There is only as much knowledge you can have being confined in a small box they call a room, together with other workers like you. I don’t even know the name of the place where I came from. I have only my name with me and that is Moriset.
I don’t remember knowing my family intimately. What little I remember about them is being pushed to the man who took me away. I don’t know how old I am today. But after I was released from working at the farm, I was told that I may be 19 or 20 years old.
My life revolved around farm work. We were working everyday from sun up to sun down. Even if we are tired and sick, we still work. I don’t know why I am working. I work because if I don’t, I get punished. I get locked up into a small room that looks and feels like a box and not get fed for several days. I was not whipped if you are wondering, but hunger is more than enough punishment to get me scared enough to pretend that I am not burning with fever, or my head was not pounding that hard.
The only relief I get is at night. It was far from the comfort I have now, but still comfortable than what I suffer during the day. I don’t get any salary, food is always late, and we cannot go out of the compound. My perception of outside is limited to what I see inside our chamber. If you are going to drop me off beyond that, I’m going to get lost.
Story recounted by Moriset, put into words by Martine Young. A recount of a life lived in slavery.