Blonde Roots (14 page)

Chief Ambikaka had heard of my reputation as an honest, reliable, respected First Mate, and he invited me to dine to discuss a matter of mutual interest.

My eyes fastened on the humungous gold ram’s head hanging on a chain about his neck. It was obvious he was no mere mortal but a god in the pantheon of Big Business. That afternoon I was guest of honor at a lavish feast in the whitewashed courtyard, where purple and lilac bougainvillea dripped from every balcony.

Chief Ambikaka set me down with high-ranking fellows such as himself, all of whom sat cross-legged on mats. Their naked torsos bore a sprinkling of gray hairs, and their stomachs spilled over skirts of freshly cut grass. Gold nuggets set into rings flashed in the sunlight. I suspected good tidings were in the offing.

Alas, first I had to endure songs in my honor rendered by a decrepit kora-playing griot who sang but two notes and strummed but another two as he droned on, glorifying my heroic and mythic qualities. As the afternoon sun began to blend into evening’s fading light, I was most relieved when the noise finally ceased and the waiters spun into action—a fluster of flamboyant yellow turbans and kente lap cloths.

We were served ducks spitting in their own juices on platters, yams roasted to a golden brown, fried spinach spiced with chilli pepper and garlic, and plantains roasted whole so that the yellow flesh oozed out of burst, blackened skins.

As we consumed this mouth-watering feast, Chief Ambikaka turned to me, gold dust sparkling in his eyes. I was to be offered command of the latest addition to his fleet of merchant ships, a two-hundred-ton slaver called
Hope & Glory,
which was to sail to the Gray Continent twice yearly to increase his already considerable fortune through the almost limitless bounty available through the trade in slaves.

I would make a trustworthy captain as my references, which he had already sought, were impeccable.

The
Hope & Glory
would carry forty cases of muskets, thirty-two thousand gunflints, coral necklaces, Aphrikan prints, bead jewelry, quills, papyrus, household objects such as kettles, and musical instruments such as the talking drum, with which to barter for livestock. My host joked that the guns would encourage the Europanes to start more wars, which would result in more prisoners offered up as slaves.

Once at our destination—the island of New Ambossa in West Japan—we would exchange the slaves for sugar, rum and tobacco.

And once back in GA, these luxury goods would be sold for a small fortune.

Furthermore, as a special incentive to remain loyal to my paymaster, I was to receive ten percent of the overall profit made for every slave shipment safely arrived in New Ambossa.

It took me one second contemplating the invitation, and another before offering my assent.

Captain Kaga Konata Katamba I.

Such jubilation was bursting in my heart that I could not contain it.

That evening I sank my knees and swirled my hips with Chief Ambikaka’ s sleekly oiled wenches who had bounteous breasts and bullet-catching buttocks—while the highlife music vibrated into the skies above the compound.

You may imagine how I felt that night as I lay on a rug in a suite in the chief s compound, my appetite satiated by two appetizing whores who reclined under my arms, the drums and rum still pumping through my blood vessels, kept awake into the dawn hours by extravagant fantasies of the business I would soon start building.

I praised the gods for my excellent good fortune as I nestled between squashed breasts and smooth arms and thighs that warmly imprisoned my own.

Captain indeed!

L
ike all men who are driven to roam the oceans, I had heard tales of the Gray Continent throughout my seafaring life.

Europa
—the name tripped off the lips of every seaman, adventurer and merchant who dreamed of accumulating riches through the trade in slaves. Yet only the bravest and hardiest dared venture to its stormy coasts, because if the wheezes, coughs and sneezes of the deadly influenza did not catch you, the wild savages surely would.

Yes, Dear Reader, the natives of those lands are just now emerging from the abominable depths of savagery, which we civilized nations left behind in prehistoric times.

With my trip to Europa in sight, I embarked upon a period of study.

THE MORE ENLIGHTENED among you will already be aware that there are three stages or, if you like, classifications of humanity according to the exact science of Craniofaecia Anthropometry, a tried and tested science that measures skull sizes within the rigorous and most esteemed field of Physical Anthropology.

