For waste, we bore, in a far corner, a shallow hole in the earth with a small twig. When it filled, we simply dug another. Soon, of course, undefiled earth became difficult to find. The scent returned us to the hull of the ship, where we first knew self-loathing. Just as then, we spit and heaved every particle in our mouths and throats until, once again, we hated ourselves for letting ourselves get into this. We turned our backs for privacy and wiped our hands with straw. We were never clean. None of us. A time or two, they threw buckets of dirty water on us, but it did no good. Without soap and fresh water, we were simply filthy and wet. Our noses adjusted slightly to the putrid aroma, but we never settled into the odor. Often, we pressed our noses between cracks in the planks, stealing fresh air wherever we could. On windy days, we relaxed and gave thanks.

For some of us, like Jaha, buyers haggled endlessly. The seller shouted amounts, and pale men bid until their voices went hoarse. Their excitement exploded. They wanted her. They all wanted her. They wanted all of her. She was medium size, but tall, with elegant eyes and full, rounded breasts. Those eyes, even filled with tears, dazzled like gems in a clear brook. She was simply lovely. They stripped away her cloth in order to examine that loveliness in every orifice: her ears, nose, mouth, anus, vagina. We turned away. She grunted and moaned slightly, but otherwise did not resist. Someone would have his way with her. He would pay dearly for the right, and he would exercise it for the remainder of his days.

She stood boldly, our dignity, as if oblivious to calloused, searching hands. Bids continued to mount. One man dashed his hat onto the earth in anger. Another hoisted a gun as if prepared to kill. A third stood and trumped every bid offered. It seemed not to matter that he would give a fortune for her. Desire beamed in his eyes. His feet shuffled with unfettered excitement. He even chuckled as he watched other men yield. His joy was that of a child. We tried not to imagine what he’d do with our sister, but we knew. She knew. He knew. It would be horrific. It would tear her apart. But he would do it. And she’d spend the rest of her life recovering from it.

They returned the cloth and she covered herself once again. We never learned the final price. They simply pushed her to his side and she followed him away. Jaha, our sister, our living beauty, gone. We would name future daughters after her. We would call her name each night until all of us were gone. We would never forget her. Yet some prayed their daughters looked nothing like her. They hoped, deep in their hearts, that Jaha’s beauty never came again. Not if it solicited pale men’s filthy lust. Not it if made them give their entire inheritance to own it. Not if it turned daughters into receptacles of pale men’s unwanted seeds. Not if it meant girls never owned themselves again. Beauty became a curse we sought to avoid. Back in the stall, Afia took a small twig and began to mar her face. We screamed and cried, “No! Don’t!” but she continued. Rivers of blood dripped from her chin onto her breasts. Before she finished, a pool of burgundy rested between her thighs. We shook our heads. We hated it, but we understood. We did not want this for her, but she’d seen what becomes of dark beauty in the land of bondage. We’d seen, too. She’d be blemished for life. But, hopefully, prayerfully, unwanted.