Brave Music of a Distant Drum Read online

  BRAVE MUSIC

  OF A

  DISTANT

  DRUM

  Manu Herbstein

  Copyright © 2011 Manu Herbstein

  EPub edition copyright © January 2012

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of Red Deer Press or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from Access Copyright (Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency) 1 Yonge Street, Suite 1900, Toronto, ON M5E 1E5, Fax (416) 868-1621.

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  Published by Red Deer Press, A Fitzhenry & Whiteside Company

  195 Allstate Parkway, Markham, ON, L3R 4T8

  www.reddeerpress.com

  Published in the United States by Red Deer Press, A Fitzhenry & Whiteside Company

  311 Washington Street, Brighton, Massachusetts, 02135

  Edited for the Press by Kathy Stinson

  Cover and text design by Daniel Choi

  Cover Images Courtesy of Shutterstock and iStockphoto.

  Printed and bound in Canada

  We acknowledge with thanks the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Ontario Arts Council for their support of our publishing program. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund for our publishing activities.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Herbstein, Manu

  Brave music of a distant drum / Manu Herbstein.

  eISBN: 978-1-55244-302-6

  ISBN: 978-0-88995-470-0

  I. Title.

  PR9379.9.H47B73 2011 j823’.92 C2011-905856-1

  Publisher Cataloging-in-Publication Data (U.S)

  Herbstein, Manu

  Brave Music of a Distant Drum / Manu Herbstein.

  [ 192 ] p. : cm.

  Summary: The story of an African woman enslaved in Brazil who summons her son to come and write down her story so that her granddaughter and her granddaughter’s children can one day read it and know their history.

  eISBN: 978-1-55244-302-6

  ISBN: 978-0-88995-470-0 (pbk.)

  Back cover image, left: Plan showing the typical storage of captured Africans aboard a regulated slave ship bound for the Americas. Courtesy of Library of Congress Prints and Photographs division, digital ID cph.3a34658 PD-US.

  for Marie Helene, Sophie Akosua and Kwaku Thamsanqa

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  A good story must speak for itself, and I expect every reader to find something different in Ama’s story and Kwame’s. All the same, a brief sketch of the historical background might serve to set Brave Music of a Distant Drum within the context of our times.

  The European voyages of discovery in the fifteenth century ushered in modern Western society. The trans-Atlantic slave trade started shortly after these initial voyages. The slave plantations in the Americas were testing grounds for the future factories of the industrial revolution and for the concentration camps established by the British in South Africa and by the Nazis in Europe in the Second World War.

  Many years after the abolition of slavery, the scars of the slave trade survive. No one who lives on the Atlantic rim and in its hinterland is untouched by this history. Sadly, few of us know much about it. My friend Prof. Kwadwo Opoku-Agyemang addresses this issue in the introduction to his collection of poems, Cape Coast Castle:

  The effects of enslavement have lasted this long because of the silence that surrounds its history ... The power of the fetish of slavery is enhanced by keeping it hidden ... To dissolve the fetish it is necessary to keep the story of slavery and the slave trade open-ended and to avoid closure; to clear the way to debate and to perpetually initiate rather than conclude the argument so that every new generation may visit it to quarry its lessons.

  My hope is that Brave Music of a Distant Drum will introduce a new generation of readers to this history and encourage them to broaden their knowledge of it.

  About the title:

  You will find the phrase “the brave music of a distant drum” in Edward Fitzgerald’s translation of the Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám; but here, the brave music is Ama’s story, and Kwame’s, standing in perhaps for the lost stories of some of the twelve million Africans who were subjected to forced emigration across the ocean, and for the stories of their descendants and their struggle for freedom and dignity. Like the sound of a distant drum, this music reverberates over space and over time, echoing back and forth across the Atlantic and across the centuries.

  Manu Herbstein

  Characters

  The principal characters are shown in bold type. An asterisk indicates an historical character.

  AFRICA

  family

  Ama - the heroine, known as Nandzi in the earlier part of the story; later known as Pamela and as “One-Eye”

  Nandzi - see Ama

  Pamela - see Ama

  “One-Eye” - see Ama

  Nowu - Nandzi’s four-year-old brother, son of Tabitsha and Tigen

  Tabitsha - Nandzi’s mother, Tigen’s junior wife

  Tigen - Nandzi’s father, Tabitsha’s husband

  Sekwadzim - Tabitsha’s father, Nandzi’s maternal grandfather

  Satila - Nandzi’s betrothed

  Itsho - Nandzi’s lover

  YENDI(Dagomba capital)

  Abdulai - commander of the Bedagbam slave raiders

  Damba - Bedagbam slave raider

  Suba - young boy, captured Bekpokpam slave

  Koranten Péte* - Asante consul in Yendi, commander of the central division of the Asante army (1720?–1810?)

