The Parting Tides

Kaitlyn Dunn
My fingers were slipping, letting go of the one thing I had to hold onto. The symbolic glass wall
around me began to shatter and I was left completely exposed. My body grew numb as I tore away from
the grip of imperialism. Their claws pierced through my thick skin leaving only the trace of blood.
Twenty five days, I have been running for twenty five days, and they had finally caught me. Running, to
me, was an uncontrollable instinct and the thought of losing that freedom was scarier than any white man
with a gun pointed to my head.
Their grip became more forceful every time I tried to tear away. I had no chance. My screams
were swallowed into the jungle just like all other secrets. Their alien language I could not understand, but
it didnt matter because all screams sounded the same. I guess they were used to inhuman people
complying with their every word but that wasnt me and they seemed to not like that. One of the men
pulled out his only form of defense, a knife. The light reflected off the blood stained blade and blinded the
last ounce of vision I still had left. He raised it above his head and proceeded to swipe down towards the
ground. All I could think about was my son. His frail, innocent body being cut because of my mistake. So
I reached to my side to try and grab him but instead I found that he was gone. He was lying on the ground
trying so hard not to get trampled. Everything became background and all I wanted was to keep him safe.
I didnt care if they took me away to their dungeon of evil, I just wanted to keep my son safe and I would
do everything in my power to make sure that happened. So I fought like it was the last thing I would ever
do. My arms became weaker and weaker with every strike. The numbness spread throughout my arm like
the plague and soon my entire body was on the verge of collapsing. Time seemed to become even slower
with each cut. I cried but it seemed like nothing would stop the pain. I became utterly helpless.
They started dragging me towards the nearby village and with each step I became more compliant
partly because my legs were growing numb from the walk. Eventually the white men let me go once we
got back to the camp but the experience scarred me for life. They never told me why they dragged me off
from the woods but im assuming it was because of an order they received, or just out of pure angst.

***
The sun had barely risen over the horizon but still reflected light off the water. I was lucky
enough to live next to the river which meant that every morning I got to experience some of the most
diverse scenery of the entire village. The main dock connected to the path right in front of my house so I
could hear every boat that was docking. The dock was relatively small since only wooden row boats were
allowed to dock here. At times it was dead silent and the sound of the paddle dipping in and out of the
water relaxed me. Most of the time the village was dead silent but every once in a awhile a car would
come passing along the back road that connected all our houses which made everyone annoyed. Most all
of the people in this village walked by foot since it was so small and only consisted of about 20 houses.
All of us knew each other and had lived there basically our whole lives. Every once and awhile someone
knew would come along to the village, usually a white man, what scum they were.
As I stepped outside the smell of fresh mangos and coffee beans filled the air. It was an
interesting mix of scents, some found it repulsive but for me the scent was something that I had become

