Bokelskere.no

Noen mennesker kaller solnedgangen et overordentlig vakkert skue, og beviset på Guds eksistens. Men hvilken godviljens kraft ville vel forhekse den menneskelige ånd ved å velge rosa til å lyse vei for et slaveskip? La Dem ikke lure av den pene farven, og gi ikke etter for dens lokk.

The nation not so blest as thee, Shall in their turns to tyrants fall,' While thou shalt flourish great and free, The dread and envy of them all...

When Britain first at Heav'n's command *Arose from out the azure main, This was the charter of the land, And guardian angels sang this strain...

I looked up from the street and again at the wretched captives. I vowed not to let the noises of the city drown out their voices or rob me of my past. It was less painful to forget, but I would look and I would remember.

I stood up to take some air outside. The stars were brilliant that night, and the cicadas were crying in endless song. If the sky was so perfect, why was the earth all wrong?

(..)Jeg svarte at det var forbløffende at hun fortsatt hadde besteforeldre i livet sitt. Elsk dem vel, sa jeg til henne, og elsk dem høyt. Elsk dem hver eneste dag.

Jeg har aldri møtt et menneske som utfører grufulle handlinger, og som møter blikket mitt med fred i sitt eget. Å se inn i et annet menneskes ansikt er å gjøre to ting: å anerkjenne dets menneskelighet og å hevde din egen.

Jeg kunne ingenting gjøre for å endre utsiktene deres, ei heller mine egne. Det, kom jeg til, var hva det innebar å være slave: fortiden din hadde ingen betydning, i nåtiden var du usynlig, og du kunne ikke gjøre krav på din egen fremtid.

On that slave vessel, I saw things that the people of London would never believe. But I think of the people who crossed the sea with me. The ones who survived. We saw the same things. Some of us still scream out in the middle of the night. But there are men, women and children walking about the streets without the faintest idea of our nightmares. They cannot know what we endured if we never find anyone to listen. In telling my story, I remember all those who never made it through the musket balls and the sharks and the nightmares, all those who never found a group of listeners, and all those who never touched a quill and an inkpot.

"Mama is beautiful," I said. "Mama is strong," he said. "Beauty comes and goes. Strenght, you keep forever." "What about the old people?" "They are the strongest of all, for they have lived longer than all of us, and they have wisdom," he said.