The slaves of Freetown

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

We cannot hear exact words but loud voices around us. There is a light wind that creeps in through the small metal openings, helping to bring down the temperature, which is difficult to bear. Clicking noises of a heavy machine pulling in, then silence again. The truck seems to slide for a few more moments, then comes to a complete stop. The engine is silent. The doors at the front must be unlocked. I imagine the footsteps along the side, reaching the back of the truck. The lock gives way first, then, the doors are thrown open. A white, sterile light immediately engulfed the truck.

The passengers closest to the doors are not getting off yet, but those around us are standing up. I hear Shin's voice giving instructions.

"You'll have to wait on the side, without jostling and walk straight ahead," Young-Tae interprets.

Karen and Imane take care of bringing Ho-Jin down, Young-Tae, and I help my father. As I thought, we are inside. An depot maybe. Several huge containers of different colors are stacked on the right. On the left, there is a row of small boats, and in front of us, just a large empty space. Shin speaks again.

"This place is considered Korean overseas territory, that means we are safe there. No one will come and catch us here, but if anyone tries to get out, it will be their responsibility to protect themselves against American customs officers. We will be spread over different boats whose departures will begin this evening. Until then, we must stay here. I will be upstairs to oversee the final preparations; you will be notified of everything in due course."

In front of us, the crowd disperses, taking up all the space. One regroups by affinities, by familiarity. We suggest to Young-Tae to install ourselves near the first row of containers.

"I have to go to the bathroom," Karen apostrophizes when she sees Shin pass by.

"Handle it," he says simply.

She takes a glance behind us and begins to walk to the second row of containers.

"I will accompany you," Imane says. "Let's play along the cliché. It is safer, although there will not be much that I can do to help you if something must happen."

I move closer to Ho-Jin's head, resting his neck on my knees.

"I lied to you," Young-Tae tells my father. "I will not be able to help you in Pyongyang."

"It is okay..." Mohamed starts with a sigh.

"No, what I mean is I won't be going there. With a group of slaves, we decided to steal a boat to get to Canada. It seems that this vermin of Shin made a promise that destination to some families who had to pay their places more expensively. But he's taking us all to Korea, that's for sure. The boat was stolen from another port, further south, but they have to pick us up today. Then, we will head straight to Canada, with my navigator friend behind the controls, we will be safe and sound there."

A shiver runs through my spine.

"You mean that from the beginning... my family would not be..." I try to articulate.

"What did he tell you?"

"That in exchange for Kanoa going to Korea, we could find refuge in Canada."

"So, whether it is true or false, in your case, you have nothing to lose: if you join us, you won't have to be separated."

My father's grip tightens on the old leather of his chair's armrest. He shakes his head nervously. I take the time to study Young-Tae's expression. He does not seem really happy to share his plans with us, so I think he is clear-headed. I suspect that he wants to get closer to my father at all costs, in the hope of benefiting from his agenda, his contacts, no matter what our final destination is. Yet, there is something in his actions and not in his words that lead me to believe him blindly. I have been struggling with this feeling ever since he thanked my father, the urge to surrender ourselves to his judgment so that I would not have to be accountable for my actions or decisions. Here are my bad habits again, my natural tendencies which re-enter the fray.