so accustomed too it would be weird not to smell it on Sunday morning; so I guess I liked it. It was 7:00
am on a Sunday which meant it was time to go visit Laquisha at her fruit stand. Markets were something
that were very common in this region of the Congo and were basically a tradition to the people around
here.Laquisha was set up in the same 2 square feel she always stood in, every day of the market.
Ambrosia, come quick before all the mangos are gone. She said sarcastically, gesturing to an
overflowing pile of fruit.
I was always one of the first people out at the market so business didnt pick up until later in the
day when the rest of the village woke up, which was typically around 1 pm. Every once and awhile
people from other villages would come to trade fruits or just to chat but today it looked like it was just
me.
Wheres Tyrone? I asked. Tyrone, her husband, usually sets up a table next to her. They did
everything together and never seemed to get sick of each other, which I found very odd.
I used to be married, but he was killed. People say that it was a accident, but years later I still
believe it was one of those white men.
I was only 17 when he was killed. I was going for one of my morning paddles along the bank of
the Congo river when I heard a gunshot off in the distance. At the time I didnt think anything of it so I
just kept paddling, watching for wildlife in the dense rainforest to my side. A few minutes later I
completely forgot about the gunshot because it was masked by the obnoxious sound of a nearby toucan.
Once I docked my canoe everything seemed out of order, like something was missing but I
couldnt quite put my finger on the feeling. Thats when one of the town peasants ran out of the forest
completely out of breath. He started yelling and screaming something no one seemed to understand since
he was from a different village. The panic in his eyes should have indicated something was really wrong
but no one thought it was anything that important until he ran straight towards me. His English was very
poor but you could tell he was trying to communicate something critical.
Husband! Husband! Woods come! He starting pointing and dragging me off into the woods.
Husband dead! Everything he said made me question his sanity but I followed anyways. We ran off into
the woods, tripping over every branch and object in my way but that didnt stop him. Soon we came to a
clearing in the trees which was clearly white mans land. I finally saw what he had dragged me out here
for. Everything in the background became blur and all I could focus on was the body that lay inches from
my feet. I wish I hadnt seen the face of this dead man, but his face will always be imprinted in my head.
It was in fact my husband.
I still loved him despite all the scars across my body from his compressed anger and unidentified
rage. Everytime he was upset he would beat me with a club, or a belt and sometimes his bare hands. I
learned to just close my eyes and become completely submissive and that was the best way to get through
it.

Everyone in the village thought I only stayed with him out of fear but no one really knew I loved
him and I couldnt help that. You cant help who you fall in love with. Even the man who brought me to
my husband was surprised by my reaction. I should feel relief. I should feel free. I should feel the weight
off my shoulders. I shouldnt feel devastation. I shouldnt feel anger. I shouldnt feel love. But I did.

***
Laquisha handed me a freshly peeled mango and asked if I was okay. I guess she could tell I was
off in la la land as she called it.
Thank you. I emptily said.
A few moments later a man walked out of one of the nearby houses looking completely content.
His lanky figure shadowed across the pathway. He was a very handsome young man and everyone knew
he would be a leader someday. His name was Chibuzo and he was my son. As he approached I could see a
scar that stretched across his forehead and I remembered exactly how it happened.
It was a Tuesday and I was especially nervous that day for some weird reason. Sometimes I could
feel when bad things were going to happen and today was one of those days. It was like my stomach
turned upside down and everything would seem out of place. The feeling was hard to describe but it was
definitely there.
So I sat in my tent with Chibuzo wrapped in my only blanket to keep him from freezing. Yes I
lived in a tent for a while. No I wasnt poor, actually I was quite rich. When the white people came to the
Congo they valued me more because I was Anglo-Congolese. My mother was British and when she came
out to the Congo for research she met my father and then had me. The white men gave me more
privileges and treated me with more respect than the others, which I didnt particularly like. Plus my
husband was born into a family of leaders so we were pretty well off. But once he was killed I gave up all
of that and tried to run. Most people who tried to run from the white people weren't out there for very
long since they had guards in the woods to make sure everyone was working for them. They were all sent
by a man named King Leopold II and came for nothing but to destroy us. I wasnt actually there during
the time of the Congo Free State but everything I was told was terrifying and I believed every word of it.
It wasnt until later in my life I realized how inaccurate it actually was but at the time I believe the white
men were here to kill all of us, so I ran away out of fear. This was after my husband was killed so the
white people werent my favorite at the moment.
Anyways I lived in a tent away from the main village to keep my son away from the white men.
People all said I was insane, to stay away from the crazy lady that hid in the tent. This might have been
partly because I screamed at anyone the came near my tent. After awhile I started to believe them and
played the role as if it was part of my nature to be crazy.
Stay away from me! My husband WILL come back to haunt you. Then I would start crying and
usually they would leave. I was terribly afraid. All the white men basically left me alone until I had my
son. When I had Chibuzo everything changed. My fear for the white men became so real I actually started
to believe they were here to kill me and my son. Stories of cutting off workers hands if they didnt obey,

