The scent of the first rain had not settled completely in the air when a tumult broke out in our neighbourhood. The streets were filled with coloured folks hitting home with renewed strength.

" The soldiers are here." Someone screamed, with a strong negro accent. That was Baruch. The only one in the neighbourhood who had learnt to read. To everyone else, it was the alarm we needed to fall back in line and shuffle into the farm. 

Mama came up to me. Her eyes held a visible measure of fear. The way they went to and fro told me something bad was happening.

“ You need to hide. The chimney. Stay there until I call for you.”

I was seven at the time but the nature of my birth raised my awareness above my age. People whisper that mother's master, Mister Johnson, was my father. I never thought that was true until Roger, his son from his white wife, started sneaking into our little house to share gossips and candies.

By evening, mama returned and helped me out of the chimney. I was exhausted, but safe.

The relief on her face made it worthwhile. I know she's scared that one day, Mister Johnson's white wife might sell me off if she learns of my existence.

" What about the soldiers, mama?" I said and peeked through the curtain. The tumult had died into quiet conversations across the streets.

“ Do not worry about them. We are safe.”

I wasn't sure we were.

Something bothered her.

Later that evening, Roger appeared on our porch. His eyes were like mama's kerosene lamp. They always flicker between fear of going out, and the courage of braving the dark.

" Noah. have you seen this?" He whispered, and held up a newspaper to my view.

I shook my head. I can't read. Even the pictures are hard to understand. 

In no time, he was inside explaining to mama and I about something called emancipation. He pronounced it severally. His eyes shone with pride. He was always like this. Trying to teach me new things and waiting to hear me say it. 

" What does it mean?" I finally asked him.

“ It means you are free. You don't have to hide in the chimney anymore.”

Mama repeated his words as a question. Her feet hurried outside like her heart must have.

" Do not come out, Noah." I heard her say.

No sooner had she gone, Roger began reciting the things he would want to do with me. He talked about school. He spoke of games. He even mentioned he wanted me to meet his friends and eat with them.

Mama was back before he was done.

" Noah, we are free." She said. Her eyes were like those days when heavy rainfall blinded the view outside. 

She rushed into the bedroom and I could hear her sobbing lightly.

I did not know what would happen to us after that day. Everything on my mind wrapped around going out and playing with children on the streets. That would mean I was free.

Rogers went home promising to come the next day. Mama slept past eight in the morning for the first time in years. 

Rogers returned, but he was not alone. 

I withered completely and knelt down.

“ Good morning, Mister Johnson.”

He held me up and gave me a pat on the shoulder. 

"Hello, son. I see you have met your brother, Roger." He said and smiled.

Mama was behind me. I could feel her presence. I could also tell that the heavy load on her shoulders were finally gone.

Every time I remember that day, I smile at the portrait of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr in my bedroom. His dreams will come through.