I remember her long, dark hair cocooning me at night when she held me in her lap and sang our ancestral song, warming me with the sound of her heartbeat. The next day I turned five, and it was time for my initiation ceremony as a child. I was so nervous that my mother stayed with me all night until I fell asleep, which she always did, but I remember that night in detail because it would be the last time she stayed with me. I would no longer be considered a baby. The ceremony took place when the sun was at its highest point. I would wear clothes newly made by my grandmothers, my face would be adorned with symbols of the sun and earth using flower ink made by my mother that very day, and my gift would be one made by my father. That day everyone was busy: the women hunting deer or rabbits for dinner, and the men making sure they had gathered firewood for the fire. I spent the whole morning with my mother looking for seeds or flowers to make the ink, and we found achiote. My mother dried the flower in the sun, ground it, and mixed it with a little water to extract the pigment.
As evening fell, without furs, covered only with leaves, to receive my name before the ancestral lake. I had been in my mother's womb surrounded by water, and now I would be reborn by Mother Nature at the waterfall. My parents carried me to the top of the waterfall and let me fall with the water. At that moment, the bottom was dark and cold, but I raised my eyes to the surface and saw the whiteness of the sky. My Father spoke to me, guiding me toward life so I could take my first breath before the sun. I was born as a child on the shore of the lake where the earth embraced me.
My grandmothers greeted me on the shore after I took my first steps out of the water and dressed me in deerskins. My mother made a spiral all over my face with the pigment, and my father gave me a wooden spear that had my name carved in the symbolism of our tribe: Dotea
I left behind my old name, Noritea, which meant born of the sun, because on the morning I was born, the sun rose early to greet me. — Turu camana ebat rela ts turu nutri con yai, tas tea esh turu deere nayol. - You will walk upon the earth and eat of it, the sun will make you strong — my mother said in our language — You are daughter of the sun, "Dotea" Artenese D'Ettary. That night I ate meat for the first time and danced with my older brothers around the fire. In the morning, for the first time, I said goodbye to my grandmothers and went hunting with my mother — Letere miri - just watch — I heard my mother say, and that is what she told me for the next fourteen years until I was strong enough to join in.
I hunted a full-grown deer, thrusting my spear into its stomach from a distance. We followed it as a group until it lost its strength and died. There would be enough food for my whole family that afternoon. — Well done, my child, you have been patient. the Father and the Mother have told me you will be a great hunter; they never lie, seed of the sun, "Duttea." — I nodded at her words and felt joy in my heart; my first hunt had been successful. If I was a good daughter to the tribe, I would receive my coming-of-age ceremony at twenty years old, after my birth at the ancestral lake, not at twenty-two as was the custom, but that day never came.
It was the beginning of the fifth year of the three-hundredth century. The mothers saw smoke rising from the treetops in the forest. We approached silently, pushing the deer aside, hoping it was the fire for cooking. I remember seeing the grandmothers and fathers lying at the hearths, their bodies were wounded. I left my mother and went to my grandparents' home, but they hadn't been able to take refuge. The door was open, and I could smell blood from outside. The people who had done such a thing to my Ettary family hadn't left yet and continued massacring the mothers and several of the hunting girls. I prepared to attack one of them, but he slashed my abdomen with a sword, which made me think that the king in the walled city was attacking us without reason.
My mother grabbed my arm and dragged me to the edge of the woods, begging me to run, to find shelter. I agreed when I saw Nayah, one of the women who worked the land, waiting for me. I said goodbye to my mother with a hug and pulled her toward a clearing between the roots of a tree and the ground, where she could take refuge until I came back for her. I hoped her injuries wouldn't bring her death.
We ran across the open field until we reached another forest where we had to stop to rest because life was escaping from me through the wound — Ore maj-nei terme sish tas bore, ore tave in qima! - We can't go back to the tribe, we have to keep walking — I said when I saw Nayah looking for a root cave under the trees.
— Miri-nei es beres? Ore tave in assys - Can't you see your wounds? We need to rest — Nayah hadn't finished speaking when we heard the horses' hooves approaching. We both hid in the bushes, but the pungent scent of my blood led the war wolves to it. Nayah was grabbed by the arm by one of them, but I was too weak to defend her, or even to resist.
The next thing I remember was opening my eyes to a wooden ceiling, at the same time feeling the soft surface I was lying on. I looked around and saw several girls from my tribe. As soon as Merana noticed me, she came closer and took my hand. I knew she had placed something in it, something I had to keep safe. — Cara esh sens? - How are you feeling? — she asked. But I couldn't answer because I saw her face cloud over as heavy footsteps approached.
The others hurried to their knees with their faces bowed. They were dressed in white gowns and had their hair loose. At the end of the line, I could see beautiful light "Nayah" in front of the staircase. I knew the thunderous sound was caused by the dirty boots of a soldier from the royal guard. He had a mark that ran from his eyebrow to his cheekbone and covered half his nose. Beautiful light beckoned to me, and I turned my face away from the man who was speaking to me. I didn't understand what he was saying. The man approached and lifted the gown that covered my genitals. He seemed pleased to see the state of my wounds. I tried to get up, but he pressed down on my neck, forcing me to lie back down.
—Mij kire jashte esh nin? -Why are you doing this? — I asked my sisters, but they kept their heads down. Suddenly the man shouted something; at that time I didn't speak the common language very well, so I don't remember what it was. It was the signal for his companions, who came up and snatched all my sisters away.
And so the days in that room went. That man marked by the moon would come and take my sisters away, only to return hours later with fewer and fewer of them each time. We were forbidden to speak to one another, because they feared we were planning an escape.
When I was healed enough to stand and walk around the room, they removed the bed I had been sleeping on and took me out of the house with the others. My eyes were bandaged the whole way. I remember feeling the cold mud under my feet, the damp wood of each step, until I was standing amidst so many voices. My sisters' hands were tied behind our backs.
One of the soldiers removed our blindfolds to reveal that we were being sold. I spent three days starving, day and night, in that market, watching people buy, talk, walk by, turn their faces away, and close their children's eyes.