  Akwasi Anoma - Asante official

  KUMASE (Asante capital)

  Osei Kwadwo* - fourth Asantehene (king of Asante), ruled 1764–1777 (say: O-say Ko-jo)

  Osei Kwame* - fifth Asantehene, ruled c 1777–1803 (see Kwame Panin)

  Konadu Yaadom* - Asantehemaa (queen-mother of Asante), 1752?–1809; maternal aunt (or mother?) of Kwame Panin

  Kwame Panin* - nephew (or son?) of Konadu Yaadom; the future Asantehene Osei Kwame

  Konkonti* - Chief Executioner of Mampong

  Mensa - Asante musketeer

  Esi - female Asante pawn; friend of Ama

  ELMINA

  Esi - see above

  Jensen - Danish Chief Merchant at Elmina Castle; second in command and successor to Pieter de Bruyn

  Pieter de Bruyn - Director-General (Governor) of the Dutch West India Company at Elmina Castle; also known as Mijn Heer (say: de Brain)

  Elizabeth de Bruyn - deceased wife of Pieter de Bruyn

  Augusta - Fante trader in Edina (Elmina town); former wife of Pieter de Bruyn

  Hendrik van Schalkwyk - Minister of the Dutch Reformed Church, Preacher and Chaplain of Elmina Castle (say: fun skulk-vake)

  Rev. Philip Quaque* - chaplain at Cape Coast castle (say: Philip Kweku)

  Rose* - Fante wife of Jensen

  David Williams - Welsh captain of the English slave ship Love of Liberty

  Richard Brew* - Irish slave trader; governor of Castl
e Brew at Anomabu

  THE LOVE OF LIBERTY

  George Hatcher - seaman

  Harry Baker - seaman

  Joe Knox - seaman

  Fred Knaggs - seaman

  Butcher - surgeon

  Gavin Williams - nephew of Captain David Williams; passenger; later British Consul in Salvador

  Kofi - young Akan boy;

  Kofi’s mother - slave

  Tomba - slave from the Upper Guinea coast; slave

  AMERICA

  SALVADOR

  Roberto - slave of Fante origin

  Josef - slave at the Engenho de Cima; boatman

  ENGENHO DE CIMA

  Fifi - Fante slave at the Engenho do Meio

  The Senhor - owner (senhor de engenho) of the Engenho de Cima

  The Senhora - wife of the Senhor

  Jacinta - female slave without hands

  Jesus Vasconcellos - General Manager

  Father Isaac - Catholic chaplain

  Alexandré - ulatto son of the Senhor

  Miranda - daughter of the Senhor and the Senhora

  Bernardo - Fante slave; chief carpenter

  Tomás - Hausa slave; blacksmith

  Olukoya - Yoruba slave; slave driver

  Ayodele - wife of Olukoya

  Wono - Yoruba slave; wife of Josef

  Benedito - old Crioulo slave; catechist

  Pedro - slave; underdriver

  João - Portuguese name of Tomba

  CHAPTER ONE

  Ama

  I am blind.

  Knaggs’ whip took out my right eye many years ago; and now my left eye, too, is only good for shedding tears. My hand can still hold a quill but, without guidance, the marks it makes are mere scribbles.

  I have a story to tell. It lies within me, kicking like a child in the womb, a child whose time has come. If I had died last night, my story would by now be lying with me in my shallow grave; but I did not die last night and I will still tell my story. It is true that Wono and Ayodele have heard parts of it, and Olukoya and Josef, too, but though they are all still blessed with good eyesight, none of them can write, at least not well enough to be my scribe.

  Tomba was my husband, father of our only child, Kwame. After Tomba’s death, Miranda took Kwame away to the city. Her husband, Senhor Gavin Williams, is the British Consul there. According to the laws of Brazil, I am Miranda’s property. So is Kwame.

  Now Kwame is a grown man with a wife and a child of his own. Today he will bring them to meet me for the first time. I must not think of it; it makes my heart pound in my chest. But I cannot control my thoughts any more than I can control the beating of my heart. My granddaughter Nandzi Ama, named after me, is two years old. I shall take her in my arms and hold her close to me.

  I taught Kwame his letters and numbers. Miranda—and I bless her for this—let him share the lessons she gave to her daughter Elizabeth, who is just one week older than Kwame. She had to keep it secret, because it is against the laws of the Portuguese to teach slaves to read and write. When Kwame was grown, Miranda persuaded Senhor Gavin to give him employment as a clerk. Just think! He was still a small boy when he was taken from me, and now he is a man, and although like me, he is a slave, he gets paid for his work.

  I pray that Kwame will bring ink and paper with him as I asked. Then I will tell him the story of my life, from the beginning; and Tomba’s, such of it as I know; and he will write it all down. And one day Nandzi Ama will read it; and her children, too. Then they will know who their ancestors were and where they came from; and they will understand that the shame of their enslavement lies with the slave traders not with the enslaved.

  Josef

  She was sleeping when we arrived at the senzala, sitting on her low stool with her back against the wall, fast asleep. I put my hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently to wake her.

  “Sister Ama,” I told her in Fante (we always speak Fante when we are alone together), “he has arrived. Your son is here.”

  She was confused.

  “I am sorry,” I said. “You were dozing. I woke you.”

  She tried to get to her feet. I had to help her up.

  Now they were standing face to face; but Sister Ama is blind and, of course, she couldn’t see him. I sensed that she expected him to embrace her.

  “Zacharias,” I told him in Portuguese, “this is your mother, Sister Ama.”

