I have heard about the journey. I have doubted its existence. I had pondered why a brother would take his own captive.
But here, it’s happening to me.
The Arochukwu priest chants cleansing incantations as we go through the last place to be called home, the corridor to the after-life as we know it.
“Is this all to the initiation rites?” a teenager asked, looking back at me.
I pondered where such thoughts came from…
“Yes, hope you’ve had a time of your life?”
“Times have changed; Papa told me different stories from this”
Sure. We are captives of our own clan. We tugged on to a waiting ship.
This is an account of the slave trade era. The much taunted Atlantic Slave Trade, Where African were as culpable [if not much more] as their European counterparts. The story sets in an Eastern Nigerian village, where the Arochukwu Priests (Custodians of Customs and Religion) witch-hunted ordinary men to sell as slaves.
This has been made possible by the goodwill and fervent addiction of Rochellewisofffields and her creative gang of writers who converge weekly as the Friday Fictioneers. Click on the Linky Icon to read greater stories…