The slaves of Freetown

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The television screen goes into standby mode while our debate continues.

"I propose you to act as if you're having a job interview for a position as cameraman in the making of a documentary about the slave emigration from the Freetown of New York. If your candidacy is accepted, you'll get the job and will be paid. How does that sound?"

"Okay, but..."

"Mr. Kanoa Doe, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Sky Freeman," she says, presenting her hand.

"Nice to meet you," I reply, playing along with the game.

"As I've already received your resume, I won't dwell on general information about you. We'll get right to the point: who is Kanoa?What are his interests ?"

I shiver for a moment, suddenly very cautious and tense. I expressed my concerns earlier about not answering this question any longer, and I am still at the same stage of introspection. However, when I imagine my parents when I think about Imane and Ho-Jin, Mohamed, I guess that some things remain constant.

"When I was younger... It is very childish, I admit, and these are very pretentious aspirations, not at all fitting with my... reserved character, but I wanted to become an "artist," to work in the entertainment field. Not just because it is one of the few areas where slaves have a modest chance to emancipate themselves, not for ease, not for living the good life... maybe a little for the recognition and the glory, but mostly because... I do not know how to express it correctly... Whether it was a drawing that I shared with my sister, the choreographed concertos that my brother and I gave to Mohamed, or the plays my foster parents invented for me, I shared intense things... with all these people."

"You play an instrument? It's quite funny to imagine you dancing..." Mistress Freeman laughs as she tries to get up without the help of her clutch.

"A Master had taught me some guitar chords and even offered the guitar at the end. I had to play while he received his guests; I amused those meetings. I played it for a while, but then Ho-Jin, my older brother, broke it... To be honest, I was more of a clumsy, bulky support dancer. But I think that my brother is very talented." I answer, offering my hand to support her.

We sit next to each other on the couch, before I judge that a reasonable distance must be put between us.

"And you still draw?"

She keeps questioning, holding my hand.

"I wrote, with my sister Imane, some kind of comics, years ago, that including original, not translated Carl Gustav Jung's, Thomas Sankara's, Mariama Ba's quotes. We had no idea what was implied, but we liked the words, so... it was enough. It allowed me to combine two activities that I appreciated a lot at the time: drawing and literature. I do not even know what we did with it..." I whisper looking at our interwined fingers.

"But why haven't you tried to do these activities again?" she says, very close to my face.

I feel her warm breath on my cheeks, but I cannot bring myself to look at her.

"Growing up, I convinced myself that it would not bring me anything. I was not good enough, far from it. Either way, the older a slave gets, the more physically difficult their tasks become. I was too tired coming home on Sundays to think about that."

"It's such a shame," Miss Freeman mutters.

I cannot tell if her disappointment comes from the fact that I just shared with her or the fact that I still refuse to lift my head. It seems that she finally lets go of my hand, out of frustration, and turns to pick up something from the feist on the floor.