“Go!” June Dey yelled and the men surged toward the tents, not with steel but with fists, with tears, in rage, in thirst—wanting to break faces, shake the hatred out of these strange men who had stolen their civilization, disrupted their lives for no explained reason, wanting them to bleed until all of their children were reborn, revived, returned. No steel. Just heart. No slavers lived under that moon. No more Africans died.
