History Work and Research Based Learning Studies

Module: American/African Slavery

Title:

Slave Diary-The Slave Diary of

Azaan Rahim Takata

Kareem Farrag February – 1st March 2007

Section One

Account 1: 16 th March 1838 To my reader, Salutations. I am known as Azaan RahimTakata, meaning “strong, merciful and pure”.I was born on the dawn of the 29th August 1827 in the village of Imzouren in the far north fields of Morocco. I have lived there all my life with my older sister, Jasira Kabisa, and my Father, Haidar Dahoma. I have been told that my mother, Rahema Yakini, bereaved when I was born. Taken from us through soul and unto Allah. To think, I will never experience having a mother. My sibling now completes the strenuous domestic tasks in the mud hut I live in, whereas me and my father go out and catch the fish from the vast ocean and prepare it for supper; that has been our tradition.I live in a mud hut, about 10ft wide radius and 5 to 6ft tall; fairly cramped with three people living inside. Anyway I am excessively grateful for my family and home – as I have a life of just wondering, running and herding.Let me tell you a little bit about my life and where I live; I was born in my own house (which unfortunately is where my mother died), I have grown ‘til the present day, learning by my father how to herd goat and a few cattle, learning how to fish from the ocean, and learning – absolute and constant learning over my religion – Islam. You see, my tribe (the Berbers), were one of the most unique tribes, as my previous generations roots back thirty-hundred years.My dear friend, Tale-Tamu, is also one of us Berbers, and has been my friend for the past eight years of my life. We would usually meet up by the bank of the ocean, and greet each other, and he would usually say, “pray tell me what we are doing today, Azaan,” and I would answer, “why do not we go and play in the fields?” he would say, “an excellent idea, my good friend. Shall we go?” and I would reply, “Yes. Yes we should.”Now a couple of years ago I was told I had a surprise inside my father’s hut, and as I walked in I strained my eyes to see beside the hut that young and grown men were walking, half of them (the young men) were covered by the sacks used for collecting the maize.When I was allowed out, a local 12-year-old had questioned me, “have not you heard the rumour?”I replied, “What rumour. Tell me, please.”He then answered, “those 15 year olds are going to go into manhood.”“what do you mean??” I asked

“those boys are going to be turned into men. They are going to ‘manhood training.’”Now I had heard in the past that ‘manhood training’ was just a rumour. However, when you come to think of it, they’re all hooded, a sign of unawareness; their fathers are taking them, well, you could expect that as they probably had been through the exact experience; and the fact that all of the hooded young men were all around adolescence (at an age of between fifteen and seventeen).My father, Haidar, is the chieftain of my village, and so was his father and our previous generations, so that means to succeed as the next chieftain, I must excel beyond compare to the other young men in training. He had told me that if I were to succeed in becoming a man, I must know my surroundings, my foe and myself. So, let me test if I know my surroundings:Our land is around 500 acres wide and 300 acres long, with around 50 acres of fields for olives, palms and cotton. Around five years old I would go with my sister and father to run in the fields and play. Now, though, things have become very different.My family name is called “Rafiki”, named after the primal chieftain ever to succeed chieftain in the family. However our village is like a family. Everyone around is a brother or sister, everyone around us cares and helps each other, everyone agrees with each other – we show a uniqueness in “community-spirit”.I think that shall end my account today.Account 2: 5 th April 1838 News has spread about the lands of Africa that various groups, such as Tripoli, Benin, Futa Jallon, Kano and many more have now been taken over by white men on huge ships. Some are believed to have carried goods from the far lands across the ocean, and so my village is now on guard, as we seem to believe that the white men are here to attack us and take our land. New and mysterious words and ways that they have brought unto us are frightening the village. Secret whispers and gossiping makes every second a nerving and uneasy one.What is making me curious is that the white men look very different from the description I have heard (when compared to us). They are covered completely! The description, said by one man of the village, was “their white is cloaked by the mask of flamboyant impurity. The smells of their bodies are just lures, ready to catch their prey. Pray Allah, be aware. Be aware.”I am of very little knowledge of these white men; however I am

