by "HARVE'"
 
               My name is Anna Dianna Jones, and I am an archeologist specialising in African
culture and civilisation, currently attached to the University of Cairo.   I am 29 years old and
single, although I do have a boyfriend,  another archeologist, called David Murray.
Unfortunately, the nature of our profession entails a lot of travel, so we do not see enough of
each other as we perhaps like.     Being a woman myself - and, I like to think, a liberated one in
today's exciting world of 1936 - I am especially fascinated by archeological finds that relate
specifically to the female gender.     Since my graduation from Oxford University in 1932, I have
been working at the British Museum's Archeology Department.   It is challenging work,
unlocking the mysteries of the past.
 
               The opportunity had arisen, to be attached to the University Of Cairo's Historical
Department for a year's duration, a situation which I was most happy to be selected for.    This
is a reciprocal scheme between the two organisations, with one year a member of the Cairo
team being attached to the British Museum, and the following year the reverse.     Last year the
Cairo nominee had been Fatimah Ahmed, a tall very striking Eygyptian woman with whom I had
become close friends.   I too am quite tall, in fact almost 6 feet tall when wearing
my "archeological digging" uniform of shirt, trousers and lace-up boots.    We also took the
opportunity through our friendship, to improve our knowledge of each other's native language,
although I have to admit that Fatimah's English was already far better than my very basic
Arabic!    I had been given the good news that I was to be the nominee for secondment to Cairo
well before Fatimah's return there, so it gave us some breathing space for me to concentrate on
getting my Arabic up to conversational level.
 
               Although the British Museum back in London has an excellent African Antiquities
Department, clearly it is nothing like as comprehensive as Cairo University's.    Also, the
opportunity to be actually going out on field trips around Africa, under the auspices of Cairo
University's mantle, is too good to miss!     So, I had seized the opportunity to widen my
knowledge of Africa, and flown out from London 6 weeks ago on January 20th 1936, to begin
my year's stay in Cairo.    What a fascinating place it is itself, such an exciting blend of old and
new.     My good friend Fatimah had been most helpful in helping me settle in at the University,
showing me around and explaining how the Antiquities Department was organised.   We spent a
lot of time going through the relics and antiquities themselves, and with my special interest
in such matters, I was very happy to examine those which related to the history and civilisation
of women in Africa.    However, I have to admit that not all the artifacts I saw there, gave me
delight to examine - I shall explain more about this unfortunate aspect later.   Suffice it to say,
that a woman's lot in Africa has not always been a happy one, especially with the
terrible history of slavery from not so long before.    Fatimah was also very instructive in
preparing me for the realisation, that daily life for women in some rural parts of Africa, was
still very tough, and that I should have to respect the ancient traditions that encouraged it still to
go on, even if I did not concur with them.   It was a sobering thought for me, coming from a
civilised London environment, to have to agree with her.
 
               The University had been given a most generous grant by the Anglo-Eygyptian
Oil Company, to carry out archeological research on the Island Of Zanzibar.    The company
were even kind enough to offer the use of their private aircraft, a Douglas DC3 Dakota, to fly a
group of 10 of us plus our equipment, to Zanzibar and then return us back to Cairo in 4 weeks
time.   What an opportunity - and I was one of that party of 10!     In fact our group comprised 5
women and 5 men, so both sexes were as fairly represented as possible.    Among the 5 women
in our party, there was also my good friend Fatimah, which was another reason for me to feel
very happy at the prospect of a potentially fantastic 4 week adventure.
 
               So, after a long flight including a refuelling stop in Addis Ababa, we landed safely late
in the afternoon at Zanzibar's Aerodrome and were taken to our hotel to settle in.    The hotel
was certainly no luxury 5-star one, but it was clean and comfortable.  Our leader, Professor
Ahmed, allocated us 2 to a room, with me sharing with my good friend Fatimah.    We unpacked,
showered, dressed informally - after all, we were here for research, not on holiday - and then
preceeded to the hotel's dining room for our evening meal.   After dinner, Professor
Ahmed called a meeting in the lounge room,  to explain what the schedule would be for
tomorrow for each of us.    We were all going to be taken to an area along the Island's East
coast, which was known to have considerable numbers of old dilapidated buildings going back
several hundred years.    We would be initially broken up into 5 groups of two for the first day's
reconnoitre.    Then, depending on feedback from each group at the end of the day giving
indication of which areas appeared most worthy of further investigation,  some reassigning of
staff would follow for further days.    It all seemed a very logical plan of approach to us, and
typical of the Professor, who was not only a first-rate archeologist and Eygyptologist, but also
an excellent leader and organiser.   He did warn us that some of those old buildings
were suspected to have been used for the slave trade, once unfortunately the main source of
business activity for the Island.     In fact, he also warned us that although this awful activity in
trading in humans like so many cattle was now just about wiped out, it was known that some of
it still carried on in remote regions - and almost exclusively in young women being taken away
by Arab slavetraders for sale as harem slaves, in other parts of the Middle East.    Both Fatimah
and I are tall and well-built young ladies, as I mentioned before, and I have been trained in the
use of a .38 revolver which I carry with me on potentially dangerous assignments.    Fatimah
carries a long knife in a scabbard attached to her waist, so we felt mutually safe that no harm
could befall us.    The Professor was happy to hear we felt no qualms about proceeding
unescorted, and we all went off to our rooms for a good night's sleep before we started in
earnest, the following day.
 
