8 December, 2023
Poem « Kidnapping and rescue »
(a) This poem relates to slavery in general, to slavery in Mauritius in particular, and to the rescue of a child by a Black female slave in the face of deadly attacks by runaway slaves against a certain house in Mauritius during the slavery days. Please see the article entitled“Combat à mort,” published in “5-PLUS DIMANCHE” newspaper, Mauritius, on 7 April, 1996, (page 19). In this article, J. L. Chan Low makes reference to : Marcelle Lagesse : “L’ÎLE DE FRANCE AVANT LABOURDONNAIS,” (1978). For more details on the inhuman treatment which was given to slaves, please see the article “Récit de marrons. Les Mutins de la Liberté,” by J. L. Chan Low in “5-PLUS DIMANCHE” newspaper, Mauritius, 7 July, 1996, (page 19).
Some Africans were kidnapped from their villages in Africa and sold as slaves in Mauritius. Many were made to work in sugar cane fields. Some of them would escape and live rough in the forests. They were called “runaway slaves” (“runaways). A number of them preferred to commit suicide rather than be caught and tortured. When caught they would be branded with a hot iron on the shoulder, to leave a permanent mark on them for easy identification. They would be branded like cattle.
Sometimes, they would attack the houses of slave-owners. One woman slave was working as maid/babysitter at the house of a White slave-owner. Look at this :
--the woman was looking after a baby of her employer (a slave-owner)
--her friends, runaway slaves, were attacking that very house
--both the woman and the baby were in danger of death
--she had been kidnapped from her village; she had lost her village, her country, her family, her property; her home; she was marched by force to the coast; HALF of those thus marched would die along the way; if that was not genocide, what WAS it ? ; she was forced to travel on the ship to Mauritius; she was sold by public auction in Mauritius; she was examined publicly by the “slave-buyer;” she was kept as a prisoner in the house; she was forced to look after a White baby; each time she looked at that baby she was reminded about the suffering and humiliations similar people had forced upon her since her capture;
--in one second she could have settled all her scores;
--in one second she could have let the attackers kill the baby;
--in one second she could have left the baby and run away for her life;
--by staying in the house, if she had been seen by the attackers she might have been killed as an enemy;
--in one second she listened to her woman and maternal instincts;
--in one second she forgave all that her oppressors had done and were still doing to her;
--in one second she turned against her own people and saved the baby of her jailers;
--in one second she grabbed the baby and fled the house.
There are no words to describe such an event…
The original French title of the poem is “Rapt et sauvetage.” “Kidnapping” in this poem means the woman herself had been kidnapped from her village in Africa. “Rescue” means she rescued the baby of her very jailers against the attacks carried out by her own people….
(b) “Des ‘Marrons’ mourront aux mains des Hollandais”
Please see the article “Récits de marrons. L’Homme noir des bois” by J. L. Chan Low, “5-PLUS DIMANCHE” newspaper, Mauritius, 8 September, 1996, (page 19) and 15 September, 1996, (page 19).
(d) Reynolds Michel : “Le marronnage : du non-être à l’Etre.” “Le MAURICIEN” newspaper, Mauritius, 10 January, 2001.
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KIDNAPPING AND RESCUE
Note : \"My ancestors\" : the voice of a slave, not the poet’s voice
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In the entrails of Africa, in their villages,
My ancestors doz\'d off in the sweet evenings;
But, there be no better hunter than Man :
And, better than Man, what prey be there!
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Note : Western slave-catchers caught Africans in villages and marched them to the coast to board ships for overseas slave markets.
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In this hunt carried out with ferocity,
Surround\'d, smok\'d out, assault\'d cowardly,
Most cruelly flogg\'d and chain\'d up,
Towards the coast would my folks be march\'d.
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Note : Many of the captives died even before reaching the coasts
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In the entrails of Africa, in the middle of darkness,
Towards the coast proceed\'d these funeral processions;
Those recalcitrant ferociously would be flogg\'d :
What would matter the myriads of deaths !
Not the least let-up in this shameful massacre :
To no concession would consent those murderers;
Nothing but a blind terror, a pitiless bloodbath :
Mama Africa would bleed from those assassins.
In this SLAVICIDE, entire families would be decimat\'d :
In this murderous folly, how many funeral watches !
Slave hunters and sellers would sow nothing but fear :
How these hostage-takers would feed \'pon terror !
While our weeping Africa would suffer the worst ordeals,
The slave-mongers would rejoice well at their big profits;
As the sinister processions arriv\'d, exhaust\'d, at the ports,
Our bloodied Africa would nurse painfully her wounds.
In this gor’d Africa, this weeping Africa,
Hordes of foreigners, through an evil fate,
Our blood would make gush, squirt, flow out :
Greedily would they all drink it, each in turn.
In this immense Africa, not the least little haven :
On just two slaves, one would fall as cadaver;
History would only talk of gallant expeditions :
It would forget in our villages the bloody catches.
To the macabre march would succeed the vile voyage :
A painful procession, far, towards some cruel clime;
Stack\'d as cattle in those navigating coffins,
My ancestors already bore some ghostly looks.
At the degrading market my folks would be exhibit\'d :
Like mere calves, cows, would they be examin\'d;
If the stinking, floating coffins were rather unhealthy,
The new domains would be even more dismal.
