Post by Cartier on Mar 15, 2021 22:45:56 GMT -5
1839
The men belowdecks of the wooden ship were frightened, but unchained. The ship was not designed for the smuggling of illegal human chattel slavery, but the Spaniards in Cuba were making do with what they had - so they had set sail with fifty or so Africans, stolen from Sierra Leone by the Portuguese.
The captain did his best to keep it low profile, knowing full well that the international slave trade was banished by the colonial powers of Britain and the United States… but Spain was slow to accept this limit on their valuable business ventures.
The cook, however, felt no compulsion to keep things calm.
“You know we’re going to sell you off as meat, don’t you?”
The ship’s cook laughed, passing on through the few who could understand Spanish his little idea of a joke.
“They’ll flay you, salt you, and eat you up. Delicious African game meat!”
The slaves, already suspicious, were frightened by the threats of the cook. Already they had been pulled from their homes, from their land, and sent over the seas to labor in fields for men of a different color, a different language, a different culture. Was it such a stretch to assume these violent white men might actually be willing to devour the Mende people?
“You have to protect these people, Sengbe.”
Sengbe Pieh, who had told his people what the cook had said, spun on his heels to find a woman dressed in the traditional Sande mask, her arms and legs covered in bright white hojo clay. Having not seen the woman anywhere on the voyage before, Sengbe was reticent to speak to her.
“Who are you, woman? Why are you dressed like Ndoli jowei? Do you think it is time to dance? We are being sent away to die!”
“Exactly, Sengbe! But you won’t allow that to happen to all of these good people, will you? A man of honor such as yourself? You’ll fight for them. Save them. Liberate them. And that, Sengbe, is a cause for celebration.”
“Me? Liberate these people? Whoever you are, you must be a fool. What will we do? Kill these white men and then what? Float aimlessly at sea?”
“I am no fool, Sengbe… without me, your mother would have never learned the dances that seduced your father. You owe your life and the lives of your forefathers to me. To Gonde.”
“Gonde!?”
Sengbe laughed in a startled, unbelieving way. He stepped closer to the woman, reaching for her mask.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Who are you, really? Where did you get these things? Hojo? On a slave ship on the other side of the world?”
Gonde pushed his hand away, and he retracted it as her ice cold fingers touched his. He held his hand close to his chest as if it had been burned.
“They are my things. Foolish Sengbe, you do not have time to argue with me on this… you have to act now. Take these men that the colonizers ignorantly left unshackled in the belly of this ship. Take up weapons. The planks and reeds here will sharpen easily. The doors atop those wooden steps are not locked. There are more of you above, waiting for just a simple sign of a warrior’s spirit from someone… from you.”
“And what, Gonde? You want me to slaughter these men?”
“YES Sengbe. Kill them. Throw their broken bodies into these foreign waters and let them sink. Do you think the men who ripped you from your home hesitated this way when given the chance to take the lives of the people you love?”
Sengbe hesitated.
“... No.”
“Of course not. They cut through your life like a dagger cuts through the breast of a fallen soldier. Do not let these people spend their lives with whips and chains. Do not let them simply bow their heads and accept the fate they have been handed. YOU, Sengbe Pieh, have the power to gift them all with a new destiny. You can bring these people back home.”
“How? HOW Gonde? We have no way home! We have no idea how to cross the seas. How long it took for us to travel here… we must be on the other side of the world from where we were born.”
“Kill them all except for the captain. The navigator. Kill his men in front of his eyes and lay them down at his feet. Then they will fear you the way they have made you fear them. Look around you! There are scores of your kind here, and barely two dozen white men to fight. You will overwhelm them with your simple cane knives in mere minutes, but first you will have to raise your fist and FIGHT.”
Two months later, La Amistad sailed off of the coast of Long Island, New York. The white men were dead. The Mende people would regain their freedom and return home to Sierra Leone as men, not as property.
In her bedroom, Cartier pulled the wood and grass mask off of her face, throwing her head back in a loud gasp as she inhaled the air of 2021 once again.
“Look at what Revo1 had to go an’ do…”
Cartier stands over her boiling pot of stew, dropping bits of diced vegetables inside the frothing water.
“Here, just a couple months back, this place was anemic for talent. A spot wit’ a dude like Daniel Dream as a top champion is up against the ropes more than Michael Spinks against Tyson. You had jokes from top to bottom on this roster, just suckin’ up airtime, takin’ home money they ain’t earned. Then what happened? Cartier came to town… people started to watch Revo1 again. They seen what was up, what was about to go down wit’ ya girl… they wanted to get in on the ground floor an’ come along for the ride, an’ that’s exactly what the fans of Revo been got to do since November. Less than six months, I got this company turned a full 180. You don’t see no dumb shit like Pasha or Madman or Dream no more, do you? Nah… today, as of right now when I turned this camera on, we seein’ talent flock over in amounts y’all never dreamed of before. More ingredients. Flavor. Spice.”
