As I pulled my my master’s cart across his plantation back to his mansion, I pondered upon his morality. He tutored me in the ways of the English. That is, he showed me how to read and write; to speak his language; to act upon events accordingly; and to know my place in the world.
If there’s one thing I have learned from him, it is that even though I am his closest servant, possibly even friend, I am worthless to him. He would throw me away in a heartbeat; I am an animal, nothing more than a pet.
Despite this wondrous education, and possibly because of it, I despise him. How can a man of his high calibre, of his apparent moral standing, refuse to acknowledge the rights of another? Most chiefly, the right of freedom. My right to freedom!
My father, in his mother tongue, told me of our native lands. Vast, open plains filled with herds of elephants, and prides of lions! Such exaggeration from a man I have never heard, but the English have a saying, ‘there’s no smoke without fire’.
I will earn my freedom honourably, by working and pleasing my master; he may set me free if I do well enough. I won’t be drawn into violence, like so many before me, i am above that now. Maybe then I can go back to my homelands, to my Africa, to my world.