Afi Character Analysis

“You know, certain people are chosen to survive. I don’t know why, but you are one of those who must remember the past and tell those yet unborn. You must live.”

“But why?”

“Because your mother would want you to. Because the sun continues to shine. I don’t know, but you must.”

“Perhaps it is better to die,” Amari told her sharply.

Afi sighed. “If you die, they win. We cannot let that happen.”

“They have already taken everyone I loved,” Amari replied, ashamed to look Afi in the face. “And tonight they take the only thing I have left that is truly mine. Death would be a relief.”

“You will live because you must,” Afi said sternly.

“Afi,” she whispered, “the land is lovely. I thought it must surely be an ugly place.”

“Yes, it is beautiful to look at. Remember that when the ugliness overtakes you,” Afi told her. “Find beauty wherever you can, child. It will keep you alive.”

“Will you be wantin’ her mama, sir?” the auctioneer said to Mr. Derby. “I offer her to you first, out of respect, you see.”

Polly watched as Mr. Derby, who had walked up to the stage to claim his property, glanced at the older woman standing next to the slave girl, then said, “No, Horace, but thanks for the offer. Family ties only confuse the poor creatures. They’ll forget each other as soon as the sun sets. Trust me.”

Polly wondered if Negroes from Africa had feelings and intelligent thoughts or if that gibberish they spoke was more like the scream of monkeys or the barking of dogs.

“What did your mama keep a-tellin’ you while you be with her?”

“She tell me stories about Africa and about her own mother, and she tell me, ‘Long as you remember, ain’t nothin’ really gone.’”

Amari, blinking away tears, hugged him. “You gonna always remember?”

“I ain’t never gonna forget nothin’ she done tell me,” the boy said with great seriousness. He squeezed the leather pouch.

She inhaled sharply as she thought of Mrs. Derby, of the infant who had been given no chance to live, and of all the other women, both black and white, who continued to suffer as property of others.

“You know, certain people are chosen to survive. I don’t know why, but you are one of those who must remember the past and tell those yet unborn. You must live.”

“But why?”

“Because your mother would want you to. Because the sun continues to shine. I don’t know, but you must.”

“Perhaps it is better to die,” Amari told her sharply.

Afi sighed. “If you die, they win. We cannot let that happen.”

“They have already taken everyone I loved,” Amari replied, ashamed to look Afi in the face. “And tonight they take the only thing I have left that is truly mine. Death would be a relief.”

“You will live because you must,” Afi said sternly.

“Afi,” she whispered, “the land is lovely. I thought it must surely be an ugly place.”

“Yes, it is beautiful to look at. Remember that when the ugliness overtakes you,” Afi told her. “Find beauty wherever you can, child. It will keep you alive.”

“Will you be wantin’ her mama, sir?” the auctioneer said to Mr. Derby. “I offer her to you first, out of respect, you see.”

Polly watched as Mr. Derby, who had walked up to the stage to claim his property, glanced at the older woman standing next to the slave girl, then said, “No, Horace, but thanks for the offer. Family ties only confuse the poor creatures. They’ll forget each other as soon as the sun sets. Trust me.”

Polly wondered if Negroes from Africa had feelings and intelligent thoughts or if that gibberish they spoke was more like the scream of monkeys or the barking of dogs.

“What did your mama keep a-tellin’ you while you be with her?”

“She tell me stories about Africa and about her own mother, and she tell me, ‘Long as you remember, ain’t nothin’ really gone.’”

Amari, blinking away tears, hugged him. “You gonna always remember?”

“I ain’t never gonna forget nothin’ she done tell me,” the boy said with great seriousness. He squeezed the leather pouch.

She inhaled sharply as she thought of Mrs. Derby, of the infant who had been given no chance to live, and of all the other women, both black and white, who continued to suffer as property of others.