Crossing the River by Caryl Phillips Read Free Book Online Page A

do so with equal success, I am glad that I can say that I love this country more than I did at first. The seasons here remain quite different from those in my old country, yet the weather seems to get cooler. This year we have been blessed with little rain, and the sun has parched up most of all of the crops in the fields, so if you would be so kind as to send me out something, I would feel much obliged. Anything, I do not mind what it is, for I feel sure that it will make a valuable contribution.
    Farming is now our main occupation, the numbers at the mission school having fallen off in a dramatic manner. I have my fields planted with potatoes, arrowroot, cassava, and considerable corn. In addition, I have a large number of cotton bushes, and a variety of other vegetables. I have also planted a large piece in rice, and together with the natives work from morning till sunset clearing and planting. I should be much obliged to you if you would send me a mill, for I have tried to cut a stone for that purpose, but found it beyond me. I am not in such a prosperous situation as might be expected, for it remains difficult to exchange produce for foreign produce, and besides, we make up just enough to sustain us from starvation. I have fowls in plenty, of all kinds. I have also hogs and goats. My homed cattle are only now beginning to increase, and some of the more skilled natives have, under my influence, made fences to secure them. They would, before this, often run out into the woods where they would quickly become lost. Keeping this rich land in order, and clean of grass and weeds, is my main task. But any man who will use common industry can raise much that he will eventually employ.
    If, dear Father, these lines should find you in the land of the living, I will be more than glad to hear from you. I have written many letters to you at different times across the breadth of the last few years, and yet you seem reluctant to engage with me. I have come to the conclusion that you have repudiated me for reasons that perhaps owe their origins to some form of shame. Is there perhaps someone who has poisoned your mind against me? If these lines should find you in health, please return me an answer by the shortest way. My pleas with you to aid me, on behalf of all of this settlement, have been ill-received, for you have made nothing available to ease my present circumstances. Like all new countries, this is a very hard one, and some kindness on your part would have been pleasing to me. Should you have chosen to send me seeds of all description, I would have gladly made some use of them. I have given you full accounts of this place, so you can be in no doubt as to the often troubling nature of affairs hereabouts. That you have chosen to ignore my request that I might once more visit America to pay respects to my departed mother, and to cast my eyes upon old friends, has caused my heart to suffer in a great deal of pain. I have little opportunity for intercourse with familiar emigrants in these parts, for most of those who know of you are scattered all about the country, some few up here, but most down in the capital. So daily I wonder about those names across the water who, hearing no news, I constantly fear may have already departed this life.
    Only last week I chanced to go into Monrovia in order that I might visit with old friends, both white and black. But not only could I not discern any news, it would appear that my present domestic arrangements have caused some offense to those who would hold on to America as a beacon of civilization, and an example of all that is to be admired. Are we not in Africa? This is what I constantly asked of the blacks. But it appeared they felt I merely sought to justify my native style of living. I counter-rallied and made it plain that I have nothing to justify, for amongst the emigrants I am indisputably the proudest holder of my race, but I soon found myself effectively shunned by my fellow Americans,