              Our bus picked us all up at 9 am sharp the following morning, and conveyed us out of
town, along steadily worsening and pot-hole ridden tracks for almost an hour until we reached
our area of research to the south of the Island.    The vegetation was quite sparse, with little sign
of agriculture.    In fact, there was no sign of human occupation at all, once we drove past a
small village some 30 minutes before out arrival at the investigation areas.    It all seemed to be
totally deserted.  Then, we were handed maps of our various areas, along with a packed lunch,
and dropped off at 10 minute intervals in pairs.    The coast and shoreline was just a few
hundred yards away, so we did not have far to traverse.    We were told to be back at the
drop-off point at 5 pm sharp.    I carried my trusty haversack with my binoculars and "dig" tools,
plus of course my revolver was in its leather case attached to the belt around my waist.    The
sun was quite sharp, so I was glad to be wearing a wide-rim man's hat, along with my usual
denim shirt and trousers.    Archeologists in field situations in Africa soon learn that fashion is
something to be left behind, in favour of practicality.
 
             So, Fatimah and I began our walk down to the shoreline through some straggly looking
trees.     We then followed the sandy shoreline for perhaps a mile or so, before climbing a rocky
outpoint which would give us a good view of any possible buildings nearby.    Sure enough, it
proved a most fortuitous move, because through my binoculars I could see one ruined stone
building amongst the trees, just around the next bay.   There also appeared to be another old
building further away, but it was hard to make out at that distance.   Fatimah and I headed around
the bay towards the first building, and we agreed that she could do some initial investigating
there,  while I proceeded to the other more distant ones.    It was now almost 11 am, and I told
Fatimah that I would return within a couple of hours at the most, so we could discuss whatever
we had found at the two sites while we had our packed lunches together.
 
               So, farewelling Fatimah I headed further around the bay towards the other old
buildings.    As I got closer, I could see there were in fact 3 separate stone structures, all in poor
condition and minus their roofs.    The style of construction suggested they were at least 400
years old.   I was quite excited at the prospect of being down on my hands and knees again,
delving for the ancient clues that can make an archeologist's day so rewarding.     The two
smaller buldings gave no immediate clues as to their original useage, but the larger one proved
of greater interest.    It was just a single large room of perhaps 20 X 40 feet in size, but with
rusty iron attachments at every 4 feet interval along each of the walls, at about 3 feet from the
ground.    My first conclusion was perchance this large building might have been some sort of
stable for tethering animals, hence the iron attachment points.    However, why were they fitted
so close together, I mused?    Then, as I began to start my first digging of the floor, which was
just hard packed mud it appeared, things quickly began to fall into place.    I had barely dug
down 6 inches into the floor with my small picking too, when I hit something metallic.   I
followed around the item with a smaller chisel to scrape away the dirt, and it began to reveal
itself - it was an iron 2-piece collar, hinged, with a length of chain attached.   The chain was in
very poor condition, having almost rusted away in places, but the collar was in quite reasonable
order being made of much thicker proportioned metal.    The hinge was totally stuck with rust,
so the collar could not be closed.    However, with it being stuck in the opened position, I could
immediately verify just what this was, when I fitted it to my neck - it was definately a slave
collar for securing poor unfortunates by their necks, no doubt with the chain being originally
attached to one of the iron tethering points on the walls!    I brushed as much of the mud from it
as I could, and placed this most interesting first relic from my Zanzibar expedition into my
haversack.     Further careful digging revealed some small broken pieces of earthenware pottery,
and of course they too were carefully stowed away.     The first hole did not reveal anything
more, so I went across to the far corner of the room and began another dig there.     I soon hit
something metallic again, which proved to be another positive sign of the awful goings on in that
building in distant days.   It was a smaller version of the 2-piece collar, just the right size to fit
around a human ankle!     There was no chain attached to this item though, it long having
disappeared with the effects of oxidisation.    However, these 2 separate metal items confirmed
for me that the 3 buildings were once a slave holding facility, with the large building for holding
the slaves securely to the walls, and possibly the 2 smaller ones for accommodation of the
guards.    Being so close to the shore, clearly it would not have been far for these unfortunates to
be taken down to a waiting Arab dhow to be conveyed in chains to some far-off port in the
Middle East, for sale.
 