These classifications are:

We all recognize that the Negroid head has a wide, prominent forehead, the back of which is spacious and rounded, and that it has what is termed a prognathous (or protruding) jaw. Over millennia, the capacious skull of the Negroid has been able to accommodate the growth of a very large brain within its structure. This has enabled a highly sophisticated intelligence to evolve.

Additionally, the prognathous jaw itself denotes determination of character and a strong sense of direction. The Negroid skull has, therefore, produced the following traits: ambition, self-motivation, resourcefulness, self-discipline, courage, moral integrity, spiritual enlightenment and community responsibility.

It is also worth noting that due to its position on the evolutionary scale, the Negro is also very Sensitive and capable of Great Depth of Feeling.

Needless to say, Craniofaecia Anthropometry proves that the Negro is biologically superior to the other two types. Indeed, while the Negro belongs to the genus known as Mankind, the Mongolo and the Caucasoi belong to a broader definition of Humankind, which ranges from the fully evolved species Mankind to the lesser evolved species classified as Neo-Primate.

The Caucasoinid skull, on the other hand, is, unfortunately, consigned to the bottom end of the scale of Humankind. It is long, narrow and somewhat square at the back, with an orthognathous (less prominent) jaw. This skull type contains a far smaller brain because it has been unable to expand beyond the limits of its small cranial structure. Furthermore, the narrowness of the skull denotes a brain that is a bit, as we laymen would say, squashed up.

The orthognathous jaw itself denotes weakness of character, limited imagination and restricted intellect. The general consensus is that these cranio-structural defects also produce the traits of infantilism, aimlessness, laziness, cowardice, poor coordination, moral degradation and a nonsensical language or languages; so unintelligible, in fact, that it has not yet been verified by linguistic experts whether Europa possesses one language, classified as Mumble-Jumble, several languages, or merely one language with several dialects.

Furthermore, the Caucasoi is unable to calculate mental arithmetic beyond what they call their “ten times table.”

Because the Caucasoinid brain is so stunted, it has also naturally led to somewhat blunted emotions. Along with the beasts of burden who work the fields, the Caucasoi is incapable of acute emotionality because, due to its Neo-Primate state, it is but a few steps up from the animal kingdom with its primary preoccupations of Perambulate, Agitate, Capitulate, Somnambulate, Ejaculate, Procreate, Masticate, Procrastinate and Hibernate.

Nor, when the Caucasoi receives physical “pain,” does he suffer in the same way as you and I. Beating the hide of a Caucasoi is more akin to beating the hide of a camel to make it go faster. Be not hoodwinked into thinking that the blood shed and the skin torn of the Caucasoi is a crime against humanity, no matter how much they shed crocodile tears to convince the gullible among you otherwise.

Surely even you diehard liberals are by now doubting your old verities?

Should any vestige of doubt remain, however, please rest assured that these categories and conclusions are derived from
precise and systematic measurements
of the bones of the human skull by leading doctors who carried out empirical research over many months on one hundred skulls before arriving at their conclusions.

To put it in simple terms, the Caucasoinid breed is
not of our kind.

On the other hand the piggy-in-the-middle, Mongolo, is exceedingly desirous to align himself with the Negroidian type. Yet the truth is that he possesses a mere thirty-five percent of our admirable qualities.

Or, to present the facts another way:

Imagine a brain operating at full capacity with 100 billion neurons (Negroid).

Then a brain with 35 billion neurons (Mongoloid).

And finally a brain with 20 billion neurons (Caucasoinid).

To go one step further—it also appears, then, that the removal of certain specimens of the Caucasoinid genus from Europa to Aphrika and its dominions is, in fact, an Act of Mercy.

Consider for a moment, oh you men of cynicism and misinformation, that the Trade is a chance for those poor souls to escape the barbarism prevalent on the Gray Continent where unspeakable horrors take place as a normal way of life.

