I am a young mother, in my mid to late twenties, with shoulder length maybe longer, wavy/curly black hair. I’ve been married to one man for about three years or so,
And we have one sweet little girl, less than two years old.
The weather is brisk, as it is getting closer to nightfall, so I had dressed my daughter in one of those cute little white and blue colored bear onesie sleepers, with the fake fabric ears sewed on top of the drawstring hood, and fake paw prints printed on the plastic footed booties, and fold-over hand covers.
People everywhere were gathering; all walking towards the signs that promised “free food”, and following the arrows pointing them towards the waiting lines. We followed along with the crowd, as the guideline rails that had quickly been put in place
Began to narrow further, till they were the width of only about four people wide.
Some of the people dropped and could go no further, for they had gone without food for a long time. Most however, made their way into the long lines of waiting people, in the hopes that they would be fed soon.
As the line slowly moved forward, We found that the barriers alongside us, became metal poles and fencing, funneling the people into one direction. At one point, some of the people decided they didn’t want to be forced to go in one direction, but when they turned to go back, they found armed officers of some kind, (claiming to try and keep the peace,) pulling out their guns, and ordering those people to keep moving forward.
Some moved back into the line, But there were those who refused, and still fought to be free. They were shot and killed.
This changed the mood of the people watching the exchange, and they started to ask more questions. “Is there even any food to be had? Or is this just a scam?”
The officers said that they would indeed receive food, but that they just had to keep moving along in the line. Others then asked “When will we be able to eat?” But that question wasn’t really answered. The only thing they would say is: “When you’re further down the line.”
At this point, there was another group of people jostling and fighting, and the guards quickly pressed the crowd apart into two different lines that funneled apart from each other. They then shot those who were resisting. Their bodies lay on the ground, and those behind had to walk around them. Those that refused to move forward and instead stayed behind to mourn their deaths, were also shot. Some who were shot, were still alive, and were crying out in pain, asking for help. These people were shot again, (this time through the head up close,) effectively silencing them.
My arms had weakened, from carrying my little one for so long, so I had given her over to her father to hold for a while. She was such a sweet baby, seemingly content with the little that my body could give her. She was a spot of sunshine in our lives, and I thanked Jesus for her frequently.
Now, suddenly, to my great distress, I found myself being pushed forward, and separated from my family. The armed gunmen divided us up as if we were cattle, without regards to family ties. I tried to say something to one of the gunmen, but he looked right through me. I looked at my husband still holding my child in the other line, and as our eyes met, I could see the desperation, love, and hopelessness, within me reflected in his.
We were given no time to say goodbye. The line with my husband and child moved forward with a surge, and my eyes followed them till they disappeared from my view.
My grief was overwhelming. I thought of never being able to see my baby’s sweet face again, and I wanted to die. What value was there in living now? As the line I was in began to move forward once again, I knew I could simply cause a struggle, and I would soon be shot, putting myself out of my misery. But something kept me from doing so. Then that voice within, told me that He still needed me, and that I was to keep moving forward, despite my grief. He told me that He still had work for me to do for Him. I wondered how I could be of any use to Him with this grief, but His voice within me was insistent.
So I stumbled forward with the rest of the crowd, without much will or strength left, till we found ourselves herded into a long dark metal box. They packed us into this container tightly, leaving no room to spare, and then swung the door shut, locking us in.
The container was then lifted by a crane, onto a ship of some kind. We heard the sound of the boats engine shuddering to life, and felt the rocking motion of the boat upon the water. I spent hours upon hours in that darkness, with heat, bodies, and the stench of urine and feces around me. Then our container was lifted up in the air again, and was deposited on solid land. Shortly after, the doors swung open.
A gray light filtered through to where I was still standing. People rushed forward, almost falling out of the box. Those that had died along the journey now fell to the floor, and the others stumbled over them to reach the door.
As I moved forward, I could see that it was day, but there was no sunshine, just pouring rain. All around was dark, dreary, and gray. A group of people, larger than ours, stood off to one side, huddled under a corrugated metal overhang, silently watching. We stumbled towards them, as the foreign-looking gunmen, speaking in a strange language I did not know, pointed their guns in this direction. But their guns seemed out of place, for no one fought anymore. Resistance had already been removed from us.
I could see that our box had been placed next to some other boxes, and that they were actually overseas shipping containers, the kind that had filled up the ports and stockyards of the USA to overflowing. Foreign countries overseas had used them to ship goods and products over to America. Now I sensed that they were being returned to their owners, filled to the brim with American slaves. I knew then, that I would never set foot upon my beloved homeland again.
Just then, a high-pitched squeal filled with happiness and delight, sounding so out of place, rang out into the cement courtyard. I looked up and could see a tiny figure struggle to be free from being held, dressed in blue and white, break from the others and run towards me. My heart pounded with recognition, but I found I was afraid to hope. Was it really my little baby bear? Joy filled my heart and tears flooded my eyes as I listened to my baby’s distinctive voice cry out “Me ma me ma me ma,” as her little feet pounded the pavement. She ran into my arms and we embraced. My mate then came up to me as well with tears in his eyes, and hugged us both. “Thank you Jesus!” I whispered under my breath, as I embraced my family once again.
I then woke up from the dream.