Teenie sent corn pone and water for the rice workers
Hey, Tidbit! How be the little man and his dog
Hopes they get to eat ’em ’fore the bugs do!
Five Years! Why?
No, little one. Don’t nobody go back to Africa. When they put you in the rice fields, you’ll be dead in five years, so don’t matter no how.
You ever hear tell of anybody goin’ back to Africa
I spent eighteen years out there—some kinda record they tells me. Every day the rice hands be exposed to the burnin’ sun. Sometime it seem like the very air we be breathin’ is hotter than human blood. Then there’s the malaria, and the new-monia and the snakes, plus the mosquitoes and the flies and their maggots—all joinin’ us to keep us company while we sweat. Pregnant women be havin’ stillbirths, and the babies that end up bein’ born die young—like they sickly or somethin’. That’s why Massa keepa bringin’ in new Africans—they knows the rice, and they strong.