moderately sure they will come to our part of the land. From the news of the terror, I think that their trouble will spread, almost like wildfire across the Sahara in a sandstorm. Truth be told, the women of the village are praying for safety.My father tomorrow will announce what will be done to protect our land, and what will be done to get rid of these insignificant savages. Right now all the village can do is sit and wait. Sit and wait. Account 3: 6 th April 1838 It is now around midday and my father has announced what he is going to do – however not to the younger children of the village – including me. However, some of the children had an idea to overcome this. They decided to hide behind a tree by the meeting place of the conference. They then overheard what was ‘the plan of action’.My father had said he had been offered goods, such as a new weapon, called “gun”, a transparent object, called “glass”, a bronze and shiny metal, called “copper”, silk (said to have been brought much further away from Imzouren), and also this, what they call, “fibre”, called manila. He said that if they offered and provided those goods, then we would have to provide them with our village workers to “help them”.Father had said the goods were definitely quantitative, and he had already agreed.Now, reader, I know not about you, however, I am extremely suspicious about this. I feel that there could be a great problem caused by this.We will have to wait and see what will come of this. Account 4: 20 th April 1838 Tricked, we have been. The white folk are treacherous. They have lied to my family, as well as my village. Instead of providing us with the goods and asking for our help, they have built a dock for ships. We are now apart of this horrendous trade industry. You can not trust the white with their goods. We were mere fish, and we grabbed the bait. I knew I was right.A degree (to the extent) of people have been captured by the white, curled up in chains and smothered in pain and misery. The white have now become their masters. I have heard that only one tribe has been able to hold off the white, the people of Zulu. They are an inspiration to our tribe. My friends and I have decided to fight back. Our best option is to wait until we are allowed to do manhood training, only then will we have a chance. To be honest, I don’t think they should

consider us any different. Like a serpent, we shall wait – while our friends suffer we have to.Account 5: 2 nd April 1838 We now have been marked with the name. In my belief I think that this name will be brought down through the history of the lands. Word has spread all over that such places, Egypt, Tripoli, Dutch South Africa and many more places have been taken over by the white – branded by the name of “slave”. Fortunately father and Jasira have not been captured by the white men. Tale, however, was not so lucky. A friend of the predecessor, Tibbu Tib, had had a son, who had a son, who had joined the white men. He had been searching for, “his prey” ever since he had joined the white.Tale was walking through the terrain of grass, searching for some animals to cook on the fire, when he had heard a twig snap on the floor. Being on the other side of the plain, I noticed what Tale couldn’t have. The “betrayer” had a gang of several white men spread out behind ‘it’, each carrying a different but purpose item in their dirty hands: one carried a whip, one carried a gun, one carried a net and the biggest of them, a black and stockily-built man, carried the most devastating item eyes of man had laid upon – the bondage and iron chains of imprisonment.With my eyes I saw Tale, sharply turn to the direction of the group, not noticing they had hid behind several trees and waited.He faced forward, not seeming to notice the gang, and slowly started to walk, taking each step at regular time intervals, as if he were seconds going by. Again a snap on the ground, and I felt Tale knew something was wrong. I screamed,” Tale!!! RUN!” and with that, he winked at me and darted through the field like an iron bullet from one of father’s gun.Suddenly, the “betrayer” shouted. I am not sure what he shouted out, however I think I have an idea of what he had said. I think it shouted, “Get Him!”At that point in time every one of the white men started to chase Tale, roughly about 40 metres from behind. I edged closer, realising they were trying to catch him! I ran forward, gasping from my shock and horror that my dearest friend was in extreme trouble. And I, an eleven-year-old, weaker and more fragile than those white men, and unable and unreliable to help him.I still watched as they sprinted across the plane, keeping an eye if Tale was alright, when I noticed the white men surround him.

Squinting his eyes I saw him watching carefully; noticing every move the gang were making. Then the first man with the whip attacked him. One strike, two strikes, three strikes, and on the fourth strike Tale grabbed his whip, wrenching the white man towards him and dragging him through the dirt. Suddenly the man with the gun aimed at him, so Tale grabbed the white man off of the floor, tying the whip around his neck. From behind the “betrayer” whipped him, striking him right on the bones in his spine, causing him to drop the white man (who was pale and half dead). Swiftly, the grand black man grabbing Tale by the neck, cuffed his hands and grabbed the chain in which was holding it.I moved closer, about 3 ft more. Nervous and sweating, I saw the raw pain and anger of Tale. His eyes fuelled with anger, his body struggling to escape, and his mind pulsing with nervous and hating thoughts – it was almost like feeling Iblis’s fire (the fire of an abyssal hell).Then the moment . The memorable moment of Tale-Tamu, which I will not forget. The struggle between him and his chains had ended. He had realised that in these chains he will spend a life of misery, torment and tiredness. He realised that he will spend his life in sweet bitterness. Allah could not help at this moment. However, one spark of his life I felt will burn for an eternity – his eternity. The spark of faith the spark of his Warrior attributes, and the spark of us – His family. The lifeless sadness I believe will attach to me for the rest of my life. Helplessness. My helplessness is absolute. I said my farewell, keeping in the sadness and depression as possible as can be. I knew that Tale would not want me to feel upset for him; however the feeling is as if our friendship was not worth our effort. Well, keep hope my friend. I hope to see you soon. And…Goodbye.Account 6: 4 th April 1838 One month and two days, and I had not told a soul of Tale’s Disappearance. The excuse by his father, Dada Daktari, was that he had been out to get enough food for the village for two days, and had not got back yet. He said, “My son, trying to fend for a village. He always wanted to be best.” But from his eyes I could see a deep worry, one that was forsaking any harm to Tale. At that moment I knew it was a right time to tell of Tale’s capture.“Dada.” I said nervously.“Yes, Azaan.” He replied.“Tale……Tale’s……Tale’s been…”Anxiously he questioned, “You know where Tale is, Azaan??”

