Marieme's neighbors
don't know her history. She mostly keeps to herself in her modest stucco house,
4,000 miles from her native Mauritania. Her six children know their mother's
story well. She rescued them from slavery, too.
They are living a
life they never could have hoped for in Mauritania, where an estimated 10% to
20% of people are enslaved.
The horrors Marieme
endured as a slave in West Africa still dominate her dreams and flood her eyes
at unexpected moments. In her first attempt to escape, she ran for two days and
two nights through the Sahara Desert, barefoot, only to arrive at the home of
another slave owner, who returned her to her master.
"They did
everything to keep me from running away. See, they branded me so I wouldn't
walk any more," she says in French, lifting up her fuchsia dress to show
large patches of scar tissue on her calves and knees, caused by a metal poker.
"But it's God that helped me."
A CNN reporter and
videographer visited Marieme, 55, shortly after traveling to Mauritania to
document slavery in a place where it is arguably more prevalent and more
ingrained than anywhere else in the world. After witnessing the bleak reality
there, we wanted to hear from someone who had risen up against the odds -- who
had escaped not only her master but her country.
How had she done it?
Who helped her along the way? And how did she end up in Ohio? We hoped to
uncover a sort of formula for freedom. Perhaps parts of it could be replicated
by hundreds of thousands of others.
We wanted to know:
Could an escaped slave truly be free?
In Mauritania, we met
men and women who had escaped slavery only to meet new forms of misery. They
had no training for jobs, no possessions, no concept of ownership. Life was not
instantly better just because they were free.
Several slaves, freed
slaves and abolitionists in Mauritania told us the biggest barrier to freedom
is psychological. Slaves usually aren't physically chained to their masters'
lands, but they are taught to believe that they belong there -- that they're
less than human, and it's their place to serve those with lighter skin.
We wondered if
Marieme had managed in her new world to shake those mental shackles.
Or if slavery had
followed her family all the way to Ohio.
The
slave and the awakening
Marieme was 3 or 4
when she started working for her master -- serving food, cleaning dishes and
taking care of his children.
"I had to walk
kilometers and kilometers to get water," said Marieme, whose real name is
not being used because she has been threatened for sharing her story and
because she still has family in West Africa. "There was no gas for
cooking. We had to gather wood to cook with. ... It wasn't easy."
They lived in
southern Mauritania in the Sahel, the arid region that divides the jungles of sub-Saharan
Africa from the Sahara Desert. She never knew it as a young girl, but not far
to the south was the river that separates Mauritania from Senegal, and slavery
from freedom.
Her mother, father
and siblings lived in a building near the master's family and worked long hours
for no pay. When she was about 12, her brothers and sisters -- five in all --
disappeared, one by one. She never knew where they went, and her mother
couldn't answer questions about what had happened. Now, Marieme figures the master
gave them away as gifts.
He also started
sexually abusing her around that time, Marieme said in an affidavit filed in
her asylum application after she arrived in the United States.
"Beginning when
I was 12, the chief of the family raped me many times," she said,
according to the court document. "I remember that the first time he raped
me, when I was 12, I bled. I showed my mother what had happened, and my mother
sobbed and cried.
"She was
terribly upset for me, and she knew that she could do nothing to help me. She
told me that the same thing had happened to her."
Slaves in Mauritania
often do not have identity papers and are not allowed to go to school. But
Marieme was given a secret education.
When the master
wasn't around, his son took her into the family's study and taught her to read
and write. He also gave her French lessons; it became their code language. No
one else in the family spoke it.
The master's son was
himself well-educated. He told Marieme about life outside the farm -- about a
world without slavery. He said she should be free; that she and her family
should not have to work in abusive conditions without pay.
This system, he said,
robbed them of their human dignity.
Awakened to those
ideas, Marieme would never let them go.
The
run
Soon, she plotted her
escape.
"I had told my
mother that one day I would be free," Marieme recalled. "She told me,
'If you do that, you are going to die because they are going to kill
you.'"
Her mother begged
Marieme, her only remaining child, not to flee. Besides, where would she go?
They did everything
to keep me from running away. See, they branded me so I wouldn't walk any more.
But it's God that helped me.
Marieme, who escaped slavery in Mauritania
"There were
those who didn't want to leave," Marieme said, echoing sentiments we heard
from slaves and recently escaped slaves in Mauritania. "They had no idea
where to go. They were scared. It was a risk. You have to look for places to
sleep, places to eat.
"You have to
have a lot of courage for something like this."
Marieme found
motivation in the stories she heard about a world beyond her own -- one where
she could choose what to do with her days. She would do whatever it took to
escape.