She cuts up bits of pepper and onion, dropping them all into her broth before turning her attention to a pile of crawdads, plopping them into the pot as well one by one.
“Not all these jokers are as useless an’ embarrassin’ as “Jojo the free payday” last week, neither. No… although we’ve seen people who’s basically worthless along the lines of Johnny Styles show up in these hallways, we also seen some genuine talent. I’m talkin’ about people like Arcana, who I can tell’s got some real fire, not just smoke. I’m talkin’ about Chelsea LeClair, who proved she got some substance behind all that makeup an’ bronzer. I see you, Chelsea. But who I really noticed even more than that was Chelsea’s opponent last week. My opponent this week, on the first ever episode of Legacy. Y’all already know… Mister “Khaos” himself. No cap, Damien, I’mma tell you straight up. You was the real winner last week. I don’t know what kinda slip up happened in your head that cost you the W at the last second, maybe it’s just jitters from closin’ the show for the first time, bein’ under the bright lights on such a big night wit’ the draft an’ all that… I don’t know… but you had the main event won, in my eyes, right up until the second that you didn’t. Maybe because leadin’ up you ain’t even bothered to think about that girl. That’s a mistake I sure hope you ain’t makin’ this time.”
Cartier stirs the jambalaya, wafting the steam rising from it into her nostrils and smiling slightly.
“Now… don’t you let that shit go to your head, D. There’s a reason you an’ Chels got the prime time spot. It ain’t because y’all is some kinda draw or nothin’ just yet, even if I think y’all both will be… shit, I seen what you done to Drago. I seen you an’ Cerise as a team. I know that last Sin was a speed bump, Damien, not a indication of your future. Matter fact, if you was up against anyone else in this company for this first Legacy, I’d say they was a underdog - because you don’t seem like the kinda man who loses twice in a row. Not a winnin’ recipe, for sure.”
She smirks, adding seasoning to her dinner.
“Now… lemme pull the rug out from under you after I just fluffed up that ego. What you showed the world last week, Damien, is that you ain’t as strong as you like to put on. You know they gave you a ton of hype when you signed. I noticed. They told me you had the traits of some of the greatest in the business. You was like a five star recruit, a top draft pick. You could almost see Chales Barkley on the preshow callin’ you the next LeBron… but see Damien the greats they get great because they don’t have a massive Achilles’ heel. An’ what happened against Chelsea is, you showed everyone you got one. You tapped out to that hold FAST, Damien. Faster than anyone wit’ some mystical occult connections should, you feel me? Trust me on this… I got ghosts in me when I get in the ring like I’m at church. I can feel the blood of ancients push through my body… you think someone like that, someone like me, would ever get caught on camera tap tap tappin’ out in a main event? Like I said, anyone else maybe... but I ain't anyone. I'm the fire that boils you away, an' I eat what's left. ”
Shaking her head, Cartier continues.
“That last performance didn’t deserve a match wit’ the champ, Damien. You shouldn’t be here. Honestly, your girl Cerise got a better claim. Your opponent last Sin got a better claim. See boy while you was stressin’ an’ pacin’ around backstage preparin’ to get humiliated by Chelsea last week, playin’ wit’ your tarot cards or whatever the fuck y’all ghost huntin’ white boys learned off Supernatural, I was out front gettin’ picked number one overall for this company. Think about that, Damien. Think about what it takes to walk in off the street for a company an’ within six months, four or five months really, not only take home the top prize they got but also become to BECOME the top prize? Think about who I must be in order to have done that, Damien. Think about that, an’ then think about your last performance, an’ you decide if you think you got a chance on Legacy.”
Lifting a wooden spoon from her stew, Cartier sips the broth into her mouth with a sucking noise, then licks her lips with satisfaction, grabbing pot holders.
“Understand that when mama’s in the kitchen she cooks up works of art… too hot for you? See yourself out. I am not one of many in this company, Damien. I’m the FIRST and the ONLY Legacy Champion. I outgrew this small pond so quick they had to go buy more damn fish. They made a whole new brand an’ they made ME the face of it. You keep that in mind when you roll into Indy. You marinate on that while the rabble jerks the curtain out there before we go on. Whatever you tell yourself, whatever you expect, it ain’t what you gonna get… because this is MY kitchen, Damien… an’ you just a guest. Pull up a chair, boy, an’ eat your dinner.”
Cartier removes the pot from the stove and turns away, done.