I replied swiftly, “No. No. Do not I know of his disappearance. However…”“What Azaan. What is it!?”“Azaan has been…Captured.”Within the second I had told the secret the women of the village screamed, almost howling like wolves, however the sadness showed most on Dada’s face. His eyes widened, his body frozen by the shock and horror. It was almost like finding out Tale was dead for him. He came up with a drastic and spontaneous plan, however, not sure I was whether it would work.The white are very well equipped, and to discover they had been Across from one land to the next over the water shows a sign of knowledge and awareness; as well as the fact that everything they have brought over to Imzouren - they probably have. It does worry me.Dada said that all of the Berber warriors would have to look for him. They would have to look immediately, and only until they had found him would they be able to stop.End Account Account 7: 2 nd May 1838 Approximately one month later and still no sight of Tale. Dada has finally given up the search. He said that if he were to continue, he would worsen the sadness and fury.Dada said, “This search has been unsuccessful. Tale must stay strong though. He must remember all he has learnt if he is to survive in the land of the white folk.” Father had told me that I will have to be ready for anything. He said that he would train me to fight off the white folk and show me how to be a Berber warrior. Father said, “we will start training tomorrow, my son. In the mean time, help me to catch the fish. We will have a village feast tonight in honour of Tale.”“Yes, father”We made our way to the ocean. I was equipped with a miniature spear-knife made of a sharp stone from the ground, whereas father was carrying a stone spear on a bamboo shoot. To be honest it is very exhilarating spending time with father. He showed me how to catch mackerel and how to fish for anchovy. But with my father – is the most boisterous experience I could have.The red sun had started to set behind the clouds, and as my father was preparing to leave and carry the fish, I called, “I am coming

father. Go ahead.”Father replied, “That’s fine child, however do not be long. You do not know the experiences of the wilderness.”I decided to sit down. I remember sitting down on the ground, my legs clutched in the elbows of my arms, and I thought. I thought about all of the various things that had happened in my life so far. I looked up at the calm, orange sky, and I thought, “Bismillah al Rahman al Rahim (Allah the merciful, Allah the Compassionate), Allah u Akbar (Allah is great), please Allah. Pray that you will keep Tale-Tamu safe. Show him the truth and the path of Berber. Give him the strength to keep fighting for freedom. Please Allah; please do not let him forget us and you, Shukran Allah, Shukran (Thank you Allah, Thank you). And please Allah; protect us from these sinful animals of white skin and black hearts, please protect me, my family, and my village. Shukran Allah, Shukran.I looked down at the ground, and imagined. Imagine about the chains. I wonder how life must be for my kind.I decided to head back. The sun had started to set on the ocean and I had just got up. I turned away from the ocean and took four paces. I had one look back at the sun, and then I started to head back.When I arrived back at the village, father had just announced a speech; however I was out of the village’s sight.Just a few minutes away from the village, away from the wooden gate, I started to hear footsteps. One second, the footsteps were slow and quiet, the next second, the speed and sound increased – they almost sounded as if they were coming directly in my direction. Suddenly, I spotted movement, a shadowy figure of a man. My instincts were telling me to run as fast as I could, and I followed them, however, with my cunning I decided to progress in tempo. One step, two steps, and then I dashed through the desert. A spontaneous cry sounded. I looked back, and in horror, I saw them. I saw the same gang that had taken Tale-Tamu; and at the front, the “betrayer”.I kept running, shockingly noticing the gang pursuing me at an incredible (almost unbelievable) rate. I remember thinking to myself, “if I just…get through those two gates I’ll be safe” but then it seemed as if they were a mile away. Panting for air I leapt over the altitudinous grass and bushes with a tiring attempt to do so. I noticed the big black guy was catching up to me, and so I tried to take a shortcut that Jasira had showed me. Swiftly I ran through the few trees by the river, and then I did something I thought was inevitable – I jumped over the river

