Millie

By Liz Granholm

I am trying to raise a total of $3000 for hearing aids, and all proceeds of this book will go towards that. You can read more at my gofundme page! https://www.gofundme.com/2mgnej2c
A young child, in the late 1700's is kidnapped from her small village in Africa, brought across the sea to a strange country.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Liz Granholm
• Release date: Sep 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370421466

Liz Granholm

I'm a stay at home mother of four and have an adopted daughter as well. I've been married for 19 years. I'm going to school full time to get my AA, and from there I'm going into Social work and counseling eventually with a Masters. I'm hard of hearing and just recently been told I need hearing aids. The main purpose for this site is to hopefully raise some funds to hit the $3000 I need for the hearing aids.

Book preview

My name is Millie and in the summer of 1734 I was taken from my home in Kenya. This is my story.

It was 1734 and I was playing out in the yard in front of my home, when suddenly my entire life was taken away from me and I was transported into a world I knew nothing about. I was born on April 7, 1727 and I had 4 older sisters and one younger brother and lived with my yeyo or mama, papa, my five siblings and my coco, which is my grandmother on my mother’s side. We all lived in a small, one room house, made out of dry mud and covered with woven grass mats for a roof. The house was small, but to me it was home. We were all crowded into one room, sleeping close to one another. On cool nights it was nice to huddle close, but on warm nights I often wanted to sneak out and sleep under the stars. Though I never did dare to.

The morning of June 8, 1734 dawned bright and the first thing I did was get my chores done. I did not have as many chores as my mama or my older siblings, but I had four of my own chores and I was proud that I could do them all by myself. I got them done quickly and went off by myself to watch our little village come to life. Which I did on most mornings. I went out and was digging in the sand at the front of my house, just playing there waiting for my friend to come out of her house. She had more chores than I did, as she didn’t have any older siblings.

There I sat in the cool of the day, as the sun hadn’t risen completely yet. It was promising to be a hot day, when a young man appeared. He wasn’t black skinned like I was and he spoke in a funny language. I did not understand him but something intrigued me about him that made me want to follow him. There was not much to fear in my village, as it was quite isolated from the world, and slavery just sounded like a myth to most of us. None of us took it very seriously. Not until that fateful day. I followed the man, not knowing it was the wrong thing to do. Looking back now, I wish I hadn’t. I never saw my yeyo, papa, any of my siblings or friends ever again. I begged and cried, pleaded and yelled for them to let me go home. They kept telling me they were taking me home but I never went home. Within a few days we had travelled for many miles. Most of us were walking because the wagons were full, and many women carried their babies and young children. Some of us were able to speak to one another, but we did not all speak the same language. Some, like myself, were from villages that were so isolated that they had a language that their tribe had created. I spoke Maasai, which was one of the lesser known languages. Our feet burned as we walked on the desert sand, and they were cut on sharp rocks and sticks that we came across. But were forced to continue walking during even the hottest parts of the day. At night we slept right there, where we were, trying to stay warm, huddled together. We were given small bits of food when our captors remembered to feed us, though it was never enough to go around to feed all of us.

We finally arrived at the sea, a place that I had only been told about through stories. No one that I knew of in my village had ever seen it, and here I was staring out at the large expanse of blue. We were being pushed from all sides, to load these large floating ships. I was frightened as was almost everyone around me, even the wise, old men and women as we boarded the ship. Each of us unsure of where we were going or why we were going there. Why had we been chosen? What was going to happen to us? We were all led down into the belly of the ship.

Men and women were shackled to one another, and forced to lay there side by side, row after row of black men and women. Each of us younger children and even the babies were allowed to move freely. But the moment we were all loaded into the ship and shackled, the door above us was closed, and we left to lay there in the darkness with only the small cracks allowing light to shine through them. That was the only thing telling us if it was day or night outside that room. Weeks turned into months as we travelled over the water to this unknown place. So many people died on that trip. First the older men, women and the babies. It wasn’t often that people came in and removed the dead bodies and the smell of the dead bodies and the waste from all those people in the ship was overpowering. We were very rarely fed, lucky to get a piece of food more than once a week. Even then we had to share amongst those of us who were still alive. So many people died from illness, dehydration and starvation. You did not become close to anyone lest that person no longer was alive even a few hours later. Songs were sung as we travelled over the sea, many different songs, and even I sang along with them as I picked up the words. Some were foreign to me, and yet they still reminded me of home. I learned a few words from other languages, though I am still not exactly sure if I understood the meaning. It brought us closer together to be able to sing together and even speak to one another. We all had something in common, as we had all been taken from our homes and were all trapped in this big wooden boat that was taking us to a place we did not know. Most of all, we were all frightened, and not sure what they were going to do to us when we got there. We were all worried that we might be the next one that was discovered dead. Fear gripped us all. I missed home and even my annoying little brother who had only one job and that had been to make his bed. I missed being able to carry water for the cooking, water that each of us so desperately wanted.