To the worst ordeals cruelly being subject\'d,
Thousands of hostages finally would be annihilat\'d;
However, those that indulg\'d in the slave trade
Here would present themselves as brave.
To perpetuate the sighs of our Africa,
To shed more of this African blood,
The conquerors would take a wicked pleasure :
There be no parallel to this sadistic tragedy.
***
No longer able to suffer from this diabolical system,
One day would some leg it off into the forest :
Wishing to distance themselves from these crimes,
With all their force would they flee from these camps.
These poor folks vulgarly would be call\'d runaways :
These fearful Blacks that furtively would return,
These \"outlaws\" that would sow \"terror\" everywhere :
How they baptis\'d well, those bloodthirsty colonisers !
From our Africa would thus sprout up a new colour :
A strange colour that would be call\'d MAROON !
\'Pon the dripping bayonets, a gory gleam :
In the funeral march of runaways, a new tune !
What a strange colour, coming from a weird palette :
Sinister ballet, macabre opera, opus for bayonets !
Distant states, peopl\'d just by good Samaritans,
Would treat themselves to this trade of human bodies.
To satisfy better their obsessions most morbid,
The \"justiciers\" would invent ordeals most sordid;
Hot irons and chains, iron collars and gibbets
Finally would succeed to the bloody whips.
At Dutch hands runaways succumb’d in a foul stench :
Runaways were finish’d off at the hands of the French :
Runaways would expire at the hands of the English :
How fresh cadavers the \"justiciers\" would relish !
Poor runaways would suffer, from ordeal to ordeal,
At the hands of vile executioners and their great \"justice;\"
To exterminate the runaway, all means would be good :
The arsenal of the \"justiciers\" boast’d of jails, gibbets.
***
‘Pon our lovely women having lewd designs,
Some would often succumb to a voluptuous orgy;
Of these bewitching hips would they taste the delights,
Even imposing ‘pon them some ordeal or perversion !
And, instead of stopping forever the vile slavery,
The lords would strive to subdue runaways;
How they quench’d their thirst, those sinister characters !
How would they sow behind them carnages and ravages !
They would reproach the runaways of lack of civility,
Even while slavery was a crime against humanity;
From continent to continent would spread this genocide :
From ocean to ocean would spread this vile SLAVICIDE.
But, finally from our pen would gush out devastation :
The murderers of slaves would get what they deserve;
Cadavers of runaways would produce the retribution :
A big hit will be what flames up from our poetic verve.
History would only talk of those runaways
As one talks of criminals and cruel felons;
At storming the bastions of rich colonisers,
Those fellows did indeed have good gifts.
***
Action station ! The runaways are attacking !
Lo ! \'Pon this house ferocious eyes be glaring !
Having on themselves but weapons rudimentary,
These slaves even dare to attack the military !
Around the house, a terrible skirmish :
From the runaways, what a fierce outburst !
From the colonisers’ wounds trickl’d a reddish gore :
From the Blacks, too, the gore be rather….. reddish !
The colonisers did spread death in Mama Africa :
How deadly would they find their fate here !
Chilling howls tore up the green valleys :
The colonisers tast’d of funeral watches.
It seems those criminals also knew pain
When tasting of this vile massacre;
But, did not these fiends play
In Africa sinister operas to this tune ?
To talk of those poor runaway slaves,
History would only produce the worst oaths;
But, if to this level our men had been reduc\'d,
\'Twas the fault of those cruel, curs\'d conquerors.
In their African villages, our folks were peaceful :
No-one had ever found them murderous, harmful;
Those who of SLAVICIDE were the vile promoters
Were the real ones responsible for those cadavers.
Themselves victims of such bloody carnages,
The runaways would often sow here ravages;
Hither, nearly a whole family would be decimat\'d :
The colonisers would forever talk of \"cowardice.\"
***
Nearly a whole family. For, would survive a baby :
Yes, would survive finally for posterity
Yon child pluck\'d from the claws of death
By a maternal act : an act rather strong.
While in a pool of blood would lie her own folks,
The runaways\' sister would save the baby from death !
While the attackers would destroy all property,
The child would be spar\'d an immediate demise !
In the child\'s heart, a crunching sorrow :
In its terrified look, a cry of distress;
But, the baby would finally be sav\'d in time
By yon slave that only had for name Negress.
Though the colonisers mow\'d down her folks in this den,
A sudden instinct gripp\'d this woman of exemplary courage;
Though her own brothers coldly were being shot,
Yon slave spar\'d the baby a little burial !
Though her own people had disappear\'d,
Though her own tribe had been clear\'d,
This woman would only obey her maternal instinct :
Let this unique act forever be remember’d !
Against her own folks, at the peril of her very life,
She would ensure for her jailers\' baby a survival;
Yes, let all remember, everywhere, forever,
This woman that thus brav\'d certain death.
Of this act, be there elsewhere better examples ?
Among the colonisers, at the heart of their temples,
Doth one ever find such supreme sacrifice of someone
Who would save thus the murderers of her own tribe ??
Yet, in the comfort of their lounges
Will discourse the sympathisers of colonisers;
They would talk at length of runaways,
Those men whom they would brand as demons.
But, these writings would refresh their memory :
These verses would remind them of an old story,
The story of a slave of a unique nobility
That sav\'d from death the baby of a coloniser.
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