We were thirty now. Nkiraka, a young man who had journeyed with us across the seas, began to speak of what he’d experienced on the ship. It came suddenly, his voice, seemingly out of nowhere. He’d been quiet for the most part, like all of us, but the day Monifa was sold away, he began to speak. His was a soft, peaceful voice, almost like a whispering wind. He had large, bulging lips, beautifully curved like mountain ranges, and wide, flat nostrils that flared with every breath. Back home, he would’ve been the envy of every boy in the village. His long lashes would’ve made women gawk and whisper with desire, and he would’ve been the father of many children. But not here. Here, in the stall, he had only himself. Or so he’d once believed. Never could he have imagined what he’d lived through. Such things had no referent in his imagination. But he knew them now. And it had taken his mind all this time to catch up to the tragedy in his heart. We did not understand everything he said, but we captured most of it: “They tied my hands and feet to separate posts. It felt like they were trying to pull me apart. One of them stripped away my cloth. The others clapped. One of them brushed feathers across my buttocks and blew into my ears. Hard as I struggled, I could not get free. They were teasing me. They were preparing me for something too awful to describe. Then, one stood behind me, saying things I could not understand. I felt his breath on my neck. I heard him rustle with his pants. Suddenly, he buried his flesh within me. I yelled, but to no avail. It felt like I had been divided in two. My skin crawled. I shuddered with pain. But that only excited him further. My eyes lost focus. I beckoned Death, and he came. I saw him, from the corner of my eye, dancing wildly, waiting for me to decide if I were really going with him. I didn’t want to, but I wanted to. The violator moved in and out of me, back and forth, shouting things that made my spirit quiver. It hurt too much to cry. Tears wouldn’t have comforted me anyway. My pride dwindled. My flesh ached. I closed my eyes, hoping to disappear, but the crewman’s rhythmic abuse could not be ignored. When he finished, my flesh shuddered. I was only half conscious. They untied me and dragged me back to the hull. They slung me onto the plank and chained me once again. I did not fight. I had no strength. I had no pride. I could not find my spirit. It had hidden itself from me. A hole this big”—he cupped both hands together—“lingered inside me. I wanted to vomit, but I had nothing to give. Death lay next to me all night, but he wouldn’t take me. I asked why not. He said I didn’t want to go. My name wouldn’t release me.”