Unforeseen Life

There I sat, blade resting on my neck, head bent, and eyes trained on the floor. I knew this was it, my time, all my work had led to this. Death by a blade similar to the one I carried on my hip. I was not scared; I did not fear the pain or what would come. Death is something you make peace with early on if you are a person like me. Blood would finally be spilled on this armor, its green hues tinged with copper. I was lucky to make it this far and had risen this much. I was paving a path for those after me, for all those who believed they had nowhere to go and no purpose. This was not how it was meant to end though, not this soon, not this quickly, and surely not this forgettable. I was meant to be remembered, my story to be told to those who came after. Perhaps it would be, perhaps someone would remember me.

***

It was the year 1577, twelve years before my imminent death. I was eight years old, traveling with a group of Portuguese missionaries. Taken from my home and forced to travel with people I did not know. I was alone in this world, no family, friends; my life meant little to anybody. I had gathered that I was meant to be sold as a servant to whomever we were traveling to meet, for I did not know our destination or even what day it was. What was to come of me, I did not know, I could not foresee the next years of my life and what it would lead to.

After a few months of travel, we arrived in a place I would learn was Japan. The skin of the people here was a stark contrast to mine. Their skin was pale, similar to the tusks of an elephant. Their clothes were of stunning colors in multiple shades, the fabric draping and thick. The women I passed had painted faces, black teeth, and bright cherry red lips. The world here was so different from what I had known in Africa, it was quite the culture shock.

I was led to the house of a Daimyo, who happened to be a part of the Miyoshi clan, that I would later represent. He was introduced to me as ‘tono,’ and that was all I was to refer to him as. I moved into his house, called a shoin-zukuri, and was dressed in a kataginu. I learned quickly that this was not going to be what traditional servants did. In my quarters, I saw a piece of armor sitting in a closet-like case. It was a green hue, adorned with beautiful details, the shoulder straps held a symbol, a square inside a circle. The symbol of the clan I now served. My tono immediately began to teach me the ways of the sword. I picked the skills up quickly, even though I was young. Through this training, I became fluent in Japanese. The Japanese culture became a part of me, as I felt my old life slipping away, out of my memory. I didn’t even remember my old life before learning the ways of the sword. Training as a samurai was not easy, however, I focused all my attention on it, as I had nothing else to keep me going in this life. I thought that maybe, just maybe, if I was able to do well, I could be someone. I wouldn’t just be a servant boy from Africa, and that is exactly what I set out to do.

It was six years later when my tono let me wear the armor that had stared at me for years. It sat in my room, and I felt myself itching to put it on. He told me, “You have earned it, you have gained the honor that it means to put on this armor and resemble this clan.”

Hearing those words gave me pride. I came to view this man as a father figure, even though I knew he never truly could be. I had no family; all I knew was duty and my tono. This armor held a different type of significance. It was to hold the flag of our clan, of my clan. While I was trained in the way of the sword, this armor was of a significance that required less sword ability. I was to carry the weight of not only the true flag but the weight on my soul. I represented this clan in its entirety.

It was another six years until I had my most important assignment to date. Still wearing my same intricate armor that clung to me like a second skin, feeling it almost weightless on my body, despite it weighing around fifteen pounds. I would be heading to China for the first time as an emissary. A dangerous job as we never knew how the emperor and leaders of China would react. I was going to discuss trading agreements amongst our countries, along with other samurai soldiers.

Once we arrived in China, we made our way directly to the empire. However, we did not get the greeting we expected. We were flanked by Chinese samurai on all sides, swords drawn. They forced us into the palace and in front of the emperor. They had one of our men explain why we were there; however, it was not taken well at all, “How dare you march into my land and request orders on trade,” the emperor hissed.

He forced us to our knees, explaining that this would speak his decision to all of Japan. The sword felt uncomfortably cool against my neck. My years leading up to this moment flashed before my eyes. The sword lifted and just like that, my life was no more. All that was left of me was my cold body and the bloody armor that resembled everything I knew for my years in Japan. My blood spilled upon the flag I carried on my back, a symbol of our failure. My life went unseen by many, but I was an African samurai, and my story will not be forgotten.

Bibliography

Japacul. “The History of Japanese Kimono Clothing.” Masterpieces of Japanese Culture, 13 Nov. 2019, www.masterpiece-of-japanese-culture.com/traditional-clothing/historytraditional-japaneseclothing#:~:text=In%20the%201500s%2C%20the%20features,fine%20strips)%20until%2 0Edo%20Period.

“Modes of Address.” Sengoku Daimyo, sengokudaimyo.com/address. Accessed 20 Sept. 2023.

“Red Lips, White Face: The Cultural History of Japanese Beauty: Live Japan Travel Guide.” LIVE JAPAN, livejapan.com/en/in-tokyo/in-pref-tokyo/intokyo_train_station/article-a0001292/ Accessed 20 S