to the other side. This caused me severe agony, but I thought ‘I must keep running.’I passed the village as I ran, as I did not want to get the entire village into trouble. I kept running until...they had cornered me. I said to the African man, “I am Azaan Rahim Takata, and I am the son of the chieftain.”One of the white men then said a word. This word (I think) being, “Nigger.”My eyes widened and I was looking at each of the white men, thinking of all of the stories that had been spread and passed down over the lands, “the white men…”, “the white men…”, and to be honest I believe they are all true.One of the white men had the whip, and struck me on the back fiercely. It almost seemed that he was scared. Again he struck, this time I thought I would do what Tale had done – grab the whip. When the whip was aimed at my chest, I sharply grabbed it, snatching it away from the “animal’s hands”.I could tell that my eyes had widened, trying to keep my eyes on each and every one of them. Remember however I was not adolescence, nor a man, and so I was not strong enough to keep my strength up.I noticed another “animal” aim a gun at me, and so I whipped his hand with some of my remaining strength. The fear from my body was now deteriorating.However, the gang were not going down without a fight.The last thing I remember was when the big black man came up behind me and knocked me down to the ground. The pain that struck me was like the whip; first the numb sensation, quickly followed by the full power of the hit. I remember falling lifelessly to the ground, trying to put up a fight against the big black man. And then I saw it. I saw the one thing I feared to attach to me – the iron chains.I gasped, seeing that the chains were heavy and almost unforgiving. The black man stood over me giving me a gesture I know to well – a laugh.I would have fought back, but my father had told me advice to do with being captured. “Son, remember that these white folk can do what they can but so do you. The white folk have been arriving to our land for twenty generations, but remember these words ‘a fox is of cunning, cleverness, but most of all, patience’. This is our land son. Our Land”.Heeding his words, I gave up, and within a second I had blacked out.

Account 8: 16 th May 1838 Today I have now recuperated my senses, but I have not realised where I am.I woke up, looking around and seeing no one but the gang and other black men and women, some in and out of four stern cages. At first I was astonished. These five men had rounded the black people like shepherds, however this soon turned to terror, as It seemed we would never be re-united again with our family, as this new area seemed far away from my home land.Soon after I woke up, one of the white members from the gang brought from the side these wooden head locks. These were attached around all of the black men and black women necks in a stretched line. Then one of the black men outside the cage took a whip from one of the white men and started to threaten the black men and women. He pushed one of the black men in the headlocks and some of the other black men grabbed the sides of the locks, hauling the prisoners left to right.Then another black man grabbed a long rope. At this point I gulped, hoping that I would not have to be yanked from the cage – which happened.The man took all of the children (including me) out of the cage, tied the rope to each of our chains and led us through with the end.We walked for about 2 miles to another part of the coast; however this coast looked far different from the coast I usually know.The land was surrounded with many grand shaped huts. With a closer look you see that the owners were Black! This committed a sign of relief in my direction. They may even treat me nice!When we arrived at the main land we were brought to a room filled with the members of this community – both black and white.We were put into another cage, and one by one, each of the men, women and children were brought out of the cage and held tight by the white men.One white man was holding an iron rod, in which was placed in this burning fire. It was shaped in what seemed to be the letters (or maybe numbers) of the white man language.Once the letters or numbers were bright red, the white man would give the black man a grin, and then he would do something I only believed to happen to the cattle and kid of Imzouren, something outrageous and inhumane – the white man cauterized him!The black man screeched an unhealthy cry, and dropped with the

white – smouldering scar to the ground beneath him.After he men, the woman were branded, and then…us children.I was tenth to be scarred by that white man. Two men – one black, one white – grabbed my arms, forcing my body in a still position.Then that white man gave me that miry grin of his. From that I spat at the animal in shame. Humans against other humans – it makes the humans the animals.He grabbed the iron brander from the fire, picking it up slowly, and he widened his eyes in fear and awe.Inches away from the brander, I screeched. I struggled to release myself from the two men. And then, the press. At first, I could only feel the heat of the iron. Then a burst of immense pain forced me to collapse suddenly to the floor. After the two men dragged me back into the cage. I was paralysed, just like the other children, men and women who had been cauterized.I lay there for the next five hours, anxiously waiting for the pain to go away, and when it had, I sat up, in anger.I noticed the white men and black men starting to gather around another one of their homes.I saw several people, all dressed in different types of clothing. I wondered, seeing if there was anything could identify what was going on.When all of us were up, a group of black men came to take us into that house. At accession, the black men forced us into groups of three. We were pushed over to one side and the men brought each group of us up in chains. The first people to go up were all men. They were pushed up onto three blocks, each stacked next to each other. Then an overgrown white man standing on a step next to the black men started to speak. He said, “What is my bid for these fine fieldworkers? Do I have a bid at $100?” and then one by one, the “audience” lifted their hands.“Do I have 200? 200? Have I got 250? 250? Going, going, gone to Mr. Riverdale.”One by one each of the men, and each of the women, and each of the children were being taken away from each other, and then I was up.“Now bid number 68. What is my bid for this fine herder and worker here? Away, everybody. Should I start the bidding at $25? 25? Have I got 50? 50 anywhere? 50 over there. Have I got 100? 100? 100

