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Mongola Letter To America Analysis

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I hope this letter finds you well; if it finds you at all. I do not know where I am, I do not know where to go, and I do not know when I will be back. I am somewhere in America, working away in the fields under the scorching eyes of the sun and the overseer. How I got here, I do not fully understand. It is the year of seventeen hundred and eighty-nine. Previously, I was thought esteemed in my African village of Angola, as you well know. I had wealth and political power surrounding me. All that was missing, was love, as my husband had contracted a deadly disease and passed away. One day, large groups of strange white men invaded my humble African village. At first, my neighbors and I were hospitable, offering what we thought were friendly visitors, …show more content…

All around I saw other captured Africans, both dead and alive. There were multiple shelves, on which the slaves were stored, like food sacks instead of human beings. I estimate that us slaves were given about 16ft by 18 ft for us women, and a height of only about 3 feet. I was dragged and chained to the wall by my legs but my hands were uncuffed, revealing the rubs and sores that had formed around my sorry wrists. Soon enough, other women and children were stuffed next to me. I do not know where the men went, to another compartment I suppose. Hours later, the white men finished stuffing us into inhumane spaces, and left, pulling shut the door behind them, trapping us in to deal with the intoxicating fumes and our uncertain fate. I tried to communicate with the others, but they all seemed in such a dejected spirit, and those whom I did manage a response from, did not speak my native tongue. My fear climbed and climbed, I feared my heart would burst out of my …show more content…

Still in the heavy chains, they whipped the horrid cat-o-nine-tails at us, forcing us to jump or face the claws of the cat. This strange ordering continued for over an hour, and by the end, my whole body was so sore I could barely stand up, and my scabs were opened again, allowing fresh blood to flow out. After this, the sailors gave us horse beans for our second meal. How terrible they were! They were dried out and hard as rocks, hurting my teeth. I slowly started to see my slim optimism slipping away like my food supply. It was the first night that I had gone to sleep, not knowing if I would wake

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