High Sea Pariade

No. Not again!

Something tugs at my guts and lunges at my throat when I hear the sound. It is an omen darker than the sight of the ẹkùn circling in the sky. At least, when the bald, long-necked bird is seen approaching, we know the prey is already dead. This whistling from the boy’s wooden tube is the signal that lets us know we are the kill, about to be stalked then devoured alive—souls soon to be crushed and consumed, honey pots to be ravaged and plundered without grace or mercy.

I shiver and wrap my arms around myself as tightly as I can, gripping my flesh with my fingers so firmly I feel my nails almost pierce the skin. If only I could hold on to this body, keep it down below, away from the impending savagery. If only I could claim it for myself, protect it as one protects a child from the attack of a predator. And since I cannot, why can I not, at the very least, be granted the power to tear this body of mine to pieces so the grey ẹkùn, waiting impatiently for me, might be robbed of the pleasure to feast on my flesh?

A murmur travels between us, followed by a collective shudder. All the women and girls are burdened with the knowing and we still bear, under our skins, the pain and stigmata of the last time it happened. The stench that permanently hangs in the air has amplified. Some of us have retched; others have let their bowels go loose—perhaps on purpose. The truth is it does not matter. No strategy is good enough. The beasts’ appetite is never disturbed by filth or rage or anything, really. They are ready for whatever we may want to throw at them. They might even welcome it.

Because all choice has been robbed from us, we will do as we have done before. We will form a streak of shaking creatures, aware of their imminent slaughter. We will be herded onto the upper deck. They will bare our bodies. One or two of the pale beasts will throw buckets of sea water in our faces and urge us to scrub our brown skins of all undesirable traces of the conditions they have created for us below. When they are satisfied with what they see, they will put us in a line and the boy with eyes the color of the moon will bring the instrument to his thin lips and whistle away as we are forced to engage in a simulacrum of a dance with stiff backs and bent necks. They will circle us, eyes fixated on our naked bodies, speaking words foreign to us. The grey one, easily four times my fourteen years, will leer at me with a wet smile and brown, crooked teeth. He will call me “ma jolie” and repeat those words in a raspy voice that will assault my ears and my spirit. I do not know the meaning of the words but they sound as repulsive as his face.

I can’t go through it. Not again!

I have made home the cold and moldy planks on which I sleep. I will find comfort in them if it means I do not have to be close to this grey demon again. I will welcome… no, I will cherish the smell of sweat, urine and feces within the bowels of the ship, if it keeps me away from his foul, moist lips and his hot breath on my skin, reeking of death and decay. Why have the gods forsaken us? More than once I have called on Iku to take me away—we all have—but only few have been lucky enough to die. She still withholds her sacred kiss from me. I wonder if there is magic on this boat that prevents our gods to set foot on it and deliver us.

The trap door creaks and we are summoned up. Some of us scream… but why bother?

As expected, the first buckets are full and the demons are shouting angry commands at us.

“Allez! Allez!”

The grey one is here, eyes fully on me. Although he has not touched me, he seems to already be delighting in the taste of my skin. My stomach cramps and I gasp for air. I look around, searching for unlikely consolation but only hopeless and panicked eyes stare back at me. I look down at the buckets of water and decide that if Iku cannot come to me, I will go to her. For an instant, I reclaim my breath—and gather my courage—leaning on the taffrail.

I jump. Behind me, a scream, perhaps for me.

To make sure of the outcome, I swim towards the depths and although, deep within, I am terrified, for the first time in weeks, I reunite with peace.