Free Ama by Manu Herbstein

devise a plan which seemed more likely to succeed than her first abortive attempt. And she knew that, having promised the Consul that she would not try again, he would surely have her killed if she should fail.
    There is nothing for it , she concluded. I shall just have to make the best of it and see what the future holds.
    * * *
    That night Nandzi joined the family round the fire in the courtyard, as they told stories. The children, exhausted from the excitement of the day and gorged with the feasting which had followed, soon fell asleep. Nandzi helped to carry them to their sleeping mats.
    â€œNandzi, come and sit by me,” said Damba's mother.
    Nandzi squatted on her heels in the posture of respect. She saw in her mind's eye a picture of herself as a little girl, squatting just so before Tigen and Tabitsha, her own father and mother.
    â€œMy child,” said Damba's mother, “you will be leaving us soon. I have become fond of you. I have tried to persuade Damba to keep you here, but he tells me that there is nothing he can do: it is a matter of politics. Politics! That is something that is the business of men and beyond the comprehension of an old woman like me. So we shall have to say our farewells. I shall remember you and I hope that you will not forget us.”
    Nandzi bowed her head in silence. There is nothing for me to say , she thought. It is true that they have been kind to me, but it is also true that but for them Itsho would still be alive and I would still be with my own people, rather than lonely and isolated, without family or friends to trust, and bound for who-knows-where?
    â€œMother, I thank you,” she said formally.
    * * *
    By the light of reed torches the guards roused the male slaves and led them out to the square.
    There the blacksmiths manacled them in pairs, wrist to wrist, six pairs spaced a stride apart along a heavy chain. At dawn the female slaves brought two small bowls of gruel for each chain gang. Half the men had to eat with their left hands.
    When they had finished eating, they were made to stand. The women brought the head loads which had been prepared for them: baskets of guinea corn and millet for the journey, bundles of cotton and silk cloth which were part of the tribute to be paid to Asante, a few tusks. After the loading the women and children were distributed amongst the gangs of men and the women took up their own head loads. Each gang was guarded by a horseman and two armed men on foot. The herds of cattle and sheep would follow, travelling at a slower pace, perhaps catching up with them at Kafaba. It was not until all was ready that Damba sent for Nandzi. She looked around her in amazement. The stationary caravan stretched around two sides of the market square. The free young lads who would herd the livestock flicked their whips and called their dogs, looking forward with excitement to the journey. All around them milled the townsfolk who had come to witness the departure of the slaves.
    Nandzi was sent to join the leading group. She wore her own cloth and the one which Damba's mother had given her. That was the sum total of all her possessions. The other women in the group were all strangers to her. She greeted them. They responded without enthusiasm. Some wore scraps of torn and dirty cloth around their waists. Most wore only a girdle of leaves. They moved from one foot to another, adjusting their postures to the heavy head loads. A guard helped to load a basket of leaf-wrapped shea butter cones onto Nandzi's head.
    â€œAren't you the one who ran away?” asked a girl her own age.
    â€œYes,” Nandzi replied, not wishing to discuss the matter.
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œThey caught me,” Nandzi replied.
    There was a pause.
    â€œMy name is Minjendo,” said the girl, “I am from Zabzugu.”
    Nandzi's reply was interrupted by the arrival of Koranten Péte and his party. They wore batakaris: one could not ride a horse wearing