One day, after realising that she was pregnant again, the young mother went to see Ikemefuna, the best sorcerer around and, desperate, begged for help. The man, a very sensitive and human one, inquired what the problem was, and Ezinma explained the situation. After hearing her, he went to another part of his hut without saying a word. Ezinma anxiously waited for what seemed like hours before the sorcerer came back with a magic potion for her to drink. So Ezinma, without further question, drank the beverage and waited. Soon, she felt dizzy and then found herself in the middle of the sixteenth century, in the Kingdom of Abomey, one of the most powerful in Africa at that time. There, Okonkwo, the king of Abomey, was selling e few men from a neighbouring kingdom to a white man who wished to make them slaves in a 'New World'. Ezinma, at the sight of this, ran to the king to stop him. After a long conversation with Ezinma, Okonkwo was finally convinced not to sell slaves to those white men ever again.
Waking-up, Ezinma first thought that it was only a dream, but then she realised that she was not in her hut; this was actually a bed... she could never afford one! and she was in a bedroom... her modest hut certainly did not have bedrooms! What could possibly have happened? Confused, she got up and went out of the room. Wandering around the house, she encountered her husband and, noticing that his skin was very pale, she asked him if he was feeling well.
'I'm fine, why? was the answer, and so Ezinma explained the reason for her concern.
'Really?' he replied, looking at himself in a mirror, 'I'm not paler than you.'
Ezinma, coming closer to him, saw herself in the mirror. 'What happened?' she asked, dazed and a little scared, 'My skin was much darker than that yesterday.'
'No it was not, it has never been; you're a mulatto just like me.' Seeing his wife only more confused, Nwoye ordered to Ekuela, his slave: 'Bring me a glass of cold water, quick!'
He asked Ezinma if she was feeling well.
'Where are we? she asked.
'Home darling' he said softly.
'This is not possible' she protested 'we are so poor' she continued.
'No we're not, we're rich. Look.' Then showing the house he added, 'this is our.'
'Here's the water, sir' said Ekuela, extending a glass to his master.
'Since when do we have a slave?' she asked.
'We always had one sweatheart. Everyone has one, or two. The white slaves are very cheap and very useful.'
'Where are our daughters?' she wondered, preoccupied.
'Daughters? Are you sure you're okay?'
I think so. You see, yesterday, I went to see Ikemefuna and...'
'Who? This swindler!' he said furious.
'But darling, he's the one who helped me. I'm telling you we were poor.'
'No, no, listen to me sweetheart. I don't know what happened exactly, but I'm sure HE is not responsible for anything.'
She knew in her heart that it was not so but, to avoid a fight, she kept it to herself and in secret, she went to see Ikemefuna to thank him. Also, for the rest of her life, she always tried to consider the slaves as members of the community, knowing that it could have been her...
Please note: I was told by an african friend that the content of this text might sound offensive to Africans. I just want to ask you to keep in mind that other people might understand it differently, I do. The idea of writing this story was not to put a judgment on Africans but really on the WAY they HAVE BEEN TREATED in HISTORY, as well as to show that things DID NOT HAVE to be this way. In short, my intention was to DENOUNCE the mistreatment of Africans through History. If you find it offensive, please remember, as I said, that it will most likely be understood very differently by Occidentals, and accept my apology. And to non-African readers, please note that this is NOT INTENDED to be a portrait of life in Africa, or of Africans, but again only an ATTEMPT to show that History COULD have been different. Thank you.
