Friday, March 13th, 1739

Dear Mother and Father,
I’m ecstatic that I’m able to be writing this to you. I wanted to tell you that I’m alive, if not very well. Abubacar was not as lucky. I’m sorry. He did die before he had to undergo many of the horrors, so thank the Lord for his merciful release into death. Tobias, a fellow slave of mine, has found a way to get letters to you. My greatest hope is that you are alive and well and that this letter is able to find you.
The trip to get here was horrible. I know it didn’t take very long, but it felt like forever. We were mistreated and starved. Many died. Abubacar, too. I will spare you the rest of the horrific details because I survived, and that is all that matters. You don’t need to hear the rest. It would only serve to give you nightmares.
Once I arrived, I was sold at auction. At the time, I only knew that I was naked, filthy, and being separated from all the people I had grown to care about. I hear that I fetched quite a price. I don’t know whether that makes me happy or sad. I was bought to become a house slave. I cook for everyone, and look after the Massa’s children. They are sweet now, even if they will grow up to be white.
New laws forbid that I even know how to write this for you, but I shall regardless. I only hope that the kind woman who taught me is never caught. She would hang for that crime. They also forbid my killing, charging high fees to anyone who kills a slave. The fee is less for anyone who kills under the influence of ‘passion.’ Their supposed ‘love,’ nothing but lust with a glossy cover, shall be worth more than a life.
I only wish I could come back to you, but I cannot. No one would take me, and I do not wish to die on an impossible venture. Besides, I have a family here, even if we are of no relation. We protect each other, and I cannot leave people I have grown to care about.

With Best Wishes,

Dahakiya