The slaves of Freetown

CHAPTER SIX

On the square, there is now a less serene atmosphere, perhaps as threatening as the clouds rolling in the sky. The lamp posts have been covered with dark cloth pieces, and between them, garlands of the same color bear the slaves' initials. A smell of smoke emanates from the emptied trash can, in which a few candles have been placed. Others rest unsteadily on makeshift candlesticks. Although fragrant, their vanilla scent is largely masked by the garbage dump's smell at the end of the street, not far from the square.

A large crowd formed in the outer perimeter around the trash can, and in the virtual circle, Mayor Gokongwei and some of her team members that I saw earlier in the hall, accompanied by Activists, are circulating. It has been a long debate as to whether Activists should be allowed to attend our Collections. The argument that ended the controversy is that they need to know what they stand for. Moreover, they need to know about us sincerely; they need to know about our slave culture. Despite some excesses, I think it has done us more good than harm so far.

Imane quickly passes through the circle, carrying a book which she hands to the Symphonizer of this Sunday, to conduct the Collection. In exchange, he gives her a tub of water that she carries with an Activist, and she crosses the circle again. Once she reaches her place in the Witness Group, she sits down, ignoring the whispering and the insulting remarks directed at her. In a single movement, we move closer to the center of the circle, suddenly very quiet. I take out my phone to ask for news of Ho-Jin when a hand rests on my shoulder. I tense myself as if before my mind, my body has guessed the identity of the owner of this hand.

"Calm down, Kanoa, I come in peace," Karen whispers.

"You should respect his drip, Karen! This will never get old. I thank infinitely your parents for giving you the name of a stereotyped middle-aged angry white woman or "boomer." A stereotype from which you are not too far, only by the age. Otherwise, even the hairstyle is on point, since you have cut your hair very short," my brother murmurs.

He appears behind her, and both of them come and stand beside me — Ho-Jin standing between Karen and me, of course. She punches me in the arm for my brother's words.

Two years ago, Karen and I were married. I was fifteen, and she was twenty-one; it was not a love marriage. Anyway, she did not love me. I promised myself I would never again entrust anybody with my heart so carelessly. The only feelings that remained between us were courteous anger on her side and a troubled embarrassment on mine because, despite everything, I was guilty of her suffering. Marriages nourished by love do exist, but they are rare. Most of those are organized through Sinder, the enslaved version of the dating application, Tinder. There are social benefits for married partners, the most important being the sharing of the enfranchisement. The legal age for partnership is thirteen, but Imane was married at twelve to a very promising husband who ended up in prison. Mohamed had put an end to Ho-Jin's first marriage, worrying about the dark path his ex-wife was leading him down. The marks on his forearms remained for months after she took her own life. Our father decided to try again to negotiate for us with two families that he is close to, just two days before the Grinbergs, and their project came to us. Everything has been on hold ever since.

Despite my discomfort, I focus my attention on what is happening in the circle. Usually, the inside of the circle is the Symphonizer, who stands in its center, presiding over the Collection. The second half-circle is made up of the week's orators — individuals who have recently distinguished themselves in certain fields concerning our enslaved world. Rachel Grinberg Doe counts as a speaker of Infinity. There were also among those whom I know Abiram Laghari Doe, Gunther Pilowsky Doe, Soukeyna Bamba Doe, Rakesha Green Doe, Moana Teahui Doe and next to her, very surprisingly, one of those who "you don't look in the eye." A cheater. Chad Doe.