and child howled with terror as they watched.
Others stood wide-eyed and helpless at the horror they’d just witnessed. Her husband and child, wracked with heaving sobs, were shoved roughly ahead, stumbling blindly down the path; the lifeless woman left where she fell.
Many hours later, they came to a clearing along the massive Gambia River, somewhere downstream of Jayvyn’s village. Long wooden boats lined the shore. More white men, as well as other groups of bound, bewildered Africans, watched as Jayvyn’s group emerged from the jungle. They were being loaded into the boats, which then merged with the river’s swift current.
Confused and tired, Jayvyn winced as the coarse rope chafed again across the inflamed skin of his neck. Once released, a man seized him by the shoulders and pushed him toward one of the waiting boats. He was made to kneel, hands tied before him, on the hard, wooden floor of the boat amongst several other captives. White men sat at each end, weapons at the ready.
Jayvyn glanced around in a panic, trying to spot his mother and little sister, as his boat left the shore. He caught a fleeting glimpse just as they were boarding several boats behind. Jayvyn’s boat then met the current, quickly increasing the distance between them.
The thick jungle canopy passed steadily over their heads, bright sun glinting through the open spaces where treetops failed to obscure the sky. A million flashes of light danced upon the moving waters.
A startled flock of guiriri stood motionless in an adjacent marsh, heads held high in frozen anticipation as the boats rounded one of the river’s many
Peter D Brown, Author 