              I had been shown previously by Fatimah at Cairo University,  several artifacts from
this awful trade in human misery, just like the slave collar and leg shackle I had just discovered,
but in far better condition.     The University had quite a collection of the type of
ancient restraints used on unfortunate slaves, from wrist manacles joined by short lengths of
chain, to similar larger items for restraining ankles, and even collars separated by regular
lengths of chain for coffling numbers of slaves together.    The most hideous device there was a
heavy wooden yoke, similar to that used on oxen to pull a plough, but on a smaller scale of
course.    This device had a cutaway circular section to fit around a slave's neck, with a metal
hinged securing device at the front for locking, plus 2 short lengths of chain with wrist shackles
attached, at the far ends of it.    Fatimah had shown me all the collection of such antiquities
shortly after my arrival at the University, like me being amazed at the depth of cruelty mankind
can demonstrate at times.    She explained that according to the extensive notes of a previous
archeologist there, the yoke was only used on "difficult" slaves to subdue them after their initial
capture.   After perhaps a couple of days of wearing such an awful thing, a slave would quickly
become pacified and obedient, so the yoke could then be removed and replaced with a simple
collar and chain.    It would have done its devilish job.    In fact, I actually tried the yoke on
around my neck to see for myself how it felt, with Fatimah assisting me by securing the metal
hinge across the front, and then fitting my wrists to the outer shackles on their short length of
chains.    I immediately felt the weight of this hideous device, which caused me to hunch my
shoulders to help alleviate the pressure.    Then, the limited movement left for my arms with my
wrists hanging shackled from each end of this yoke, was also an awful experience.    I walked,
or rather shuffled around the room with Fatimah smiling at me, and I asked her if that was all a
newly captured slave would have to put up with.    "My word, no" she said, "those slavetraders
would always fit leg shackles to every slave's ankles right from the start, to prevent them from
running away.    The shackles have a long length of chain between them, so a slave can still
walk, but cannot run because of their weight.    Here, let me show you just what I mean."    She
took a pair of the leg irons out of the cabinet, and fitted them around my ankles without any
difficulty in locking them, because these had their own built-in locking devices.     "Don't
worry", she laughed "I have the key here for them!.    Now," she said, "just try and walk around
for a bit, my dearest Anna, and imagine how it would have been to be restrained like that for
perhaps days on end, until your spirit was so broken you would no longer have any fight left in
you".    She was quite right, because not only was the yoke such an awful weight around my
shoulders, and the leg irons also, the whole thing was just so humiliating, to be restrained in that
manner like some animal.
 
              I had only worn the devices for just a few minutes, but my head and shoulders and
ankles were already aching, and I was most relieved when Fatimah quickly released me from
these awful reminders of Africa's past.   "Well", said my friend, "I'm glad you've been so
sporting to actually try these out for yourself, because not many other archeological staff would
be that daring - don't you think it really brings home to you so much more clearly,  what slaves
had to put up with in the past?"    I had to agree with her, there was simply no better way of
finding out than actually trying them out myself.    However, I certainly did not go along with her
joking suggestion that she should heat up one of the branding irons, to brand me on my forearm
as a slave!    We put the artifacts back in their display cabinets, and locked them away before
returning to the department's office for a cup of coffee, and for me, a sit down to try and get
some feeling back into my aching arms, neck and shoulders.   Fatimah was most helpful, and
found some embrocation to rub into the areas.    She had very strong fingers and hands, and
clearly had some experience in massaging technique because I was soon feeling 100% again,
after my 10 minutes of my voluntary enslavement.    I asked her just how fortunate the University
had been to acquire these slavery artifacts in such excellent condition, and she made the startling
response that according to chemical tests done on the wood and metal, they were not anything
like as old as I might expect - in fact, the wood used for the yoke was less than a century old.
This clearly was a sobering thought, meaning that such devices were still being used so
relatively recently.
 
             It was now approaching 1 pm, and I had been at the site of the 3 buildings for almost 2
hours.    However, it had been a most fruitful first "dig", and I packed up all my tools and
headed back to where I had left Fatimah.    Strangely, there was no sign of her there at all - just
where could she be, I wondered?    Then, I saw her wide-brimmed hat lying on the ground, and I
began to get worried.    The midday sun was quite hot, and she would need the hat for
protection, surely?     I picked it up and carried it with me as I walked back to the road, calling
out "Fatimah, where are you?" at regular intervals.    However, no sign or sound of her
transpired.
 
