Early the next morning I was startled from sleep by what seemed to be yelling or wailing, only God in heaven could tell. We all rushed out to see what was happening, and to my greatest surprise it was an elder female slave wailing.
When it was enquired the reason for her disturbance, it was found out that her husband had died that night, and it was further revealed that he was murdered in cold blood. His body was found under a plantain stern, lying in his pool of blood.
Later that day an investigation was done. It was found out that it was one of the white men who had killed him, but the reasons were unknown. Nothing was done to the murderer.
“A slave is a slave, a slave’s life is useless,” was all that was said. “Slaves come and slaves go,” later became the new slogan of the slave masters.
I was playing with my mind in the evening when I heard someone calling me. I opened my eyes to see my brother standing beside me.
“Hmmm, Boris.” I murmured his name, “What the hell does that name stand for, or what is the meaning?” I asked him curiously.
“Boy, go and ask Mr Cliff what the name means,” he replied amid laughter.
“I can see that you are using a name that you yourself don’t even know its meaning or interpretation. What a shame!” I replied, scolding him.
We were still talking when Catherine came in.
“Hello boys,” she greeted, while Boris’s jaw dropped open.
I used the back of my palm to push up Boris’s jaw, to avoid flies, you know.
“How are you doing today, Morris?” she asked with a smile.
“I am fine, and you?”
“Fine also, thanks for asking,” she turned to Boris, “Good day, sir,” but Boris only stared like he was in a trance.
“Hey, Mr Blockhead,” I called and nudged him at the same time to bring him back to reality.
“Eh…em…you said what?” He replied amid confusion.
“Look at this bushman, o,” I teased him, “Catherine, this is my older brother, Boris, and Boris this is my beloved friend Catherine,” I noticed a foolish grin on Boris’s face, but I ignored it. They both acknowledged each other and finally shook hands.
“OK, Mr Morris, the Saint of Virginia, you didn’t tell me that you had found a…” he winked at me.
“Boris, you’re indeed very mad,” I fired back at him jokingly. “Catherine, can you help us?” I pleaded with her.
“What can a slave girl do to help you?” she managed to ask with low self-esteem.
“Come on, my dear, don’t degrade yourself. You are worth dying for. A man could lay down his life for you,” Boris replied with concern in his voice.
“Hehe…Boris, you think your brother will ever agree to die for me?” she asked him amid laughter.
“Ask him, thank God he is here,” Boris replied, pointing to me.
She just looked at me with a funny face and asked, “Morris, what do you have to say for yourself?”
“Noooo…I wouldn’t…I’m not ready to die because I’m too young to die,” everybody just burst out laughing.
“So what was it that you guys wanted me to help you with? Is it food or…?”
“No, Catherine. I just wanted to ask you if you know the meaning of the name Boris?” I replied with curiosity in my voice.
“That? Boris simply means fighter,” she replied with all seriousness.
Immediately when Boris heard it, he collapsed to the ground and fainted.
I thought it was a joke, but a careful look showed it was serious. I was alarmed. We ran like crazy, searching for emergency stuff, until Catherine brought water, which I baptized him with. Immediately he jumped up, laughing.
“Look at yourselves, you thought that I would faint just because of an ordinary name?” he asked us amid laughter.
“You are mad indeed,” I spat out angrily.
“Never you try that again, because when it’s real, we might take it as a joke,” Catherine cautioned Boris and further added. “But Boris, what made you do that?”
“Hmmmm….the name sounds funny, useless and meaningless at the same time. How can someone brag by answering to the name fighter? Haha, these white men are very funny, I hate them with passion,” Boris barked.
“You see, they take us blacks as barbaric, uncivilized and primitive bush men because of our dark color. But why then do they have to bring us to their land, to till the soil for them, with nothing in return but insults and bullying?” I contributed to the discussion with my thoughts.
“Come on, let’s go and get some sleep, you know that tomorrow is a hectic day and we should try to save some energy,” Boris advised, and we all dispersed to our respective shacks to spend the night.
As soon as we got into the men’s shack, Boris turned to face me and asked, “So boy, you have found a damsel and have kept it away from me all this while?”
“Says who, Boris? Who told you that I didn’t want to tell you?”
“Then what were you waiting for?” he asked with an evil smile.
“Waiting for the right time, after the relationship gets stronger,” I replied with honesty.
He simply nodded. “OK boy, I understand your point. Don’t worry, time will tell, so let’s try and get some sleep.”