The river separating
Mauritania from Senegal was only 2 or 3 miles south of the camp where she
lived. She didn't know that, though, and one night she ran north, without shoes
or supplies. She ran and ran -- as fast and as far as she could -- through the
heart of the Mauritanian desert.
After two days, she
sought help at a house.
It was owned by
another slave master.
He forcibly returned
Marieme to her owner, whose punishment nearly ended her life.
"They bound my
wrists and ankles and tied me to a date tree in the middle of the family
compound, and left me there for a week," she told attorneys when she
applied for asylum. "He beat me many times during that week. He cut my
wrists with a razor, so that I bled terribly. There was so much blood that he
had me brought to a doctor, who sewed up the wounds. As soon as I returned, the
chief of the family tied me up again. He refused me food while I was tied up. A
few times at night, while everyone was sleeping, my mother snuck me a little
bit of food. She had to feed me, because my hands were bound."
The message was
clear:
If you run again,
I'll kill you.
Across
the river
Marieme was not
deterred.
The death of her
parents -- and the destiny of her children -- prompted her second escape
attempt.
In 1996, her father
lost some of his master's camels in the desert. He was quite old at the time,
Marieme told authorities, but that would not save him. He was severely beaten.
The camels later returned, but Marieme's father died two months later, she
said.
The next year,
Marieme's mother passed away, too.
Marieme knew she had
to go.
"I couldn't stay
there," she said. "I really wanted to leave -- to get my children out
of there. I made my decision."
Another slave came up
with the plan.
He stole money in
small chunks from the master, she said, and used the cash to hire a smuggler
who would take Marieme on a boat across the river to Senegal, and then
transport her from there to Dakar, that country's capital city, some 200 miles
away.
The catch: Marieme
would have to leave her children behind.
One or two could fit
in the small, wooden boat, her helper said, but there was no way she could
travel with all six. Marieme maintained her resolve. She spoke with her oldest
daughter, telling her she would come back for her and all the rest after she
made it to freedom.
"I told her I
was leaving and she needed to watch out for the others. She cried and cried,
but I told her it would be OK."
Don't forget me, she
said.
One night, the slave
woke Marieme.
"Get up, get
up," he whispered. It was now or never.
Marieme grabbed some
clothes and followed him toward the Senegal River. When she arrived at its
banks, she stood in awe. She'd never seen a body of water before -- never
smelled the musky, sweet smell of a river.
A small, wooden boat
took Marieme across the water to freedom.
"When I arrived,
the sun was just coming up."
Across
the ocean
When Marieme arrived
in Dakar, Senegal, she knew little about the world outside the small, desert
village she had escaped. She'd heard people talk about France, the country that
colonized Mauritania. But she'd never heard of the United States.
What she did know was
this: Senegal did not feel safe -- nor would any part of Africa. She woke up
every morning a free woman. But she feared her master could appear at any moment.
If he captured her a
second time, she was certain she would be killed.
Marieme befriended a
man in Senegal who she said helped run an Underground Railroad of sorts,
smuggling escaped slaves from Mauritania to safer places.
She lived with him
for two years in a safe house full of refugees. There, she experienced
something only a free person could: She worked for pay.
"I worked there
and each month, he paid me," she said. "I cooked and cleaned and he
paid me. For me, it was great because I had never been paid before. Even a
dollar and I was happy. I was proud."
The man who ran the
safe house came to Marieme one day and said something incredible:
Tonight, you will go
on a boat to America.
Marieme had never
seen a boat before the night she floated on a wooden canoe across the Senegal
River. This time, she would escape on a cargo ship. And America? It was the
first time she'd heard of this faraway place.
She would be safe
there, the man said -- far from anyone who could enslave her.
The mother thought of
her children, still enslaved by the master.
And again, she knew
she had to go.
This place called
America, she thought -- it would be a safe place for them.
Another
voyage to freedom
Helping care for her
siblings back in Mauritania, Marieme's daughter Zeina, who CNN also is not
identifying by her real name, knew nothing of what had happened to her mother.
She was gone -- and that was a good thing, Zeina figured.
The more days that
passed, the more Zeina was sure her mom had succeeded -- that she was free and living
in some other land.
The distance was made
easier, in a strange way, she said, because Marieme was often absent when
living with them in slavery: She was forced to put the master's kids first.
While her family was
wondering about her safety, Marieme was packed between crates in the hull of a
cargo ship, en route to America. There was nothing to do but sleep, stand and
eat the food brought by a ship worker who was in on the plot. The journey
lasted nearly a month, but to Marieme it flew by.
"For me, it was
a day," she said.
On that journey,
Marieme realized -- for the first time with certainty -- that she was free.
Little
Mauritania
On December 24, 1997, the ship carrying Marieme landed in Baltimore, where another smuggler passed the refugee into a safe house.
