by Anne-Marie Martin
I never understood if Mother loved me. Mother was the oldest slave at the orchard; she produced over thirteen slaves and was the best at picking the fruit. And Mother never broke. Her offspring always survived. No matter the whipping, no matter how many fingers were cut off, no matter how many times they were raped, no matter if their insides were ripped open to collect for the overseers; they wouldn’t scream, they would survive. I remember my first time learning how to survive. Mother said “This is how we survive. It is how we all continue to grow and live in this life.” Then, I didn’t understand what she meant. I didn’t understand what the teachings were for. She would wake me up in the dead of night and have me sit outside on the steps with her. She said, “Sit still. Stop your breathing, stop your heart. Make your mind blank and bottomless; nothing can stay in, everything is constantly flowing out.” Somehow, every time I failed to empty my mind, my mind constantly grasping onto memory after memory instead of flowing emptily, she would know; as punishment, Mother would break one of my toes. I thought it was so that every step I took, I was reminded of my failure. Mother sat with me every night and taught me many things that I didn’t understand until that day.
Days started with sunrise. It was important to be out in the fields working before the overseers woke up. The basket had to be filled with the sweet fruit; fruit that would be blemished by too-tight tired hands. The stems were just as important; if they were too long, they wouldn’t fit into the packed boxes; if they were too short, it could damage the fruit. I was told in the past they would cut the stems too long and then shorten them to the appropriate length later, but to
minimize the steps of production, the overseers made the harvesting slaves cut the stems to the correct length during the harvest. Many slaves were put down due to their inability to cut the stems exactly right.
My Sisters and my Brothers, though they never allowed me to call them mine, always avoided me and looked right through me; they moved fluidly and with grace, but empty as a whole. The few conversations I had with Sister always ended in my confusion, confusion that lasted until it was too late. Whenever Mother and I spoke, their fluid filled movements would stiffen and all at once, as if they were of one mind, would sign; a sign that expelled all breath, being and body, and would leave nothing behind except a shell. One day, on the field, I asked Brother, whom I hadn’t seen in many rises, why they hated me. He simply responded, “You will not survive. You will be Mother’s downfall.” After, Brother said nothing despite my insistence.
“Empty your mind. Let everything flow out. Your thoughts, your feelings, your pain” Mother had said. Mother placed her hands on my head. “See your light, your soul, and put it in the ground. Do not keep it in your body. Keep your mind empty of everything.” Mother looked down at me and kissed my forehead. “Right here, keep your serenity. A place where the trees grow but never ripen, where the sun never rises. You are cool and relaxed here with no one around.” Looking up at Mother I said, “But you will be with me, right?” Smiling down at me, Mother shook her head, “No, not even I will be there. This is a place only for you. Go there now.” Trying my hardest, I imagined this barren place with no sun, no people, alone. My small body clenched and unclenched, head heating, thinking of the orchard cover in darkness, day and night, with no fruit sprouting from its willowy limbs. At the time, I didn’t want to go there. I thought, ‘why would I go somewhere where Mother wasn’t with me?’ Lying to Mother, I told her I was there. Mother shook her head and broke another toe.
I told Mother about what Brother said, and she grew dark. Mother said, “For the years I’ve been here, I’ve seen enough people bury themselves in the ground while still being alive.” Looking down at me, Mother kissed me on my head, “I wish for you to live a bit longer. May you have to skills to survive but the experience of living.” Mother took me to our step and sat us down. Today was another lesson which I failed once again; Mother broke my toe.
That morning came. I woke up with pain in my stomach and blood coming out from below. I ran to Mother, worried that something might be wrong. When she saw the blood, her eyes grew deeply dark and every muscle in her face, body, relaxed and swayed in the wind. I realized then that my Sisters and my Brothers were not the ones who learned how to disappear, Mother taught them. As her eyes looked into me, it was like I was looking through her. Mother reached for me, surprised she was even able to move. Mother pulled me to the overseers’ house, a place that only meant pain and death. Knocking on the door, Mother pulled me in front of her body; a body barely there, it felt like I walked through it. She presented me to the overseer like cattle, holding me in her steady strong hands. The overseer opened the door; leering down at me with his oily black eyes, he smiled and said, “It made it to breeding age!” His laughter filled my body like gas and made me lightheaded. The overseer grabbed my shoulders and pulled me into the house. I don’t know how I got there but one second I was with Mother and the next I was up on the table tied down. He stripped me of my clothes and spread my legs as far as they could go. At first it was uncomfortable, then painful as my hips popped. Another overseer in blindingcolored clothes walked up to the table and stared down at me. It was time. The blinding overseer took a clamp and shut it on my lips. They smashed together in a squish, sealing them together to sew. A hot burn ran up my body to my head and ripped a scream from my mouth. I was the weaker one. My eyes felt like they were coming out of my eye sockets, bulging outward as I tried to figure out what was happening to me. My body was on fire and my mind shredded into pieces. As the needle penetrated my lips for the first time, I realized I needed to struggle. I needed to get away. I twisted and turned my body; I heard the bones in my arms and legs snap, pop and crack trying to get away. The pain I felt all over my body was nothing compared to the pain from my sensitive skin below. Then I felt it, the breaking. The pieces of self that made up the body of me started to fade, and a new panic sat in. I was about to die in a living body.
“Find your serenity. Bury your soul in the ground. What can hurt an empty body?”
The shining overseer finished sewing my lips, used a knife to split my pee bump in half, and then sewed a bead into it. With the bead in place, starting from the bottom of my hair, she sewed in a line to close everything.
It took one moon cycle to fully heal but there was pain in every step, every breath, every sound, every thought, every tear, every pee, every poo, every sit, every vibration. I was Mother’s youngest. After I, Mother gave up. Finally, along with her mind, her body broke, becoming barren, dry and dead like her serenity. I buried my soul in the ground under the steps where Mother and I sat those nights. Nothing could harm my mind because there was nothing there. Every step, every breath, every sound, every thought, every tear, every pee, every poo, every sit, every vibration ran through my body, never entering me. Everything flowed in and then flowed out. I went to that place. Now alone, I sit in silence in this deep dark barren serenity; my presence the only one there and at peace. Finally, I understood.
*FGM (Female Genital Mutilation) is a disgusting practice done in some areas of mid Africa and the Middle East where to keep a woman’s chastity and suppress her sexual desire, a ‘doctor’ (usually female), mutilates and sows a female’s genitalia shut. The women are cut open only for intercourse or birth and after will be sown again. While it has decreased and are illegal in part of Africa and Middle East, it is not illegal everywhere and some still practice to this day.