These Trees

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I wonder how old they were then. When Africans were hustled to the sea for transport. Some of their roots are above ground. These ancient roots are tangled perhaps from trying to see, then hiding from the atrocities that took place. They saw Africans, those who lived on the land; those who had families, tribes and villages. Africans who grew food and hunted among these trees were driven to the shore in chains and herded into ships hewn from the wood of trees. They were packed like sardines on wooden planks made from the relatives of these very trees, to be shipped to the new world.

Could these trees like the Baobab all over West Africa have provided shelter for those who were running, trying to find a place of protection? Probably not, some of them have branches with leaves that are too far off the ground to provide protection,. Though some of their cousins that stood nearby tried to provide a hiding place. Every now and then because of trees, perhaps the thick trunks, or the ability to climb, one African, man or woman or child escaped capture to run back to the village to tell. They were able to call the names of those who were now gone, to remember those who were carried out on the water that did not end.

The stories that these trees could tell: of hurt and pain and capture, of love and family, of fun, of how it used to be before those with pale skin came and how it was after. These stories were whispered as I sat in a lounge chair, enjoying the African sun so close to the Atlantic Ocean. I sat a descendant of those taken and those who took. I sat with many who may be ancestors of the captors. These oblivious visitors who now sit listening to the sounds of the ocean that once carried Africans as profit for their lives. Now they come to sip fresh juice and rum. Now they come to dip in the cool water and listen to the waves.

The days of capture are over, yet the Africans still feel the affects of those days. The affects of colonization are still so apparent. Poverty is rampant in this country outside the walls of this oasis of luxury. In this place the Africans serve and wait on those who once stole their relatives. The Africans laugh and entertain to make a living in this place of vacation leisure. And the trees are still witnesses.

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