              I had almost reached the track where the bus had dropped us both off that morning, and
walked along it hoping for Fatimah to appear.   There was still not a sign of her, but in the
distance through the trees I could just make out a horse and cart coming towards me along the
track, with a couple of horse riders trotting alongside.   Could they perhaps offer some
assistance with the mystery of Fatimah's wherabouts?     As they got closer in the distance, I
brought out my binoculars to try and make out better who they were.    It was then that I had a
terrible shock, because I could see the solo horse riders were Arab men dressed in traditional
white costume carrying guns and whips, with an Arab woman driving the horse and cart,
herself clothed in traditional black headdress and long dress - but that was not what so shocked
me!    It was a line of 6 women also dressed in black, following the cart at the rear in line.    Did
I say in line, Dear Reader?    These poor women were actually chained together by the neck, in
traditional coffle formation!    I was horrified!     Here, in April 1936, was an example right in
front of my eyes of the terrible lot that women had to suffer in such far-off places as this - but
what could I do to stop it?    Just then one of the Arab riders rode around the rear of the line and
hit the poor woman at the end, with his whip across her back.    She almost stumbled to her
knees, and I then could clearly see that she was not just chained by the neck - those cruel Arabs
had her wearing a wooden yoke around the neck, with her wrists chained to the outer edges, just
like the one I had seen and worn myself back at Cairo University just a few weeks before.   The
yoke was itself attached by chain to the woman's collar next in line.   Clearly, this was an
example of just what Fatimah had told me - that recently captured slaves were given this sort of
treatment until they had become subjugated, and then the awful yoke device would be swopped
for a less cruel metal collar.
 
              The poor woman in the yoke managed to avoid stumbling, and drew herself up to the
satisfaction of the Arab who had just flogged her.    I then almost stumbled myself right then and
there, because when that poor woman drew herself up, I could clearly see that she was very tall
- just like Fatimah, my missing archeologist friend!     Surely, it couldn't be so, I thought - have
these swine actually captured and enslaved her so cruelly in the two bare hours I had been
gone?    It was not possible to make out her (or any of the other 5 women, for that matter) facial
features, because they were all wearing the yashmak facial headdress with only the eyes
visible.   Additionally, the long black dress that each wore down to the ankles was a little
higher on this last poor woman in the coffle, and I could make out as the sad entourage got
closer, that she was chained around the ankles as well as wearing that terrible yoke around her
neck.
 
               Enough, I thought to myself, Anna Dianna Jones,  what sort of a woman are you to let
this go by without doing SOMETHING about it, even if just to make sure that the last poor slave
in the coffle was not actually my good friend Fatimah?    So, I drew my revolver, and walked
out from among the trees to confront them, with my knees shaking but a fully determined mind
that I should get to the bottom of this mystery - right now!     The group were almost now
directly in front of me, and seeing me with the gun, all stopped.    I was then positive that
indeed, the last poor woman slave at the end of the coffle was indeed poor Fatimah, because she
had seen me and began to make pitiful screaming noises, just like an animal.   Why could she not
talk, I wondered?   Then, one of the Arabs dismounted off his horse and walked towards me,
with his hands in the air indicating he wanted to talk.   In Arabic, I shouted to him "Just what are
you doing with these women?"   He replied "White woman, it is none of your business in this
country how we Arabs treat our wives!"     "Oh," I said, "Well, if that is indeed the case, prove
to me that the last woman in the line is indeed one of your wives, and not the archeologist
Fatimah Ahmed, whom you have just captured!"    "Come and look at her for yourself," said the
Arab.    Well, the pitiful noises that the woman I suspected to be Fatimah was making, must have
clouded my judgement at that exact moment, because with hindsight I should have pointed my
revolver at the Arab, perhaps even shot a round into the ground near his feet to frighten him, and
ordered HIM to unveil the poor woman.   Instead I strode forward up to her, and pulled the veil
upwards so I could see her face.
 
                Yes, it was indeed poor Fatimah, and if that itself was not sufficient shock, the reason
for her strange cries became immediately apparent also - those damned Arab slavetraders had
fitted her with a sort of horse bit device across her mouth, secured at the back of her head with a
thick leather strap.   I was so taken aback, I must have lowered my gun arm for a second, and
that was my undoing.    Quick as a flash, the Arab grabbed my arm and twisted it, forcing me to
drop the gun, alhthough I did manage to fire off a round that narrowly missed his foot.
However, I had lost the advantage of holding the gun and worse was to quickly follow, because
the other Arab had dismounted while I was struggling with the first one.    I suddenly felt his
arms around me, holding a dirty cloth over my nose and mouth.    The cloth had a strange
unfamiliar chemical smell to it, and suddenly my head began to feel dizzy and my legs give
way.   I did not actually become unconscious, but I had lost my balance and strength and could
no longer put up any sort of fight.   I just fell down on to my knees, gasping for air.
 