over there. Have I got 200? 200? 200 over there. Have I got 300? 300, no? O.K. going at 200. Going once, Going Twice. Sold! To the man at the back there. Next……”Just as the man hit the hammer, I was brought outside by one of the black men standing by me. He grabbed a piece of flimsy wood (called ‘paper’) and used an ‘ink pen’ to write the writing of the white men on it. He attached the string to my arm and brought me back to the cage we were originally in.I sat their realising what on earth was going on. The white men were selling us to the people who the white man declared. Allah must help me! I am a mere child, I thought. What can I do??Account 9: 17 th May 1838 Today I have finally been freed from the prison that I have been kept in for the last day and a half. Again one of the white men who had held me when I had been cauterized had “delivered” me to the man who had auctioned and won me.The man who had won me said, “Unlock him, and put a leech around him to attach unto my horses saddle.”Then the white man unlocked my chains, giving me hope, all to be replaced by a collar strangling my neck.The white man pushed me, saying, “Now move, nigger.” And I was brought to the man’s horse.He placed me in a little storage area at the back of the horse, and I noticed the white man tying my collar to the horses cover, realising it would be a hard struggle to try and get out of this place.The white man brought me to his home. He first went to greet his family. After he greeted them he said, “I have bought another slave to help us, family. He will be working in the fields with the other men and women.” Compared to my first impression, this white man did not hurt me, like before.The white man asked me, “Your Name?”I did not answer as I did not understand his words. He then used his hand to point at him, and he said, “Mr. Thomas.” And he nodded at me, trying to show that he wanted me to speak. “Azaan Rahim Takata.”He smiled at me, and took off the strangler around my neck. He brought me into a room, with two hard squares on the floor, and sticks of fire on wood.

He pointed at me, saying, “You. Here. You.” I understood that he was saying this was going to be my new home. It was unfair and inadequate compared to a glimpse I had seen of their house. He then left me in the room and closed the door slowly. I then sat down on the square and I lay down. I thought about my experience of slavery, from the moment this all started until now.I lay there for a couple of hours looking at one of the wooden beams with an insect crawling around it., until the door opened. The white man came into the room with a pottery bowl, carrying food – a pile of rice grains and meat from a pig. The man said, “Eat. Good.” – I could understand what the white man was trying to say. I could have the rice, however the pork is prohibited in my religion – it is a great sin.He slowly handed the bowl to me, keeping accurate eye contact. I held my hand out, slowly reaching for the approaching plate. Then he gave me the plate and I huddled it in my arms. Within several seconds my ravenous body was jostling from the rice. I left the bowl on the floor by the door, and then the man said, “Eat the pork. It’s good,” in which I turned my head away from the man and the bowl. He then left through the door and blew out the dim candle in the corner of the hut.Account 10: 18 th May 1838 Today was my first official day of work – and to be honest, it is difficult for someone of my age.The white man, Mr. Thomas, came into my hut and woke me at dawn. He said, "Morning. Up, Azaan,” while pushing me in the middle of my back.I woke up to see that he had brought a pile of rags into my hut. He acted putting the clothes on him. There were two pieces of clothing; the first was a body cover, covered in red lines; the second was a leg cover, covered In the same red lines. One enigmatic thing was the clothing had a few holes in. And then a black man came into the room, with feet covers. The Mr. Thompson nodded at the black man, and then the black man left.The white man told me the names of each of the types of clothing that were in the room. First, he called the chest cover, “shirt”, then he called the leg cover, “trousers”, and for the feet covers, “shoes”. The Mr. Thomas left the clothes on the floor and left the hut for me to change.

