Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: FAMOUS (02/27/20)
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TITLE: The Cotton Tree | Previous Challenge Entry
By Arlene Baker
03/05/20 -
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“Yes, baby. That’s our Cotton Tree. It’s very special.” Grandma sank down on a bench to rub one knee.
“Special? How is a tree special?”
“Ah, Sammy.” Grandma wiped her face with a kerchief. “This tree is as special to Sierra Leone as you are to me.”
“Makes no sense.” Samuel shook his head. “Trees don’t talk. Don’t go nowhere. They can’t even give hugs.” He stopped to give the slender woman a big squeeze. “How can that tree be special like me?”
“Because, my dear…” She stopped to run a hand over his head. “This tree represents so much to our people.”
“What is represent?”
Grandma pulled herself upright and took Sammy’s hand. “Come, child, let us walk around the tree so you can understand how big it is.”
The tree’s canopy filled the sky. Twittering birds entered and exited its leafy haven. Sammy grinned. “Maybe that tree does talk.”
As they slowly promenaded around the base of the huge trunk, Sammy’s grandma told him of her people from long, long ago.
“My Great-great-great-great grandfather came to this country on a boat. He was returning after many years away.”
“Why he leave?” Sammy asked.
A dark cloud passed over her ebony face. She peered up into the tree as though words would drop like leaves.
“A long time ago, folks bought other folks.”
“Bought? Like when you buy me a mango to eat on market day?”
“Yes, sort of, yet different. I buy you mangoes to enjoy. People were bought to work for other people.”
“My daddy work for somebody. He call him Boss.”
“It was different,” Grandma repeated with a slight frown. “It was more like … like owning your dog. She has no say in how you treat her. If she has babies, your daddy will give those puppies away when they are old enough because your parents couldn’t feed seven or eight new dogs.”
“Yeah. Mommy has explained that.” Sammy tugged at his dampening tee shirt. “But…”
“Bought people were called slaves,” Grandma explained. “They had no control over where they lived or anything else. If their owner decided to sell them or their children, they were powerless against his will.” Grandma fell into thoughtful silence. Sammy waited.
“So, when my ancestor was stolen from this land as a child, he was taken aboard a ship and sent to another country, far away. It is now called the United States of America.”
“The USA? They have cool stuff there. Music. Shoes. Clothes. I like the USA.”
“I do too … now.” She sighed. “It was not the same back then. Your ancestor was sent away, never to return or see his family again. He was owned by another human being. When the great war came to the United States, the war against Britain …”
“I remember! Our teacher says it was called the Revolutionary War.”
“That is correct, child. And what a revolution that was.” A faint smile settled on her lips. “Britain needed soldiers. They couldn’t fly them to America in a few hours like today. No, they had to go on ships, and it could take three months to cross the ocean.”
“Three months! That a long time.”
“It is. So, the king’s government came up with a clever plan. It was announced that any slave willing to fight for Britain would be guaranteed freedom.” A soft chuckle. “Meaning, that gave them the power to fight against the folks what owned them.”
“Did our great-grandpa do that?”
“He did, as well as many thousands of others. Because the British lost the war, all those loyal to the king — white and black — had to flee to safety. Most blacks chose Nova Scotia, a land far to the north. Life was so difficult in that climate that after 10 years of struggling, a company in England offered them free passage here … to Sierra Leone.”
“And they come?” Sammy jumped up and down.
“Almost all did. My grandma told me that her grandmother told her this: As soon as the new settlers came ashore, they saw this very tall tree towering over all the others. The entire group marched up to it, stood under its shade and sang praises to God who, after many scary weeks at sea, had brought them safely to their new home. This, my child, is how Freetown began.”
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