The worst times during that trip wasn’t so much the death which was bad, but instead the storms that we went through. Water would get down into the ship, and we would end up sitting or lying there soaking wet. Only hoping that it wouldn’t flood so bad that we would all drown. Most of us had not even known what a boat was until we got onto that ship! It only flooded once or twice, but the fear of drowning was very real during those times. I did not know how to swim, and water to me was a very big fear. I had gone to the river back home many times, because we needed water to survive. In all those times, I had never attempted to try and swim. I’d only used it for use in the house or to bathe and wash in. Water was the only good thing that ever came out of those storms. We were able to drink the water, even as disgusting as that sounds, it was to us a lifesaver. Yes, disease was in that water, filth and waste as well, but it was able to quench our thirst even if just for a little while, and keep us alive for another day.

I made a few friends while I was there in the belly of the ship. Though none of us could really talk to one another. We got yelled at a lot when we accidentally stepped on someone, during our games. It was not fun really but it did keep us busy. We were not as bored having to sit there like the adults had to do, laying there unable to move. I do think we amused some of them, until one of accidentally stepped on them. I think it actually cheered many of them up to see us children running around and between them as they lay on the wooden floor. Most of them never complained unless they were stepped on. The worst part of playing, was when you tripped and fell across one of those who had died. That was unbelievably disgusting! They were so cold and stiff, and you had to push yourself off of them! Though, at times, it was fun to push one of the other children onto them and run off. I knew if I was at home I would be yelled at for disrespecting the person who had passed on, but was still fun to hear the shrieks from the child who fell on one of the dead bodies.

I really became close to one of the children who was only 5 years old and her name was Mae. She was a sweet girl, only two years younger than I was. She was very small though, and I always made sure if I got a bit of food to share it with her. I even gave her a bit bigger of a piece than I took for myself. We slept together trying to comfort each other. She cried often, trying to hide her tears and be as strong as I tried to be. I heard her though. I had stopped crying for my yeyo and papa long before I met Mae. I missed them but I did not cry for them any longer. I knew somehow in my heart I wouldn’t ever see them again and it hurt but I was not going to give into tears anymore. I was a big girl, and at seven I knew I had to grow up. Mae was like me, her coco had died while we were on the ship. She had been one of the first people to die, and had been carried out of the door above us with so many of the others that had died over the last few months. Mae and I did not speak the same language but we knew what the other was saying. We became fast friends and knew that nothing was going to separate us. We stood by each other and went together to help the adults who cried out. Climbing over the bodies whether they be alive or dead, to help someone who we knew we could not help any more than just hold their hand, and pray that they did not die when we were holding it. That happened a lot, and both Mae and I would be so disgusted that we would run and hope to find some water somewhere that had not been used and wash our hands in it.

One morning I had gone to find Mae because she had gotten up before I had. When I finally found her, I fell to my knees beside her and cried for what was the first time in months. She had died, my best friend, the one I had put my trust in and told my secrets to. Even though she did not understand me, had died, and once again I was all alone there in the ship. I did not move from that spot for many hours, even when the other children were running around. The other children even started taunting me, about having lost my friend. I know they did not really mean it, because each of them had lost someone during those months as well. Either by leaving their village or by losing a loved one or even just a friend there on the ship. I vowed to myself never to make another friend there in the ship. It was too hard losing them, and hurt too much to know that the next friend I made might have the exact same outcome as Mae did. Starving to death or dying of disease, just wasn’t worth making another friend. Even after Mae died, I still took the bigger piece of the food I managed to get and gave it to someone else. Because I knew Mae would want me to share that little bit. I did not cry again after that. I made myself be strong once again, not giving into the tears that had come when I had found Mae lying there dead. I had to be strong, if I were to survive. I was going to survive, that I was sure of. I was not going to give in, and was going to fight to make it to wherever we were heading.

I was determined to keep to myself, not even playing with the other children now as they ran around. I was afraid if I got too close that I would catch one of the diseases that so many others were catching and dying from. One night someone curled up next to me which made me curl up even tighter in the little ball I was in. It was a cold night, there were no blankets, and I was alone against one of the walls of the ship. The person, whoever they were, only moved closer to me pressing me right against the wall. I finally gave in, and let them stay warm with me but I did not wrap my arms around them. I was guarded still, I did not want to lose another person I cared about. The next morning, I shooed the girl that appeared about my age away. She ran off, and I did not see her the rest of the day. I stayed there in that spot, not leaving it the entire rest of the day. Most of the kids huddled close to each other at night and had come to ignore me since I was ignoring them. But again that night, the same girl appeared snuggling close to me and refusing to be pushed away. I did not speak to her, I did not want to know who she was or even what her name was. Not that we likely would understand one another anyway. Night after night we slept together, keeping one another warm. Eventually she broke through the wall I had put up and we had our arms around each other, each night as we slept. I still did not know who she was, but I think the feeling was mutual. She did not try to learn anything about me either, nor did she appear to want to learn more about me. She kept to herself as did I. Each night sleeping together and each morning separating and going about our own day.

It took over 4 months on the sea before we reached the distant