stories of forced labor and widespread killing imprinted in my brain. Everything became so real that day.
They were here to kill me and enslave my son.
I had to keep him safe, so I ran. Chibuzo was wrapped tightly in my arms and that was it. I had no
food, no water, nothing but my precious son and thats all I needed. I ran faster than I ever had; I had no
destination so I just stumbled one foot in front of the other and tried to run away from all my fears. The
jungle got denser and denser with every step and my legs became more and more numb. It felt like I was
running in circles and the jungle was mocking my every move. This made me mad, so I started sprinting
as hard as I could. My vision became blurry and the world started spinning. I felt my legs collapse
underneath me and everything turned black.
When I woke up I was right where I started but Chibuzo was not. He crawled a few feet and must
have passed out. There was blood dripping down his forehead. I had never been more scared in my life.
His body was completely limp and it took hours before he woke up. Nothing seemed of importance and
all I wanted was to help him. I was too scared to go back so I wrapped his head in his blanket to stop the
bleeding and cried for help. No one came.

***
It had been a couple of hours and that meant some more people were coming to get their weekly
spread of mango. Laquisha and I had talked the time away and soon we only had a few left. It was only
2:00 pm, so we still had plenty of time and no mangos. I offered to go gather some along the river so she
gave me a bucket and I was off.
I was doing pretty well, I had filled up over half the bucket and only had to pull my canoe on the
shore twice. There was an abundance of fruit and cocoa beans around the village which was good for us.
As I was paddling back I heard a rustle in the bushes. It wasnt a normal tussle of a snake or small rodent,
this was different. The first thing I saw was the barrel of a gun approaching from the woods. A shock ran
down my spine and I couldnt move. Flashes of my past encounters in the woods flashed through my
head. There was the time my husband was murdered, the time I was shot in the leg for running away and
the time I found a hand of a disobedient slave. So obviously I was scared by the approaching gun but I
couldnt just paddle away this time. I was frozen, like every time I had run was coming back to haunt me.
I had nothing left to do but face my fears head on, no more running. So I stood there with my body
completely numb and my insides quivering at the thought of death. Today was the day I would die.
The rustle became louder and louder and more and more of the gun peeked through the bushes
and trees. I counted my blessings and put my hands up, hoping to surrender. Submissive eyes, shaky
knees, and shortened breath were all I had left to remember.
A tall man in ragged clothes emerged from the trees and I could finally see his eyes. He had the
eyes of a killer.
Please! Dont shoot! I put my hands up over my head in the universal sign for surrender. I
stared at the water so the last thing I would see wouldnt be a white man.

Oh sorry about that, you startled me. He lowered his gun and smiled. He didnt murder me, he
didnt cut off my hands, he didnt take me captive, he just stood there with his hand out as a peace
offering. I was confused to say the least but at the same time intrigued. I wanted to see what he would do.
I was close to the shore so I reluctantly let him pull the boat ashore.
Going to make a pie or something? He asked politely.
What? I asked.
He pointed at the bucket of mangos sitting in the front of my boat. The mangoes. You must like
mangos. He chuckled.
Oh He smiled as I talked to him so I had to be polite. Yeah, Im bringing them to the market.
And in reality I was starting to warm up to him.
Oh well in that case your looking in all the wrong spots. Here ill show you. He held out his
hand as he said this. I grabbed his hand and stepped out of the canoe. This was one of the only white men
I had ever talked to. I was always too afraid of them to talk to them. He honestly was just like everyone
else which surprised me.
I grabbed my bucket of mangos and followed him deeper into the jungle. Usually I just stuck to
my route along the river and I had never wandered off that path. Every time we came to a stream or log he
helped me over. Soon we came to a clearing in the dense grass and what was on the other side was
breathtaking. All the streams came together into one large river and this river wasnt polluted and dirty
like the one I traveled, it was crystal clear. There was a large toucan can sitting in a nearby tree and for
once it wasnt an ear bleeding sound, more gentle and seemed melodic. The sun shone perfectly through
the clearing that it reflected a rainbow off the mist in the trees. It was truly breathtaking.
He pointed at a cluster of red and orange that filled the trees. It took me a minute to realize they
were mangos because there were so many of them. I had never been so in awe. Everyday I would paddle
along the same path and search for newly grown magos in the same spot, little did I know only a couple
hundred feet inland there was a garden of eden waiting to be found. The white man shook one of the
nearby trees and more than a hundred mangos must have fallen out. I could do nothing but stand there and
giggle foolishly. You could feed entire villages with all of these mangos, so why were they just sitting
here? It surprised me no one had greedily taken all of them yet.
I grabbed one of the ripe mangos and started to fill my small bucket. The white man helped me
gather them and smiled every time I made eye contact with him. You have to promise me one thing. He
said.
Whats that? I asked.