I put on the clothes and then Mr. Thompson walked back in. Mr. Thompson had chains in his hands, and I realised that he was going to put them back on me. He steadily lowered his body, watching everything that I was doing. He even watched my hands to see if I were to do something drastic and irrational to him. One by one he put the chains onto me; first my left leg, then my right, and then at the same time he locked my arms – and I didn’t do anything. I do not no why, I…just didn’t.After Mr. Thomas put my chains on me he opened the hut door. When I looked at his face his attitude to me change instantaneously. The optimistic grin turned to a devastating frown which, unfortunately, ended up stuck in my head. He also changed his attitude towards me. Instead of the happy act he started heaving and hurting me as if I was the dirt from the ground.I looked around me and saw some more of the black men, women and children working – which Mr. Thomas started to make me do.Life is very hard during the day. All of this “cotton” had to be picked by the black women, sometimes 30 bagsful a day each I hear, and the black men have to do the strenuous work, and I had to join them.I was shown how they wanted me to reap the grains. Then I was given five sacks to fill with cotton.It took me several hours to complete this task, and the only time I was given a break was when midday arrived, and all of the workers were allowed to eat.It is immensely strenuous work in the plantations, especially when you are new to the workload strain. I guess this Is going to be my future, probably till the day I die. There is no hope for me now.Account 11: 23 rd April 1838 I am not what I was. I have not what I had. Deliberated is the word for me now.For a month I have been working and I am starting to learn their language. However, it is causing me to lose my belief in Allah.I work for one month. I…tired…want rest. The work is becoming a torture.An incident occurred during the past month, a devastating incident. All of the black men and women work in the same area, working on different pieces of the land. The black women were told to remove their babies and infants from their homes. The babies were scuttling about when one of the overseers told them to keep their babies in the troughs. When the women started working the rain began to fall, and

the troughs started to fill up. The black mothers realised this, but realised it to late. By the time they had tried to grab their children, the trough was filled, and the babies – had drowned. The women did not stop grieving for two days, however many of them said, “I would rather let my children die to the power of god than life in the world of devils.” I feel sorry for them all. But I hear rumours. I hear that it is better to work in your home land then go to the white man’s land. I do not believe it is true or not, however it arouses my superstitions.The plant we have to pick is called the “indigo” plant. It is around 4 -6ft tall and goes from red to purple. The indigo starts to grow in the spring to summer months, and when that happens, we have to pick them. After we have picked the indigo, we must make it into dye. We call it, “Devil’s Blue Dye”. After the dye is done the dye was used to dye fabric for the white people. We do get beaten regularly and our food is limited, but my owner does try to treat me as best as he can. Instead of getting one plate of food a get, he may give me two. But unfortunately, that is about it. I live on dust, I sleep on wood and I work in torture. I am practically possessed by him now. I’ll have to see what becomes of this.Account 12: 25 th April 1838 Today was a day of punishment to one of the black men. He is now no longer with us. Let me tell the story.We were woken up by our masters (mine being Mr. Thomas), and we were told that they had new plans of what we had to do.We were told that our work production quota had been increased – meaning more pain and suffering. But we do not dare answer back, especially us children, or there could be dire consequences.We began our work, all of us working at an unbearable and exhausting rate.The Black man kept moaning about the work and said to some of the others, “Psst. Psst! Today is the day that I will escape. I am going to keep running even after I cannot run anymore.”He was stalling his escape, waiting for the best opportunity – midday when the white men are on a break for lunch.When midday arrived he tried to create a diversion to keep the white men off of his trail. Watching closely I saw him cause trouble with two of the black workers. The overseers fell for the diversion – but only sent our one of the men to whip them. The black man thought that this was the crystal opportunity to escape. He hid behind a tree, out of the view of the overseers, and steadily started to run. Picking up the pace

an alarm was shouted to tell the massas that he had broken out.Chasing and chasing, they caught the man. As punishment they brought the man to a human-sized pot. They filled the pot with scolding water and grabbed the man. The man fighting to get out of the grasp, was held on top of the pot, and then, the horror occurred. The man was pushed into the pot…The screech terrified the black slaves as we saw the man boil, Alive! He juddered left and burned with the sound.After several minutes his body went from moving to…dead. The white men poured out the water and emptied the body on to the floor.The white men angered to get back to work – however the slaves and I could not bear to see him left like a carcass on the floor. The most horrifying sight of all of this was the drop on the floor. This man had been scarred and unfortunately cooked to death. Sorrow. But that’s not the only punishment. Some of the white men hung their slaves, some burned them and some stabbed them. However, these did not happen during the time I had so far spent here.Bismillah al Rahman al Rahim. Please save us. Save us all.