               I could hear the two Arabs laughing at my predicament, but worse was to follow!
One began to tear off my shirt, not even bothering to undo the buttons, and the other undid my
trouser belt and ripped my trousers down over my legs.    I was just left in my brassiere and
knickers, in full display.   Were they going to rape me there and then, I could only think?    It
quickly became apparent that they had other ideas than mere sexual ones, for my defenceless
body.   The old crone had also dismounted from her cart, and was coming towards me - carrying
something I had viewed myself only a matter of weeks before.   It was a pair of iron leg
shackles, just like the ones Fatimah had put on me - and was now wearing herself, of course!
The old crone quickly locked them on my legs, and I could do nothing about it with the effects of
the chemical still clouding my brain.   They then pulled me upright, and the old crone now
unfolded a black Arab full-length dress which was dropped over my head and arms, and down
to my now-chained legs.    It was clear I was being dressed in the same manner as Fatimah and
the others, as a disguise.    The old woman then brought an oitment jar from her cart of dastardly
devices, opened it and put her fingers in to get some of its contents.   It was a dark brown
colour, whatever it was, and she quickly smeared it over my face, forehead and eyes.    My
senses were now returning to me, but both my arms were held firm by the two Arab men while
the old crone performed her evil disguising duties on me.   Clearly, I was being disguised as an
Arab woman myself, with the brown oitment darkening my white skin in the one area that would
be visible once my disguise was complete with the inevitable headveil.    However, there was
one more task for this awful woman from Hell to perform on me, and that was to produce a
similar mouth bit to the one poor Fatimah was wearing, and tightly secure it around my mouth
with its leather strap at the back of my head.    Did I say one more task, Dear Reader?     Nay,
there were indeed a couple of final things for her to perform, and that was firstly to fit my head
with a black yashmak veil, and then to produce another wooden yoke similar to Fatimah's from
her cart.    Meanwhile, the Arabs had forced me down to my knees in a sort of supplication,
while still firmly holding my arms.    I thought perhaps I could kick at them, but the chain joining
my leg shackles did not allow me sufficient purchase.    The old crone then slipped the yoke
around my veiled neck, and padlocked its securing hinge shut.   It was then just a matter of my
left wrist being lifted up to be fitted with the shackle hanging by a short chain from the left end
of the yoke, and the task to be repeated with my right wrist.    I was now as securely restrained
as I had been when Fatimah had demonstrated the evil slavery artifacts at the University, with
the addition of the mouth bit and of course, the Arab dress.    The last stage of my capture and
enslavement was to drag me forward to be joined by the front of my yoke, to the rear of
Fatimah's yoke, by a 2-yard length of chain.    I, the seventh slave, was now securely fastened to
the coffled line of women.   The Arab men got back onto their horses, and the old woman back
onto her cart, and we headed slowly off together.    This time though, they were careful to
collect my ripped shirt and trousers, hat plus my haversack,  and hide them in the cart, so there
was no evidence left of the entire incident of my capture and enslavement, which had taken mere
minutes to carry out.    Their mistake of leaving Fatimah's hat was not to be repeated.
 
               As the line of slaves moved forward, I found it at first so difficult to keep up even with
the slow pace, what with the weight of the yoke around my neck and the hobbling of my ankles.
Worse, one of the Arabs kept hitting me across my backside with his whip, to make me quicken
my step.    I gradually got better accustomed to the best way to walk in the leg irons, which
seemed to be to make a short shuffle rather than a normal step.   Of course, with my wrists held
high, chained to the edges of the yoke in such an uncomfortable manner, that too made walking a
difficult matter in addition to the restrictive effect of the leg irons.    The Arab who kept hitting
me with his whip, was also having great fun insulting me in his native Arabic, with taunts such
as "Well, fancy white woman, how smart are you now, in your chains?".   Even worse were
comments such as "White woman, we will get many pieces of silver for you when our ship
reaches its destination!", which confirmed what my fate - and Fatimah's, plus the other five of
course - was going to be, if it had not properly registered already.    I could think of hundreds of
rude, insulting retorts to shout back at the Arab, but with my mouth fitted with that awful bit,
there was little point - all I could do was produce the same animal-style noises that Fatimah had
demonstrated earlier.    I just did my best to keep up with the rest of the coffle, and try not to
think too much about how stupid I had been to allow these Arab savages to get the upper hand of
me, especially when I had been holding the gun on them.    Still, from the way they went around
their business, they had certainly had plenty of practice at capturing women - heaven knows how
many had been surprised and enslaved like Fatimah and I beforehand!     The one positive thing
in the back of my mind was that we were still following the same rough track that the bus had
travelled along this morning, which meant that there was a chance one or more of the other
archeological staff might see our sorry group shuffling by, and investigate further.   Still, what
would they actually see?    Just an apparent group of Arab women chained in line, something not
unknown in Zanzibar or other parts of Africa in 1936, as I had found out myself to my cost
today.    I could only hope that perhaps, the unusual height of the two last female slaves in the
coffle might draw attention and further investigation, but I was analytical enough even in my
present state of restraint and discomfort, to realise the chances of our release were slim at best.
These damn Arabs were just too well organised, with their disguising, shackling and chaining.
In a strange perverse way, I began to even admire their efficiency at this awful trade in human
female flesh.    Clearly, they would not want to actually harm us, if we were to end up as harem
slaves - after all, which rich Arab sheik would pay handsomely for "damaged goods"?    All
these things ran though my brain, as I bravely shuffled along as best I could, with the hobbling
effect of the leg shackles and the unnatural position of my wrists hanging down from the cruel
heavy yoke around my neck.
 
