Hoping

I have spent almost seven years in a space above my grandmother's house. It is located between the roof and the ceiling, it is a little less than three feet high at its highest point, and nine feet long by seven feet wide. I have endured freezing winter, blazing hot summers, and pouring rain in this godforsaken crawl-space. Yet in it, or rather the idea of it, lays all of my hope for freedom. However, it is not freedom that I believe I will be fully content with, I desire my rights as a human, my dignity.

I don't believe that I have really explained the reasons for which I am here, other than to someday achieve the idea of freedom. I came to be living in this small space because I needed to be near my children. Before I came to be here I was living in and out of friends homes, black and white alike. But then I heard news that Norcom, (Dr. Flint) had sold my children and brother to a slave trader. Sawyer, who is the father of my children, (whom I will write more about in a later posting) unbeknownst to Dr. Flint, had careful watched his dealings in selling our children. Swayer cleverly was working with the salve trader, and allowed my children to go back and live with my grandmother. So in an effort to be closer to them, I am here.