01-22-2005, 05:31 AM
Bilal tells of slavery
I, Bilal, the child of slaves, was born into slavery and continued in it until the day my owner, the merchant Umaya, decided to put me to death.
A slave has fewer accidents in his life that a free man, but when they fall, they fall. Upon him, the whip; a slave is only skin. But I am an old man know and here in Damascus I am more in danger from the thorns of the roses at my door than I am from the hand of any Umaya, or from any of his headaches or the caprices of his wine bottle.
For a slave never knows, he only anticipates. There is no voice like the voice of your owner. You cannot hide from his voice when he calls you. If you are not in two places, under his eyes or within his shout, you have run away. He bought you and the price you pay is the rest of your life.
It is not my habit to joke about the dead, but I can tell you that when Umaya bought me in the market in Mecca he got more than he paid for. You see, if a man buys a horse he must be careful that the horse will not one day throw him and break his neck. It happens; and when it does, the man has made a bad bargain.
But it is only God who decides who will laugh last.
I digress. I must be old indeed to digress before I begin. I cannot give to Umaya, who was only a driver of slaves, too much possession of my memory. Because I, Bilal, slave of Umaya, will tell you of days to be wondered at. I was present- 22 years present- when Muhammad, the Messenger of God, walked the earth. I heard what he said and saw what he did.