End of Section One

History Work and Research Based Learning Studies

Module: American/African Slavery

Title:

Slave Diary-The Slave Diary of

Azaan Rahim Takata

Kareem Farrag February – 1st March 2007

Section Two

Account 12: 29 th August 1841 Today is fourteen years since my birth, and still I live in the grasp of white men. It has been exactly four years, fourteen weeks and three days since I had been apart of this trade, and I now know what the white men speak – yes, I have learned their language.The white men are planning to bring another ship over to this land, a reason about providing goods to the “America”. Now, not sure I am of what is this “America”, however I believe that it is not a good sign for the slaves. Rumour has that those men are the ones that will kill us all. The main word I remember from their conversation – was “money”. That is all this is about – money – black blood money. Earned by the black, and stolen by the white man.I have changed from one massa to the next. My first master was the best massa, treating me with the respect, and from thereafter my life went from one cliché to the next. So far in the village four women have been killed by their massas, seven men, and thirteen children – all because of running away or not listening to the words for the black slave – but everyone is unfortunate. Ever since I had left my first massa, ever since I was rejected by him, my massas did what they wanted with me; The white men throttled me, burned me, kicked me, even tied me up by my hands and scar me with his vicious mind and his vicious whip. Now I am told this will be the worst slave master for me.The Massa has been called Mr. Isaac. He lives on the furthest part of the land, having the best indigo around. But no black slave would want to have been working for him. Gossip spreads he has killed all of his previous black men before by the rope. I don’t believe he is welcoming, or ignorant. It will take a lot more than work to satisfy him. Oh, yes, it will. For now I’ll have to put up with it until…until Allah gives the sign of freedom – that sign and only that sign will end our imprisonment. Account 13: 4 th September 1841 It is the late evening and I have finished “working” for Mr. Isaac. The rumours are true. The description is a perfect

match to him. However one thing that wasn’t mentioned was his array of tools he has and still uses on his slaves. There were knives, spades, rope, and guns, practically anything that could harm or even kill his slaves. It’s just terrifying to look at. Now my life could be in the most peril yet.I have made a friend in the indigo fields. Quite young, about my age and a girl. Her name is Sarah. She became a slave 2 years before I had, and has had the same Massas in that period. She says her massa is the nicest massa; however, I have a feeling that she is lying. She is very nervous when her Massa is around her, almost petrified by him. I would like to find out why she is nervous, but to think, if I were to go from Mr. Isaac’s sight, who knows what he’ll do to me. But I’ve got to find out – I’ve got to think of something.A good idea might be to follow and observe Sarah with her Massa to see what actions provoke her terror. Yes, I think I’ll do that and find out. I’ll end my account here. Account 14: 16 th September 1841 Today has not been good, not at all. I have a sense of fear and hurt from the other slaves. It is as if we are all headed to our own slaughter, and all because of our Massas. But it was not that. Oh no, it is something far worse. Let me tell you the story.It all started at dawn break, and all slaves were forced to…unusually…bath ourselves. Our massas undressed us, leaving our clothes. We were brought to the baths, noticing the white men pouring in bottles of fragrant perfume into the metal basins. Mr. Isaac shoved me into the basin. He said to me wash nigger, keeping a close eye on me to see if I were to do anything (I thought). Two men approached me, starting to wash me with the water. I squinted, cursing silently that a slave would hopefully finish these men off and help us to escape.The bath had ended a while later. I got out of the hot bath, and then a gust of air swooped in my direction, freezing me. I went to go and grab my clothes, however I was grabbed by one of the bigger black slaves, being forced to walk naked, without shoes, shorts, a shirt. I got several stones on the bottom of my feet, realising I had been scratched by the “pebbles”. Again, looking down in tiredness, shame and stress, I faced downwards, thinking of sudden flashback, one flying by the other. And then, the white men shouted, “Let’s go,

niggers,” and one by one each of us walking in one never-ending, train.We walked for seven whole miles, watching the white men drink the water and us slaves receiving no drop. We stopped, spontaneously halted by an unusual shout; high pitched, almost inhumane. I had my head down the entire journey, wearing from the chains on my arms and the wood collars on our necks; however I decided to look up, eventually noticing something. Something that made all of the adult slaves scream in horror. One thing that had “DEATH” virtually engraved into it. The ship. The slave ship that eventually I would probably die on. I mean, I know I am only 14, however, I have been told these things by my father. I remember the event clearly.On the coast, father told me, “Azaan, if a white man and his flock of white followers bring you to a ship, then It is a sign of great peril. You must be prepared. Some say do not move, as you won’t be able to move. Some say do not attempt to struggle, or you will end up dead, Azaan. And finally, it is unlikely. So, shall not you return, Azaan, find the opportunity, escape, then start a family, and enjoy your life. These white folk cannot restrict. They are only afraid, Azaan. They are only afraid.”On the side of the ship, I noticed a word on the side, spelled “TROUVADORE,” probably being the name of the ship, which was removed from my sight as we walked into the ship. I looked behind me, gazing at the last sight I knew I would see – the sun in the sky, four birds flying and the roaring ocean.