It's not normal, what
goes on there. Maybe one day Mauritanian law will change all of that. Like
Lincoln did here.
Marieme, who escaped slavery in Mauritania
Soon she made her way
to the Bronx, New York, where many Mauritanians live. She stayed in the region
for a few years, braiding hair and cooking for a living before she heard
through a friend that some Mauritanians had gone to Ohio. The rent was cheaper,
the friend said, and there were higher-paying jobs in manufacturing.
When Marieme arrived
in Cincinnati in 2003, she took a job at Krispy Kreme. She sent as much of her
$7-per-hour salary as she could back to Senegal, where the smugglers who helped
her were working on another plan.
They would rescue her
six children, all at once.
They were brought
along the same path their mother had followed. Several stayed in Senegal for
years, waiting to enter the United States legally. By that time, Marieme had
gained her right to be in America, too.
In 2001, Marieme was
granted asylum in the U.S. as a political refugee, she said. In June 2010, she
became a citizen of the United States, according to records she provided.
One by one, her
children joined her in Ohio.
Her daughter Zeina
came by plane.
She calls it one of
the most frightening experiences of her life.
'Maybe
one day'
Marieme and her
children live simple but extraordinary lives in Ohio.
On a recent night,
Marieme, Zeina, a son and a granddaughter sat on a mat on the living room floor
and shared a meal of cooked beef and salad, which they ate with their hands, as
is customary in Mauritania and some other parts of Africa.
Spices thickened the
air and the smell of incense clung to everything. Marieme's granddaughter
batted at a toy dog. A large television blared the words of an
"Entertainment Tonight" host, who was talking about Madonna's Super
Bowl half-time performance. When the host mentioned the performer's age, 53,
Marieme expressed shock and delight.
She looks so strong
and young, Marieme said.
After coming from
such a small, harsh place in the desert, Marieme and Zeina are completely
fascinated by how big the world really is.
They spend much of
their time watching television, trying to soak up all this diversity through
the satellite dishes on the roof of their home in north Cincinnati. Earlier in
the day, Marieme had watched news from ABC, CNN, Al Jazeera, the BBC and a
Senegalese satellite network.
Zeina is in college,
studying business, and she hopes to work in the travel industry. She wants to
see the world and learn about other cultures. Her first trip would be to
Singapore, she said, because she heard people there are nice.
What is most dear to
Marieme is her children's success. All of them are enrolled in school, five in
the United States and one in Senegal, where he is trying to get clearance to
come to the U.S.
In a generation or
two, her family's chains of slavery will be completely broken.
"They go to
school so they can be senators, they can be in Congress, who knows,"
Marieme said. "Maybe I can't do it -- but they can."
Her son in high
school barely remembers Mauritania. He doesn't speak Mauritanian languages
well, which is just fine by Marieme. He's in America now, she said. Those other
things aren't important. She proudly displays a picture of his soccer team in
the living room.
Her granddaughter
represents the future.
Born outside
Mauritania, she is the first generation of Marieme's family not to be scarred
by slavery. Marieme spends much of her time sitting on the floor with the
child, cooing, smiling and shaking toys. The girl's eyes light up when she sees
her grandmother behaving in such silly ways.
All of this brings
Marieme unimaginable joy.
She is heartbroken,
however, about the people she left behind in West Africa.
"It's not
normal, what goes on there," she said. "Maybe one day Mauritanian law
will change all of that. Like Lincoln did here. Abraham did it here, why can't
they do it there? It can't continue like this. It's not normal. For generations
and generations."
In fact, Mauritania
passed a law criminalizing slavery in 2007. Only one case has been prosecuted
successfully.
Marieme's daughter
sees little hope for slaves in Mauritania.
"I don't think
it will ever change. It's been hundreds of years" that they've been enslaving
people, Zeina said. "Why would they stop? They don't know there's a world
somewhere where people don't own slaves."
But Marieme is sure
things can and will be different -- eventually.
"If my mother
were alive and you told her I had come to the United States with my children,
she would say, 'No, that's not possible.'
"But you see how
things have changed for me. So you see, I think it will all change one
day" in Mauritania. "I just don't know when. But it's possible."
Four thousand miles
from her homeland, Marieme often has trouble sleeping. The demons of the past
come back to haunt her.
"I have terrible
nightmares about the terrible things I lived through in Mauritania," she
said in her sworn testimony. "Whenever I see a older white man with a long
beard, I feel horribly afraid -- because this is what the master of my family
looks like."
When she does sleep
through the night, she dreams about having the resources and the courage to
return to Mauritania.
In those dreams, she
goes from house to house and sets all the slaves free.
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