               Any thoughts, slim as they were, of our coffle group being confronted by some of the
other archeological staff along that road, were soon dashed when we turned off that road along a
narrow path.    This headed inland, away from the road and coast, and our last chance of
discovery and freedom as it seemed.    Where were we heading, though?    We had shuffled our
painful way down this path for at least an hour, or so it seemed.    I could not be sure, because
the Arab captors had removed my wristwatch when they tore off my shirt and trousers, to fit me
with the black dress disguise.   In any case, with the long sleeves of the dress and my wrists so
limited in movement by the chains joining the shackle to the edges of the yoke, I would not have
been able to view the watch anyway.     Still, the sun had dropped some way in the afternoon
sky, and I surmised it was now about 4 pm.   The vegetation inland began to get more dense,
with more trees concealing us as we progressed at our shuffling gate.    I could make out by
lifting my head slightly, that there was a rocky outcrop up ahead.    When we reached it, we
stopped and the chain connecting the first slave in the coffle to the cart was disengaged by one
of the Arabs, now dismounted from his horse.    He then walked holding the chain, pulling the
first slave sharply to indicate she should follow - plus the rest of us, of course, still chained
together.    We were led right up to a cleft in the rocky outcrop, and the other Arab, also
dismounted and now on foot, pulled a large branch out of the way to reveal a cave entrance.
We were made to enter, which was difficult especially for Fatimah and I, both because of our
height and the width of the yoke.   However, by lowering our heads and turning our shoulders
sideways, we were able to enter the cave.    It was most dim inside, but our eyes quickly
adjusted and then our captors lit a few oil lamps to brighten things up.    I was amazed to see that
the interior of this cave was virtually a carbon copy of the large delapidated building I had been
doing my initial archeological dig at, earlier this day before my capture.    However, this was a
"working" slave holding area, not a 400 year old one.    There was a long wooden bench along
one side of the cave, with the same sort of metal brackets attached at 3 feet high and at every 4
feet or so.   However, the ravages of time were not a factor here, because each of the metal
brackets had a short length of modern-looking chain attached, with the familiar hinged 2-piece
metal collar on the other end.    Clearly we were to be chained to the wall by our necks, utilizing
these collars.    Bad though that may sound, Dear Reader, I genuinely felt enjoyed at this
prospect, because it would mean they would have to remove this damned yoke from around my
neck, and surely mean my wrists would be free also.
 
             My surmising proved correct, as each of us was progressively removed from the coffle
chain and individually collared to an attachment point along the cave wall.    However, we were
also allowed to sit down on the long wooden bench, which was a heavenly relief after shuffling
for what seemed like an eternity, in our leg irons.   The leg irons were left on, but that was no
problem seeing as we were now seated.    I wondered, as I rubbed my aching wrists now
released from their painful shackles of the last hours, if our wrists would be left free?     That
idea came to a short end, when one of the Arabs dragged a basket along to the first slave and,
lifting a pair of manacles joined by a short chain, fitted them to her wrists.   He then moved right
along, chaining each one of us, with me the last one to be fitted with this new form of
restraining.   I contemplated throwing a punch at him as he bent over to fit my wrists with the
manacles, but what was the point?   My neck was already collared to the wall, and I was
wearing leg irons still.   Any form of resistance would probably result in a flogging and being
fitted again with awful yoke, so I mildly allowed myself to be manacled.    Still, at least
although the chain joining the manacles was quite short, being no more than 12 inches long, it
meant I could at least rest my arms where I wanted.    Compared to the yoke treatment, it was
heavenly relief just to wear manacles alone.
 
