Behind them walked a guard, carrying a rifle. He wore a uniform jacket with a missing button. Seeing a white man, he quickly raised his rifle. It was a security measure; white people look similar from a distance. He quickly relaxed, smiled, and seemed to include me in his responsibility. After all, I was also part of this.
Instead of going up the hill, I went down. I wanted the prisoners to be out of sight before I continued. I'm not especially kind; I've had to fight and defend myself many times. I've had to fight back – that's just part of life. I've seen abuse, and greed; powerful, angry things that control people. But here, I sensed a different kind of evil: a mean, weak kind of violence. How bad it was, I only realized much later. For a moment, I felt a warning. Then I went down the hill towards the trees.
I avoided a large hole someone had dug. I couldn't understand why. It wasn't a mine, just a hole. Maybe it was to give the prisoners work. I don't know. Then I almost fell into a small pit where broken pipes were thrown. It looked like someone had broken them on purpose. Finally, I reached the trees. I wanted some shade, but it felt like I'd entered a dark place. The river was nearby, and the sound of rushing water filled the quiet forest. It sounded like the earth itself was moving.
Dark figures lay, and sat among the trees, leaning against the trunks, close to the ground, partly hidden in the faint light. They looked as if they were in pain, abandoned, and desperate. Another explosion at the mine on the cliff shook the ground slightly. The work continued. This was where some of the workers had come to die.
They were dying slowly – it was obvious. They weren't enemies or criminals; they were just shadows of illness and hunger, lying in the low light. Brought from all over the coast under work contracts, they were lost and unhappy in this strange place, eating strange food. They got sick, couldn’t work, and were left to die. These dying figures were free, but very weak. I noticed their eyes shining under the trees. Then, I saw a face near my hand. A man lay with his shoulder against a tree. His eyes slowly opened, and looked up at me – large and empty, a brief flash of white in the darkness. He seemed young, almost a boy, but it's hard to tell with them. I gave him a bread I had. He slowly took it and held it; he didn't move or look at me again. He had a piece of white wool around his neck. Why? Where did he get it? Was it a decoration, a good luck charm, or something else? It looked strange against his dark skin.