogues, however. Among them, one could find the most skilled archers in the world. Tales swirled concerning those who could strike a bird through the heart mid-flight. Everyone knew of their reputation for fishing with bows and arrows. When others caught nothing, they went home with heavy strings of fish. It was said that they feasted practically every week. Their only weakness, or perhaps the one we feared most, was that they loved war. Any spirit that loves war loves death. The Asanti man had parallel vertical marks beneath his eyes, so some thought he could’ve been Fante or Ewe since they, too, mark likewise. But most agreed he was Asanti. We dared not ask. Rather, we held our peace while he became our enemy.

There had been others, too. At the onset of our journey, while being transferred onto the ship, we recalled seeing Africans along the coast, bartering native goods such as beeswax and gold, kola nuts and ivory, for pale trader’s guns and spices. Our shoreline was a veritable open-air market. Captors, like some of our men, were most interested in their own economic gain. Greed cares not who carries it, our jali used to say. It simply longs to live. And it can live in the heart of any man. We knew this. In every village, including our own, there were those who’d acquired things simply to have them. Elders said that their spirits were fragile, that someone had failed to show them their worth, so they needed the applause of objects. We pitied them. But after a while, we praised them, too. The allure of things caught our eye and made many of us desire what none of us needed. We began to throw away food simply because we didn’t want it. We crafted so much garb we couldn’t wear it all. We made huts large enough for ten when there were only five. This was not everyone, but it was enough of us to plant the seeds of excess among a people who generally valued simplicity. We had invited this plague of materialism and it had come. Captors had come, too, undetected, unshrouded by our suspicion, precisely because they’d wanted what we’d wanted—life in abundance. Now we didn’t want any of it. We simply wanted to go home.