             So, there we all were, securely fastened to the wall of the cave by our necks, and
chained hand and foot.    What would be happening to us now?    The thought of food began to
come into my mind, but with my mouth still effectively gagged with the bit, how would I be able
to eat?     The old Arab woman had lit a fire in the far corner of the cave, under a large metal
pot, and appeared to be preparing some sort of stew, so food was hopefully coming up for us
all.   The mystery of what would happen to our gag bits was also solved, when the Arabs went
along the whole row of us and removed the gags one by one.   As they did so, they lifted their
index finger to their mouths in the universal sign for "no talking".    I was so glad when they
finally reached me, and removed mine, that I was only too happy not to talk, even though I would
have loved to find out from Fatimah just how these Arab devils had captured her.    When
the stew finally was ready, it was ladled out into metal pots and handed to each of us, along
with a large piece of bread.   Then of course, I had to work out just how to get the food into my
mouth, with my manacled wrists plus the veil of the yashmak covering my mouth.   I looked
alongside to see how the others were managing it, and it seemed that by raising the lower part of
the veil and folding it upwards, the mouth was now left clear to enable food to be consumed.
Of course, with manacled wrists it still was not an easy task, but hunger and necessity are quick
solvers of any problem, and I finished the food with gusto.   We were then given a metal mug of
sweet tea to drink.   Clearly, as I had surmised earlier, we were valuable if fit and healthy, so
there was no intention of starving or harming us, other than the use of the whip occasionally
when in the coffle.
 
               Just then, the two Arab men rushed to the door of the cave, having heard some
noises.     Please God, I prayed, let it be the police or anybody who can rescue us from our
capture!     Unfortunately, my prayers were unanswered.    The noise they had heard was another
coffle group of female slaves being escorted into the cave by 2 more Arab men.   Clearly, this
group of slavetraders operated in separate gangs to catch unwary innocent women,and then bring
them to this well-concealed holding area.   This new group consisted of just 4 slaves, who were
quickly released from their coffle chains and then re-attached to vacant chain and collar points
along the wall, just as we had done to us earlier, followed by the wrist manacling.    So, we
now consisted of 11 unfortunates, something which seemed to please the 4 Arabs and the old
crone as they laughed and joked in Arabic to each other.    I could only make out some of what
they were saying, coming from the far end of the cave, but it mainly seemed to be about the
silver they would make from our sale.    I was so tempted to try and whisper something to
Fatimah, chained to the wall next to me, but I dare not so made do with a smile as I lifted my
veil to show my face.   She returned the gesture, and it was so nice to see her face again, free of
that awful bit device.    We did not want to risk the wrath of the Arabs, and of course their
whips, so we quickly dropped the veils again to conceal all but our eyes.    Fatimah's eyes were
red and puffy, and I think she had wept considerably while chained in the coffle.     I curiously
had not, despite the peril of our situation, because I still hoped that some rescue attempt might
yet be made to save us before the inevitable next stage of our ordeal, before we were shipped
across to the Middle East for sale at some slave auction.    I had no doubt whatsoever now, that
what the Arab had been saying to me as I was being whipped for walking too slowly when first
chained to the coffle, was the truth.   All this arranging of things, the chains, this well-concealed
cave, the sheer efficiency of it all, were indicative of an organisation that knew what it was
doing, and how much profit could be made at the end of a successful mission.
 
                I noticed by then that the daylight formerly visible at the cave door had gone, so it was
clear night had now fallen.   Our Arab captors made themselves comfortable on rolled up
mattresses at the far end of the cave, and extinguished most of the lights.    They re-concealed the
cave entrance and things were now very quiet, apart from one of the new group of slaves
sobbing quietly to herself.    It was hard to blame the poor woman for that, not knowing what
fate awaited her.   Gradually we must have all fallen off to some sort of sleep, although with the
limited length of chain attached to our collars it was not an easy form of rest.     I woke myself
several times because of sudden pressure on my collar, having moved too far away from the
chain attachment point.   I had several strange dreams, some of being rescued, some of being
sold at a slave auction to a handsome young Sheik, and some of becoming a harem whore to be
used by whoever and whenever required.   It was not the menu for a good night's sleep, by any
stretch of the imagination!
 
                Before the sun's rays came through the cave entrance, we were awoken by our guards
and given a piece of bread and a mug of sweet tea.   Then we were unlocked one by one from
our wall chains, but rejoined together in a new coffle, now of eleven.  Our wrist manacles were
left on, as were our leg irons, and the mouth bits were refitted to keep us quiet on the march.    I
thank God that I was now only chained with a neck collar, and not that infernal yoke again.    I
was now in the middle of the coffle, being chained both by the front of my collar to Fatimah,
and by the rear of it to the first of the new group of slaves.    Well, at least I was free of the
yoke, and my progress with the leg irons cannot have been too slow because I did not attract any
further blows from our captors' whips, or indeed any further insults about my fate.    We were
then led out of the cave, just as dawn was beginning to lighten the sky.    What a hell of a way to
greet the dawn, I thought, as we clanked our way along out of the cave and back onto the path.
However, we were not heading back the way we had come the previous late afternoon, in fact
we were headed further inland along a new pathway.   The vegetation and trees were now
becoming quite quite lush and dense, so it was impossible to see in which direction and just
what lay ahead of us.    We were not rejoined to the old crone's cart, now we just walked on our
own but still with the first two Arab men on horses guarding us.   Presumable the old crone and
her cart, plus the other two Arabs, were out scouting for more innocent women to ensnare.
 