  She started.

  “Zacharias?” she asked. “Is it not Kwame? My son Kwame Zumbi?”

  I tried to reassure her.

  “Sister Ama,” I told her, speaking again in Portuguese so that Zacharias could understand, “Senhora Miranda calls him Zacharias. You remember, that is the name he was given at his christening? That is what they call him in Salvador.”

  The chance for them to embrace one another had passed. Zacharias stood there, shifting from one foot to the other.

  “Take my hand,” she said.

  He did as she asked. He still hadn’t said a word.

  “Let me feel your face,” she said.

  Zacharias

  My name is Zacharias Williams. I am employed as a clerk and scribe by Senhor Gavin Williams, Consul of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland to the Portuguese Viceroyalty of Brazil in Salvador, Bahia.

  Soon I will be a free man. Senhora Miranda has promised to give me my freedom, with a proper certificate of manumission to prove it.

  Senhora Miranda is the wife of Senhor Gavin. She owns the sugar plantation and mill known as the Engenho de Cima. She inherited it from her father when he died.

  That is where I am now.

  Senhora Miranda says she was born here and lived here until she married Senhor Gavin. She tells me that I was born here, too, but that she took me away to Salvador when I was a small boy. I do not doubt her word but I remember nothing of this place. It is as if I have come here for the first time.

  My mother, the slave woman Ama, lives here. She is old and blind and unwell and, I have to say it, ugly. I don’t remember her at all. She is a stranger to me. Indeed, I wonder whether she really is my mother. How could a mother give up her only child, and to a white woman at that? There is something else I don’t understand: she speaks good English, much better than Senhora Miranda does. Senhora Miranda speaks English with a strong accent. Senhor Gavin laughs at her English and that makes her angry. Senhora Miranda is a rich white lady. My mother is an old black slave, dressed in a torn, faded dress. Most slaves can’t even speak good Portuguese. Yet my mother also speaks English almost as well as Senhor Gavin does. And he is an Englishman, a genuine white Englishman. My mother’s perfect English is a mystery to me.

  I don’t know what to call my mother. If she were just another old African slave woman, I would call her by her name, Ama. But I cannot do that. If she is really my mother, I must treat her with respect. “Honor thy father and thy mother,” it says in the Holy Bible. I think I shall call her My Mother.

  My name, as I said, is Zacharias. But my mother refuses to use it. Senhora Miranda says that I was baptized with that name. She was my godmother and Senhor Gavin was my godfather. But my mother calls me Kwame. She says my name is Kwame Zumbi. That is not a Christian name. She says that that is the name my father gave me. I am on the point of asking her to tell me about my father but I am too shy.

  She wants me to write down the story of her life as she dictates it to me. She says she should have written it herself before she lost her eyesight, but she was lazy and, what is more, she did not have ink and paper. Amazing. A ladina, an African-born slave, who says she can read and write. Who could have taught her? It is against the law to teach slaves to read and write. Senhor Gavin took a risk when he agreed to let Senhora Miranda teach me. But the Senhora insisted. She said that no one in Salvador would trouble the Consul of the English king. She was giving
lessons to her own daughter Elizabeth, Senhorita Elizabeth, and she said she could not let me remain ignorant. She told him, “I owe it to Ama.” I didn’t understand what she meant. I still don’t. Was she talking about my mother, Ama? What could Senhora Miranda owe to a poor old slave woman like my mother? I should not have come here. This place is full of mysteries, disturbing mysteries.

  Josef brought the message. Josef is the old slave who takes messages and things between Salvador and the Engenho. He is a boatman. It was Josef who brought me here across the bay today. I didn’t want to come, but he told Senhora Miranda that my mother had been ill. The Senhora crossed herself and said, “I would never forgive myself if Ama were to pass away without seeing Zacharias again.” She said I should take my wife, Iphigenia, and our baby daughter Carlota, but I told her that Carlota was too young to make the journey. She said I should stay here for a month.

  Ama’s story

  We call my country Kekpokpam. It is in Africa; but when I lived there, “Africa” meant nothing to me. Kekpokpam lies many days walk from the sea, but when I lived there, I had never even heard of the sea.

  Our home was a cluster of thatched round houses surrounded by a low wall. There were no other houses within sight of ours. My birth name is Nandzi. My father was called Tigen, though, out of respect, I never called him by his name. My mother Tabitsha was his junior wife. She had been married before, to my father’s younger brother, but he had died. She had her own round house, a single room, and I slept there with her and my baby brother Nowu. My father Tigen must surely have joined the ancestors by now. But my mother might still be alive.

  My father was rich. We had two cows, sheep and goats, as well as ducks, chicken, and guinea fowl. My father’s farms were spread all around our house. There was plenty of land. He grew guinea corn and millet, yams, groundnuts, and rice. And he had a field of hunger rice, too, in case the grain in our silos did not last until the next harvest. My mother had her own small farm, where I helped her to grow tomatoes and red pepper. My father and my brothers would set traps in the river to catch fish. I was not allowed to eat meat (it is taboo for unmarried girls) but sometimes, when there was no one watching, my mother Tabitsha would let me have a taste.