A Ship Of A Different Sort
anonymous
October 26 2009, 22:46:11 UTC
Kenya loved all of her lands, but her fondest and worst memories were of the coast. Back then, there wasn't a definite line; what was hers could have equally belonged to her brothers and sisters, but the coast, ah! That had definitely been hers. The coast invited many visitors, coming to her by sail and ship. The first had been that great man with a scarf around his head--Persia, he'd called himself--and broad shoulders that seemed to block the sun. His people came to her shores and that was okay; together they'd worked iron into glittering, deadly shapes and fished together without much trouble. Eventually she'd learned how to build beautiful ships and ports, and her fondness for her coast grew even more. Mombassa was her jewel--Persia had praised her for it--and through Mombassa she had met far-flung neighbors; India with her long, beautiful hair and Yemen with his piercing eyes. It was difficult, at first, but she'd gotten used to their strange words and thanked them for their ivory in their own tongue. As it probably is for all
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Re: A Ship Of A Different Sort [2/?]
anonymous
October 27 2009, 02:05:57 UTC
He'd built a fort some years later in Mombassa--her beautiful Mombassa!--and it invited trouble to her horizon. More ships of a different sort appeared. England, Holland and others arrived, following Portugal like a mad dog on the scent of prey. When they came to her beaches, they'd walk past her--that had been the worst part--and went right for Portugal tooth and nail. Like she, Kenya, did not even exist. Eventually Portugal left, claiming her to be of no worth any longer. While she had been happy to see him go, being called worthless was a less than pleasing parting on her behalf.
Even though Portugal left, her coast was not her coast anymore. Men from the east came, took her people aboard ships, and Kenya had all manners of headaches, nightmares and shortness of breath as her people were wrenched away from her. She was in her house on the floor, gasping for breath--she could hear the screams, feel the anguish--when he appeared. Kenya looked up at green eyes and a pale face; it was England, who had walked past her before. Suddenly
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Re: A Ship Of A Different Sort [3/?]
anonymous
October 27 2009, 03:02:46 UTC
Oh my god this got long and no one is probably ever going to read it. (FML} orzThe British Navy was often docked in her ports, their crisp white sails dancing in the breeze. As much as she came to loathe England, she could not loathe his beautiful ships. With their masts looming over her, Kenya built England his railroad to her sister Uganda in the west. She did not want to--her people did not want to--but somehow Kenya could not refuse. He held a power over her now, and she swore she could feel phantom ropes chaffing at her wrists and neck. She saw her old friend India again at the railroad, and the beautiful woman had only smiled sadly at her and said nothing. Kenya suspected she too felt the ropes about her own body
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Re: A Ship Of A Different Sort [4/?]
anonymous
October 27 2009, 03:09:45 UTC
For years she watched her people pushed to the side--and she would have gladly accepted the settlers, except they didn't even want to accept her!--and disregarded as something sub-human. Her people were impoverished, pushed from their lands, and angered. Kenya, in her darkest moments when the ropes were at their tightest, thought that perhaps they could not be blamed. After all, as a colony, she was sub-nation. And then she would smell the sea air coming from off her coast; she would remember Persia before he'd died, India when she still smiled like she meant it, and the joy of seeing her own ships in her own ports. And Kenya would be Kenya again, British East Africa be damned
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Re: A Ship Of A Different Sort [5/5]
anonymous
October 27 2009, 03:17:06 UTC
Kenya made note of all the innocents his soldiers were killing; couldn't he at least try to tell people apart before he shot them? England scoffed. She raised an eyebrow, eyes cold and asked if he too was keeping score of how many people he killed. England bristled; "That is a practice forbidden by the General Officer Commanding and the troops have been issued a stern warning." Kenya told England that he and his 'stern warning' could go to hell. And that was when she declared war
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OMFG that was just wonderful! You did an excellent job and treated Kenya well. I love the use of scars and how England isn't shown to be innocent in this (I guess you can argue that it's better to be unbiased...except Imperialism is horrible).
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please, this is absolutely lovely
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Even though Portugal left, her coast was not her coast anymore. Men from the east came, took her people aboard ships, and Kenya had all manners of headaches, nightmares and shortness of breath as her people were wrenched away from her. She was in her house on the floor, gasping for breath--she could hear the screams, feel the anguish--when he appeared. Kenya looked up at green eyes and a pale face; it was England, who had walked past her before. Suddenly ( ... )
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Bravo! ...as much as a country's pain can be applauded... now I feel bad...
BOOKMARKED
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*feels educated*
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I'm very very happy you filled this.
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