               I had still some hopes that a rescue was possible for us, and my heart gave a mighty
skip as the vegetation cleared somewhat and I could make out another road ahead.    We had
now been shuffling along in the coffle for perhaps 2 hours, so we had made some
distance.    Then, I saw a bus up ahead, apparently waiting.    Was it for us?   Was it perhaps the
University archeological team, on the lookout for its two lost members?     Unfortunately, there
was no such luck.   The bus was intended for us all right, but it was certainly not any form of
rescue as we quickly found out when we were hearded up its steps.    This was just like one of
those prison buses you sometimes see in American movies, with bench seats for the prisoners
being transported along either side of the bus.    However, the 11 of us were sat down on just
one side of it, and chain attachment points were both on the floor in front of each of us, and
again to the front part of the bench seats.    Additionally, each seat place had a metal collar and
short length of chain attached to a metal bracket at head height.    This was truly the passenger
bus from Hell.   One by one we were unlocked from the coffle, but then reattached by a collar to
the wall, plus our wrist manacles locked at the centre to the attachment point at the front of the
seat.   The final act was to lock the centre of our leg irons to the floor attachment point.    We
were more securely fastened now than ever before, it seemed, with our only hope of rescue
being if the bus were to be stopped for searching.    Once again, these devils had apparently
thought of everything in their evil trade in human flesh, because it was clear from viewing the
bus from outside, that we were just a group of Arab women being conveyed somewhere.   Our
neck collars were concealed under our veils, so nothing looked untoward from outside the bus,
in any way.
 
               The bus pulled away, and off we headed to God knows where.   We seemed to have
travelled for well over an hour, but always on rough tracks and avoiding any sign of human life
such as a village.   To be honest, chained like we were, and of course fitted with mouth bits
under our veils, what could we have done anyway to draw attention to our plight, even if we did
come across a possible rescuer?    Occasionally I could make out somebody far away, working
in a field, and we did pass a few people in horse and cart conveyance as we drove on, but there
was absolutely nothing we could do to try and raise the alarm about our plight.    We were
totally in the power of our captors, and that was that.    My heart now really began to sink, and
tears fall down my face for the first time since my capture.    I, Anna Dianna Jones, could not see
any hope of rescue from these oh-so-efficient devils and their dastardly slave operation.  They
were just too clinical and calculating about everything they did.   I would have stamped my feet
in frustration there and then, but of course my ankles were shackled to the attachment point of the
floor, and I could barely move them, let alone stamp them in frustration.   Fatimah was looking
across at me, and I could see that from her eyes, she too had been crying again.   We were both
at the ends of our tether, with no optimism left whatseover that we could escape or be rescued
from these fiends.
 
               The bus then finally joined a decent road, with some traffic on it, but as I have
indicated there was nothing we could do about communicating our plight.   We travelled for
some 30 minutes along this highway, then turned off towards what appeared to be a wharf.
Certainly there was a small ship there, berthed alongside.   Could this be the final stage in our
terrible journey?   Indeed it was to be just so.   The bus pulled up right alongside the gangway,
which was covered in with canvas awnings to prevent unwanted eyes observing our arrival.
Our Arab guards released us from our neck collars and the wrist and ankle attachment points,
but reattached the neck coffle chains so we were back in our familiar line again as we hobbled
off the bus onto the gangway, into the ship.   We were herded along various corridors and finally
into another familiar scene - a large room with a wooden bench, with neck collars attached by a
short length of chain to the wall.     Off came the coffle collars, and down we all sat one by one
to be collared to the wall of the ship.   This was becoming such a standard procedure, we had
come to expect it.   However, this time there was no securing of our ankle chains to the floor, or
of our wrist chains to the wooden bench.   In fact, our guards even removed our mouth gags,
which was a welcome surprise.    The reason for this soon became clear, as the ship's engines
started and we began to move.    Once at sea, who could hear us shout?    Who could come to
our rescue?   Nobody!     Collared as we were, we could not move away from our various
positions seated on the bench.    A couple of the other slaves began to talk softly to each other,
and as this brought no sign of punishment from either of our guards, Fatimah and I began to
whisper to each other too.   It was not a very optimistic conversation, though.   Like me, she was
positive we were heading for some Middle Eastern country where female slavery still
flourished, and we would end up being sold at a slave auction soon after our arrival.   All we
could hope for, was that because we were both young and quite good-looking, perhaps some
wealthy Arab sheik might buy us to add to his harem.   The alternatives were too horrendous to
contemplate!
 
               So, I, Anna Dianna Jones, former archeologist and soon to be harem slave, conclude
this Journal.   May a merciful God provide for me, wherever I end up serving.