Ajamu the Slave
“Are you really sure, Ajamu, that you want to do this?”
Charles Bellamy looked intently at the young black man standing in front of his desk. There stood Ajamu, now 24 years old, and since his birth a slave on the estate of Charles Bellamy. He stood tall. He was barefoot, wearing linen breeches and an old torn shirt. The poor ragged clothes did not conceal the fact that this young slave was a muscular and strong man. He was tense, clearly because this conversation with his master was very important to him.
“Yes Massa, me sure. I love my Makena. Me want us to be free. Me go to Pit and fight, Massa, and win. Ajamu can fight, Massa, really! Ajamu is fighter. And then Ajamu and his Makena free, like Massa say to me.”