Some of these I have witnessed myself firsthand, and as my narrative unfolds you will hear tell of them.

As you will soon discover, the Europane slaves have been saved from the most horrendous deaths, punishments, morally reprehensible indulgences and serfdom, while being given the opportunity to adopt the manners and customs of civilized men.

Furthermore, the Europane tribes enslave each other. It is a most natural state of affairs for them.

As soon as I myself had grasped the facts, I must confess that it was with great excitement that I embarked on my journey to Europa, and with great relief too. Not only would my moral fiber remain intact, but it would be strengthened.

Indeed, I now realized my trip was, additionally, a Mission of Liberation—the Saving of Souls.

NEVERTHELESS, WITH THE terrible accounts of the Gray Continent ringing in my ears, there was also much trepidation in my heart, at the barbarism I would encounter on those shores.

CAPTAIN KATAMBA I WILL spare the Reader the run-of the-mill details of my first voyage to Europa; suffice to say that the seas were, as usual, vicissitudinous.

The worst came upon us on our seventy-fifth day out when a nighttime nor’ wester rapidly ripened into a tempest so powerful that if we continued skudding we ran the risk of running the
Hope & Glory
under.

Alas! I awoke to discover it was too late to bring her to the wind. We could not reach the foresail to cut it away nor the reef points to do the same. The forward deck was quickly attacked by the infamous Atlantic rollers, which swept over us, and the crew could do no more than huddle together while the helmsman struggled to keep us upright. It would be only a matter of time before the keel rolled over, showing its wooden underside to the tumultuous skies with my crew and myself, good men and true, flailing about beneath it.

I prayed to Yemonja with more fervor than ever before. I was a young man. I had a fortune to make and a family to create that would one day carry on the name of the Katamba Clan.

As if in a miracle, Yemonja heard my cries and the storm broke. The rains abated as swiftly as they had arrived. The swell of the waves subsided so that the sea soon resembled a tranquil pond again, and the skies cleared and poured forth sunlight and warmth.

I then understood that Yemonja was smiling on my mission.

From then on in we plowed the waters peacefully until we approached the coast of Europa.

THE GRAY CONTINENT—it seemed harmless enough, at first sight: a deserted, somewhat featureless beach viewed from a distance, snaking as far as the naked eye could see beneath an insipid sky through which the sun could not penetrate. The trees that encroached upon it looked quite normal from the distance of our ship—perhaps sun-dappled woods or even a majestic, ancient forest? But as we rode the breakers in our yawls, I became aware that it was the dreaded jungle.

Suddenly such a wind began to gather behind us that we had no need to row as waves pushed us helplessly toward the coast with the force of it, and before we could catch breath we were thrust up onto a beach made up of pebbles and sharp shards of rock that glinted like the blades of knives.

The underside of the yawls skidded and scratched on the shingle, and it was with great foreboding that I hauled my yawl farther up the beach and secured it there.

The wind had seemingly arisen out of nowhere as if to whip us with evil spirits. Brooding clouds had amassed in the skies with a deathly quiet, making the shore overcast and ominous, and as I surveyed the forlorn beach, it sunk home that we had arrived on terra firma most sinister.

The country called Europa.

The region called the Cabbage Coast.

Indeed, it will be readily understood that I felt most imperiled.

I DECIDED TO TARRY no longer than was necessary. Our business contact, the renowned yet notorious Ambossan factor Byakatonda, who had lived on that continent longer than most sane men could withstand and apparently gone native (spawning such a proliferation of mulatto children bearing his features he could form his own tribe), should have been waiting for us with hundreds of slaves in barracoons for our selection—but he was nowhere in sight.

I turned seaward, toward the merry wooden belly of the
Hope & Glory
bobbing innocently far away in the waters, and weighed up the possibility that it was not too late to abandon this mission altogether.

However, as you may by now be aware, Captain Katamba was not a quitter.

No sooner had I ordered my men to branch out along the perilously slippery beach to explore this bleak landscape than I noticed savages beginning to emerge from inside the jungle.