One by one we entered the ship, each person thrown in by the white men. After all of the white men had forced in the black slaves, they lied us down consecutively on splintering, wooden boards. The white men put all of our legs on the end of the board and looped a chain between each black persons’ left and right leg, locking them to a standard at the end of the row. The men were situated in the middle cargo, separated off from the woman and the children. They were brought further on in the cargo. The men started to groan, almost as if they were dying just from entering the ship. And then all we did…was waited.I have lost track of time now, as if the flow of time has stopped.

Several people groan my language, saying, “Bismillah al Rahman al Rahim, please ‘o merciful one, take me from this demonic land and let me die in peace.” It is a sad experience to see the people, and so far I have seen the sufferers finish their lives, rather killing them then to be tortured alive. Account 15: ?? ?? 1841“TROUVADORE” has taken a toll on us blacks. We cannot live in the ship; it is unbearable, intolerable, and inhumane. The men of the ship only have one hole on the ship to use as a toilet, however if one were to move from the space, it would probably be lost. We have nothing to say. But we still have to do. Every day consists of exercise, torture and abuse for us slaves. I have scars, cuts, bruises and blood surrounding me. The floor is a quagmire; the smell of urine and sick intoxicating and repulsive, and yet the white men do not help. They watch in happiness. Sick happiness.The slaves are becoming ill from the peutridness of the ship. And so far one quarter of the slaves have died. When you see the lifeless slaves lying next to you, you suddenly realise a mix of anger, sadness and horror. The courageous slaves I feel for though; if rebellious their limbs are severed from their bodies and thrown into the sea for amusement, eventually dying from loss of their blood. Curse those white folk. Curse them. Account 16:?? ?? 1841The ship has sunk! The ship has sunk! Death approaches me. However, so does the peace of heaven. I am not scared. I am a Berber warrior, and we do not run in the face of fear. As I am writing now the black men are rebelling, they have broken their chains and are waiting to attack the white men. Suddenly a huge wave crashed into the side of the ship and part of the ship broke off. The deck! And all of the white men were on the deck. From our view the top of the ship split apart from the pillars that held our bodies, breaking most of our chains and freeing us! We are free now! Free! Allah u Akbar! Allah u Akbar!Account 18: ?? January 1842The ship us black slaves have been on has finally drifted to land. We the slaves are not sure where, but we do know these people are also Massas – they have captures us again. These Massas speak another language, one of which I am unsure of.

One person told me this language is called “Spanish”, however I do not think I will ever understand what it is.I have been auctioned on the same day as I arrived on this land. These people, however, are much more vicious with their slaves.Again, I entered a room, and in that room I felt the same sharp pain of the hot iron from my first branding, this time, however, I could withstand it. We were brought to a cell where we were locked until auction. And then it happened.They have a different system here; when you are bought, you are sold immediately to the Massa. Fortunately, we do not work in fields, however we have to work on two other things: making wool from the sheep and make silk. The males have to herd the sheep and the women make the wool and silk. It is more strenuous then other work we have done. We have to work virtually naked. It is a torture, if only there was a way of escaping the white man’s grasp. Account 19:?? ?? ????I do not know what year or time of year it is, and I do not how long I will be a slave, however, I would rather die that be subjected to this torture.Life here is like the sign of a wasteland. The other slaves just stare around at each other now, and I believe I am the only one aware of the separation. The Spanish do not treat us right. I have seen some unbearable things in my time as a slave; however I am sick just thinking about this.Some of the slaves rebel against their Massas; they steal, hide, run and all sorts of other things. However if (and when) they are caught they are crushed brutally and bleed to death – making me anxious. The only thing that keeps me going is the People who love me – my father, my mother, my sister, Tale, my village, my people. The true people that love me. The only way I can resist being theirs is my belief in Allah. I know there will be a glimmer of hope for the slaves one day. I just know it.

Azaan Rahim Takata, Born 29th August 1827, died on 27th April 1841 in an attempt to escape from slavery. Killing 3 white men, he charged through the village to be free. He was caught on the day of his death, being placed under a boulder, suffocating him and Ending his life.