Well I have only brought a couple villagers out here and all of us have agreed to only take what
we need. Thats why it is still this lush and I would love to keep it this way. But I trust you wont ship out
truck loads of mangos to the Americas. He chuckled at the idea.
Wasnt planning on it. I giggled. His eyes were filled with kindness and once I filled my bucket
he nodded his head towards me and started to walk back into the woods. He was one of the nicest men I
had ever met, and he was white. I always thought white men were these greedy beasts but theyre not. He
shared this luscious garden with me and helped me sell my mangos and for that I was extremely thankful.
As he walked away I wondered if I would ever see this man again. Probably not.
Thank you. I called out to him.
He turned his head around and tipped his hat in response. My pleasure.
To my surprise I did see that man again. I was actually paddling over to the shore closest to the
garden he once showed me. Once I docked my boat I saw him approaching from a nearby bundle of trees.
And this time I wasnt scared in the slightest. It had only been a couple of months since I last saw him so I
greeted him with open arms. He too had a bucket of mangos at his side. He told me that he was gathering
food for his family who lived in a village very far away.
At first I could tell he was hiding something by the look in his eyes and the tone in his voice, so
of course I asked him what was bothering him. He told me he was planning on running, running to his
family hundreds of miles away. He said that his superior was going to force him to kill a man by the name
of Azula Achebe. Azula was threatening to withhold his recourses from the white men and since he had
access to over half the resources in the village my friend would be forced to kill him. He didnt know this
man but an order was an order. Apparently it came down the long line of authority from King Leopold, so
he had to obey.
I knew that he didnt want to and that was why he was trying to run. I told him my experience
with running from your fears but still respected his urge. It was miles of thick underbrush and poisonous
supposed allies. But nothing I could say would have stopped him, so I helped him gather food and water.
All he had was a few empty buckets and a torn up blanket. With only this he would have made it a mile
before collapsing, so out of kindness I invited him back to my house to help him with the process.
Once we made it back to my villa I started grabbing things I thought might help him. He seemed
really confused as to why I was being so kind but in reality the answer to that was quite selfish. I guess I
remembered being young and foolish, trying to run from every little thing that scared me and it was
almost as if I was living vicariously through him. I was never able to run farther than the edge of the
treeline but he, he could run as far as he wanted. And for that reason I helped him to fulfil the empty
feeling of success inside me.
After I gathered him together a suitcase full of supplies it was time for him to run away; run from
fear, run from commitment, run from himself. We said our goodbyes and I gave him one of my two
canoes that I had tied up along the dock. I watched him step into the unknown and put all his trust in an

African woman that had ulterior motives. The wind blew my hair across my eyes so I basically had to
fight with myself to watch him.
The water seemed strangely clear that day and as the paddle dipped into the water. I could see the
sweep of the wood which was strangely comforting. The smell of mangos and coffee filled the air just
like any other day and this was the last time he would smell that. As he used the edge of the paddle to
push off the dock he smiled, even though I could tell he was scared. As the front of the boat parted the
tides ahead I felt my sense of self assurance strengthen and finally after all these years I felt complete.