The Plantation

The Plantation

Year of the Lilies

Torrid Season

The Plantation

Altsas

Mavli

I'M GRATEFUL FOR THE STRAWHAT I'm given by the taskmaster. We all were given one and also a change of clothes which comprises of a calico long-sleeved shirt that's way too big for me and drawstring calico trousers which are big for me too. 

We are shackled by our ankles and chained together then the taskmaster leads us into the gated plantation. The land is very expansive and stretches out to the horizon. My fists clench as I stare at the acres of land, our farmland and at home is less than one-eighth of this plantation, why would one family own such wealth?

My back is nudged hard by the stick the taskmaster is holding and I can't stifle the wince. My back is still recovering from the arrow shot. I turn to glare at him but he doesn't seem to notice. Sighing, I follow the line and into the plantation we go. 

Our shackles are removed and I shake my ankle to return it's flow of blood. I see our calico wearing people bent over at their waist hoeing at the ground with crude hoes. There are close to a hundred people. How many of us are here? 

"Get to work!" The taskmaster barks at us. He gestures to the pile of crude tools in a deadpan. I stare at the rusted tools, not being able to choose between a hoe and a cutlass. I finally go for the hoe and traipse deeper into the plantation. Workers are carefully weeding out the weeds amongst the coffee. 

I choose a portion and attempt to bend over to start weeding when my waist protests and I feel the pain of my back wound stretch all over my body.

Groaning, I squat instead and start weeding. Weeding isn't hard work to me because back home at Kintil, we usually visit the farm at least four times a week. Our farm is situated a couple of kilometres away from our hut. Though I never enjoyed doing farm work, I had to do it anyway.

Isla never complained and did all the ploughing, planting, weeding and harvesting. I can now see why my parents were really fond of her. 

I feel a nudge at my ribs and my eyes look up at the taskmaster's angular face. He has really high cheekbones and lips that are perpetually in a snarl. His eyes are deeply set in his head and has big bags under them. His skin is the colour of roasted groundnut and his head is shaven. I see a striking resemblance to the wife of the man who bought us. He is their son.

"You aren't working properly," he growls at me. His hand wanders to the whip at his belt and he strokes it. I can see something menacing flicker in his coal eyes.

"My back hurts," I mutter with my eyes downcast.

He snorts, "that's not an excuse. Now, bend properly and work!"

I hesitate. But when I hear him shuffle impatiently, I make to bend but my waist protests and I groan and fall to my knees. "My waist hurts too much."

He purses his lips, then gives me a curt nod. "Carry on." His boots thud gently at the ground as he walks away to pick on another worker. I stick my tongue at his back and resume working.

I work on for what seems like hours and try to cover as much ground as I can. The faster I work, the more ground I cover, the sooner they'll let us rest for the day. I work till my palms, and the rest of my body becomes sweaty and salty rivulets are rolling down my forehead, down my face and is dripping on the ground. I work till my fingers become numb and blood clots just below the skin of my palms forming painful stiff blisters. 

I work till the sun goes down and a blanket of darkness covers the sky. I work till the taskmaster calls us together and begins to shackle our ankles together which takes forever.

 When we are finally chained up, we are led out of the plantation and to the streamlet. We bathe with our trousers on because it's impossible to take them off while being chained together.

We squat in the streamlet forming a row and we bathe in silence. I wash away all the dirt that clung to my skin and made me itch. With that problem solved, I begin to realize how hungry I am. My stomach growls and I glance around to see if anyone had heard it. Thankfully, no one seems to pay attention to anyone else. Except him. His coal eyes bore into me. I glance away but his eyes don't leave me. I feel his heated gaze run down my torso and up again so they linger at my breasts. 

I turn my back to him and feign scrubbing but that doesn't waiver his gaze from me. When we wad out of the water. I come face to face with him. He gives me one last glance and then looks away with something. Embarrassment?

"Now, I want all of you to shackle yourselves," he says. Then he caresses the whip at his hip to make his point known. 

The ten of us pick up the shackles and the others fastens it around their ankles. I stay frozen and stare at the silvery shackles, the very thing that makes me a slave. These shackles are the objects that hold me bounded.

"Is anything the problem?" The taskmaster raises is brows at me.

I swallow. I reach for the shackles, their cold metal stings me.

"Put it on," he says with an air of authority.

My heartbeat quickens and my already numb and blistered palms become numb. The other workers are staring at me with widen gazes. I'm sure they can't believe what they are seeing. I wonder what the girl whose cage was beside me will say. She told me that Altsas was an opportunity. So far, I haven't seen any opportunity.

"I-I can't." I blurt out. My voice is shaky.

He takes a step closer. "Excuse me?"

My voice is stronger this time. " I won't."

I see the flying hand through the air before it connects to my cheek with jaw-breaking force. But I welcome the pain, pain reminds me I'm alive. It makes me human. And a tear drops from my eye.