This is a tale of someone who escaped slavery, their tale passed down many generations to warn others of their tribe. This is the story of a young boy named Abeeku.
I was twelve when the white men came, almost thirteen actually. My family was small, just me and my parents. My family was famous for it’s good hunters, and I had to try to live up to that. Problem was, I was terrible at it, and so I had decided that morning to have my father help me out. I figured he could show me what I was doing wrong, and tell me how to fix it. I was with my father, preparing for a hunt, when we heard the screams.
We ran as fast as we could through the brush, hoping we could get there in time to help defend the village. We had figured it was probably a lion or two, they sometimes came up to our hill top village. I was hoping I would get to help kill the lion, maybe even do it myself, that sure would’ve proven that I was an excellent hunter. When we
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They had long, brown vine like things in their hands, as well as gray, clangy ones with holes in them. A couple had long sticks,the top being silver, and the end hollowed out. My friend Tusubira’s dad charged at one with his spear, only to fail. Before he got close, the white man pulled up his stick, and with a deafening boom, created a hole right through his chest. He fell to the ground, dead. I was about to scream when my father pulled me into the bushes and looked me in the eye. “Abeeku, you must go to the river and hide. I’ll try to come back for you if I can, but if I don’t come back in three days, you head to the neighboring village.” “But dad, I want to help save the village!” I said, thinking about how amazing it would be to save me friends and family. “No! It’s too dangerous. Stay here if you really want to help. You be end up being the last of the tribe. We need you to carry on our traditions.” “I understand father.” I said. “Okay, I love you, no