It dungeon. His beard has really grown with

It has been 52 days since Mark Andrews has been locked up in this
Egyptian dungeon. His beard has really grown with no blade to shave it, his
clothes have actually got dirty and torn, and it’s a very different life that
he has found himself in. From my observation, he seems to be in his late 40s. As
a servant to the Price of Britain, a son to the queens’ advisor and a brother
to the only surviving sister who escaped their homeland and joined the wolf
hunters. He is now staring at butter fly flying from side to side. He hardly
talks and I wonder how I will manage to loosen his tongue. I’ve been locked up
in these dungeons several times as my team and I have always been doing some
illegal trading in this land.

It has never come to my mind that one day I may live here for more than
a hundred days; without seeing any of my family members….my wife included!

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There are many ways to survive in here, I once managed to escape from
their hands, not once but several times… what I mean is that, I’m a frequent
inmate to the walls of this land.

Before I got caught, I had met several guys from the other side of the
Mediterranean Sea; I had brought some precious stones for trade. I really
wanted some decent clothes and home items-at least to live a life like the one
I see the whites live. But right now, this is what I have, a cube-like room and
I can’t sleep properly, the roof is at a very high place with little light
getting in; a poor friend who hardly know this land, he doesn’t understand the
native language. Thanks to the gods that I’ve spent some time with these people
and I know their language, not a fluent speaker though.

My inmate, Mark as he later told me his name, was just busy in writing
some content in a paper like item. I didn’t know what he was doing until one
day I asked him what he was doing. He just stared at me and continued with his
writing.

I like playing with peoples’ intellect; it gives me time to get to know
how emotional a person is. And by doing this, I then set myself in that
persons’ state of thoughts and reasoning.

I asked him to help me with a little paper and his ink. He just looked
at me and for the first time he replied back. “Do you know how to read and
write? Do you speak English?” He asked.

“Yeah, I do speak English though not that much.” I replied. He then drew
closer and looked me straight into my eyes, I almost freaked!

“Tell me, who are you?” he pleaded.

“My name is Shiffo. I’m a business man and I trade stones to the whites.

I have a family with four kids, three boys and one little girl. And I miss
them.” I continued… “Life in here is so hard, I have been here for more than a
hundred days; they locked me up here for doing trading with you guys. The
whites, and I know that I will be dead soon. I don’t know why you’ve been
silent on me after all those days I’ve been trying to talk to you… Who are
you?” The conversation went on until I started feeling the ‘sweetness’ of life
again. The world had become so large to me.

One day I asked Mark to let me know of what he was writing on his book.

He said that it was a diary. A small book that a person writes his day-day
experiences. I had never came across one until this day with him. He told me
that ever since he left Britain, he has always been writing. I almost felt
‘old’.

Days went by and our relationship grew each second of the day we spent
in there together. We became such wonderful friends until I inherited the skill
or writing the so called diary. And I would gladly say that my time in the
dungeon was not in vain, since I began writing my daily experiences and to the
new things that I came to face in the later days which are now my past.

The story of how I got out of the dungeon with my white inmate is still
unwritten. Because, the camp in which we were kept was attacked by unknown
groups. They killed every individual who was out there, they opened up the door
to the place where we were and the rest, I can’t recall. We were also beaten up
to unconsciousness. When I woke up I found myself in this ship. We were freed
and there were lots of food stuff all over. Later on, were taken to their
captain. To my surprise, he was the guy I used to sell him my stones. He just
shouted… “Holla Shiffo my old friend! How have you been? Look at you; you look
like a slave…”

I felt so good since my life had now found a new and green leaf. We
talked a lot and to my surprise, he also had a diary. He asked me whether I do
keep records in everyday life; I just explained to him how my friend does it.

And Mark was now also a free man.

I got myself a new book to write my short stories like my fellow
friends. I was used to a different life and the one of moving from city to the
other, is a wonderful experience.

 

MY DIARY AS WE EXPLORED MEDITARREAN

My dairy recordings begun on the very day I was granted the book. And I
would say that it was a wonderful thing to keep daily happenings on paper later
to read them as if they were happening for a second time.

I started here.

DAY 1

This day is one of one of the greatest. I have found my freedom, met my
old friends and I don’t know what tomorrow will bring forth.

I like the sea food- sea crabs and octopus, a meal that I’m not used to.

There’s nothing sweet than being back to life, I feel fresh and my
captain just gave me some clothes and shoes. I just feel boundless.

Seems like the day got too short for me as we travel to the
Mediterranean city. I can’t wait for tomorrow. I can feel that we are up for
great things.

 

DAY 2

Woken up by a very loud noise. I didn’t know what to do at first. But
within a few minutes, the captain alerted everyone that our ship broke down. We
had to use other means and reach the sea shore.

A very tiresome day, forced to row a boat over 5 miles, something I’m
not used to.

Meeting strange people on the sea shore, but they seem to have a good
understanding of who Captain Michael was.

My first day to hold a gun. My Captain gave me some lecture on how to
pull the trigger when things get tough.

 

DAY 3

My worst day ever. I was introduced to some cultural practices I’ve
never imagined that they existed. Worshipping the dead.

This practice was mainly targeting men to be specific. Men are meant to
bring food items for the dead. It is an obligation for each man to provide
meals since the dead are termed to be very sacred. This kind of acts gives them
the room for starting a related religion; of which I don’t know how it goes.

The strange thing was when I’m told that the dead were given names. I
really don’t know what this really means.

DAY 4

From day 1; I have made an observation on the fire in every house. There
was always a servant who made sure that the fire didn’t get off.

When I asked, I’m told that it’s a god of sacred fire. This god fed on
the lighting fire. So any household that would leave their fire out, the whole
family would get consumed. Then the following day, whoever was awake was to be
lit the fire at its sacred place. This fire was something much divined; it was adored, and offered as a
real worship.

DAY 5

The sun on this day shone so brightly and I just felt like going to the
sea shore and try out some fishing. I had nothing to do since some mechanics
were taking care of our ship.

Met with a few guys and I was so overwhelmed by the people’s
appreciation.

I was told to keep off the water since at times the sea water gets a lot
of waves and it has killed several guys.

With little knowledge I opted not listen, I just went to deep waters and
try to prove them wrong. This is the day I got drowned by the water. I almost
died.

 

 

DAY 6

We woke up very early since the previous night we were given a good lack
ceremony and the blessings of the gods.

I was really amazed by some things food included.

I was given some people to be under me and I was so happy.

Our ship was back in shape and I came to love the sea world. Moving from
place to place, the only challenge that we kept facing was lack of clean fresh
water.

With extremely cold nights and at times, very hot day light would do us
a favor.

x

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