The Odyssey of the Slave Boy- 1

The year was 1657. I was in my little hamlet in the outskirts of Okija bounded by 4 rivers, but the major river was Mmiri Ajado. The name was gotten from a legend that purported that the river was sourced from a wicked widow who used the river as a means to kill people for diabolic purposes annually. I loved my residence because it was blessed with fertile land, abundant water supply, and beautiful women like Adanma, the one I was watching dance rhythmically to the sound of the ogene during the Ofala festival. I looked as her hips sway from right to left and her bosom vibrated simultaneously to the admiration of the spectators’ lustful gaze. I had always wished to lay my hands on her large bosom though I once satisfied my lust by touching them during a moonlight play but she sternly warned me not to try it again or she would tell her Mama.
That night she was the center of my thoughts and I always felt a sharp standing of attention at my lower part each time the thought of her bosom came up. After the dance I moved towards her to complement her moves but she shunned me as though I was nonexistent. I guess she still hadn’t forgiven me for the other time. I quietly left and moved on to meet my friends as they shared the pot of palm wine which was their gift for their wonderful presentation. I could not join them during their rehearsals because Mama had warned me to avoid their company as they were no good. For no apparent reason, they refused me a drink from their palm wine. Annoyed now, I briskly walked home dejected and angry at myself. Thirty minutes later, I was pounding foofoo for my dinner.
 My name is Lewis London, though I was born Iloka Nnaobi, and this is my story of how I ended up in the white man's land and with the white man's man.