Diary of a Slave

Diary of a Slave (9)

*Hey guys! I am so sorry for the huge wait. I am in the middle of really important exams but I needed a break so here I am. So here is the next installment of Diary of a Slave and i guarantee you won't be disappointed!*

When I got to the kitchen, I was undoubtedly really surprised to see an apron laid out for me. Then, I noticed a different girl doing the sweeping; she was sweeping up the remains of a broken egg from the floor. My mind was quick to process this: she must have dropped an egg, thus she was relegated to cleaning duty and I got my old job back!

Nan smiled at me. “Sorry for being so harsh to you dee other day, my girl. Mr Jones has notified me dat he has kept you so your lateness is excused. You are now assigned to cooking duty.” Cooking duty? That was far better than I expected. It was one of the best positions in the kitchen, with an actual hand in cooking, making the less complicated dishes. I was overjoyed, but wary. Something told me Egghead had a hand in this. I mean if I got my old job back, that was understandable but this?

Nan must have seen the conflicting emotions flitter across my face for she smiled. “Don worry, Mr Jones has seen your potential. I’m sure you will do well.” I struggled to keep my face impassive. Damn. I knew it! He did this. What is that old man planning?

So I began my work. It was really fun, choosing ingredients, adding them in the pot and sighing in bliss as the lovely aroma wafts over to my nose. I must admit, I did have a knack for cooking. However, I couldn’t feel entirely happy when my friend was roughing it out in the shack. I really hoped it wasn’t as bad as the stories.

Please be safe, I whispered in my heart. I’m so sorry Sasha. A tear escaped my eye as I cooked and fell in the pot. Shoot! I checked around to see if anyone saw, but no one did.

I used the ladle and tried some of the stew. Phew, it tasted good. Nan saw me do this and smiled. “Yes a good chef always tried her food. But don try so much, that food is not fer you.”

I nodded my head while stirring the soup, all trace of tears gone. Suck it up, I told myself. You will face worse in your time here I bet, no time for tears.

I looked out of the window and at the plantation where I saw the boys hard at work, some even as young as 8 and my heart stopped. I am so lucky, I thought, purely by birth. Then I remembered I would have to do that tomorrow, in the heat.

Tomorrow came fast.

The next day, I woke up at 3 as usual. I found the boys’ plantation costume on my bed. Putting it on, I wearily stumbled down to breakfast. My stomach was growling and the measly little portion did little to ease it. But I ignored it.

Some of the girls pointed and whispered, but I was beyond caring. Sasha hadn’t come back and I was dead worried. Did she have to stay overnight in the shack? I felt so upset for a long time, it was all my fault. Then I shoved the emotion into the recesses of my mind and locked it away.

A boy came to bring me to work. In a normal place, the girls would probably have flirted with him, but being torn from our families, our home, had made us lose our will, our purpose in life. Staring at the dullness in everyone’s eyes was proof of that.

Now you may think working in the kitchen wasn’t hard work. You are wrong. Although I had a comfortable job, I still had to rush around the kitchen to find the ingredients I needed. My legs always felt like jelly at the end of the day. Unsurprisingly, they felt like that again, that morning.

I nodded calmly (or so it seemed) to the boy as he led me to a fate worse than death.

The sun wasn’t up yet, and everything seemed lifeless and dead. The boys didn’t seem curious to see me, they just continued working. Perhaps they were used to the girls’ punishments. Or they just didn’t care. But most likely they would get beaten if they stared at me.