Journal_Entry

My name is Kizzy; I am a 16-year-old African American girl from Nubia, Africa. I am a slave, and I was born into slavery because my mother, father, and grandparents were born slaves in Africa. I never knew my grandparents because they died long before I was born. I consider my family to be blessed because we have not been separated. My family has lived on many plantations, but we have lived on this one for the past 10 years or so. Almost all of the slave families were separated from each other, especially the males, and sold by their owners to other owners, but everyone in my family was bought by the same slave owner. When I was five, my family and I were told that we have to get on a big boat to go to the Americas. A few months before we were put on the boats we lived in a cave with other families. The smell in there was horrible, from dead bodies and bodily fluids. The move from Africa to America was very difficult and confusing because my family has not lived under such horrible conditions before; this new life of ours is so hard to adjust to. Most of my family has been separated, but I am still with my mother and sister. The men and boys were put on a different boat than the women, girls, and young boys, so were my father and brothers, and I did not see them ever again. I did not know why we were leaving our home, but my mother said we had to go. We were told that we would have better lives in the Americas. Our way of life has not become any better for the slaves in the Americas; in fact it is a whole lot worse. I had to use the restroom very badly one day and I was not looking where I was going so I used the wrong one I was beaten very badly. I asked my mother why I was beaten. My mother said we were segregated from the white people, which mean we cannot use the things they use or go to the places they go. She also told me that I can only use the things and go to places for Negroes, and if I did not do what she was telling me that I would be beaten again or sold to someone else. I was too young to fully understand why things were the way they are. I prayed and hoped that these things would change. I often dreamed about a place where everyone is no longer treated this way with daily beatings and name calling. My mother was a housekeeper in the Big House, so we lived in the house with our owners. My sister and I played with the master’s daughter, Sarah. My sister and I could not go to school because Negroes were not allowed to school. Sarah went to school and every day when she came home we would play teacher and student. Sarah was the teacher and my sister and I were the students, she would teach us everything that she had learned that day. My mother cannot read or write, I tried to teach her but she said no that master would not allow that. As we got older Sarah stopped playing with me and my sister because the other children at her school were picking on her for playing with Negroes. I have to go places and do everything with other Negroes because interacting with the Whites is not allowed here in the Americas; it was the same way in Africa. We cannot walk on the sidewalk when there are white people walking on it or speak when we are not spoken to. The other women and girls were made to sleep with the master and have children by him, sometimes this happened in front of their husbands, and they could not do anything about it. My mother tells me stories all the time about how we became slaves. She says that our enslavement started a long time ago when our ancestors, the first slaves from Africa, were taken from Africa on a Dutch ship. She told me that a group of white people left England because of religious persecution and built a colony called Jamestown. She said they had a hard time surviving so the Native Americans helped them but once they were over their trials they made the Native Americans slaves. Most of the Native Americans died from the English people’s diseases, so the masters had to find some more slaves. One boat that came to Jamestown had 20 Negro slaves on it, and when they saw how big and strong these slaves were they bought them, and asked the men to bring some more, and that is how Negroes first became slaves in the Americas. She said slaves are very important to the Americas because we have used our blood, sweat, and tears to build buildings, roads, tend to crops, and take care of our masters. When she finished telling me these things, I was crying because I was hurt and angry that people would treat other people this way so they can have a good life whereas we suffered terribly. I did not understand why this had to happen to my family. My mother comforted me by saying that God has a plan for all of our lives and to continue praying and having faith that one day things will change, and we will no longer be slaves. I felt a little bit better because I knew that God was on our side. I asked her did she think this would happen soon, and she said she did not know and that only time would tell. I talk to my mother and sister all the time because I do not know when they will take either one of us. I am over the age when most girls are given or sold to other families to be wives of their slaves and have children. We lie about my age so I can stay with my family as long as possible. I do not want to leave them; I am scared of being alone and not knowing anyone, but who knows I may see my father and brothers again, if I remember what they look like. People are taken from their families all the time, I have seen it many, many times before, and it reminds me that my time is near. So I just take it one day at a time by praising and thanking God that I am still here with my family and was not taken in the middle of the night. I often dream of that glorious day when we are no longer slaves, oh what a day that will be.