Interacting with the locals

You get off the ship, head full of wonder at the sights and sounds around you. Living in rural England, you lived a rather homogeneous life, only really spending much time your fellow Englishmen, in the same English climate. You feel the sand crunch under your boots as you get onto the beach. The weather is humid, which you're used to, but it's as hot as the hottest summer day you've ever felt. Honestly, it's not a bad change from the damp, cold of home. The Africans are, as the captain said, nor real marvels up close, but interesting nonetheless. They have features you've never seen before, so they don't look just light Englishmen but a bit darker. Many have great heads of bushy hair, others are completely shaved, and still more have intricate patterns. Some have complex patterns of tattoos and markings. You stare at all as you walk through the busy port, too interested to care that you look like a fool.

You're broken from your trance by the sound of chains rattling. You see a group of African men and women, tied together. Another group of men, armed with spears, stands off from the chained group, at the front. A white man walks up and begins speaking with the leader of the armed ones. After conversing in an unknown (to you) language, they seem to come to agreement. The chained people are herded onto the nearby ship, while old muskets are handed out to the **** traders, who smile wide and make seemingly appreciative comments in their language as they inspect their new armaments. So, this is the **** trade.

Without any warning, a firm hand latches into your shoulder from behind, startling you. You turn quickly, and see an African there. He is wearing a bizarre hodgepode of local and European clothing, including a fine leather belt (holding up no trousers), a loose white shirt slightly dirtied from use, and an English-style hat. You stare at him for a second, trying to comprehend this strange mosaic of a man. You had no expectation of encountering an African who could speak any of your language, at least not randomly. "English? You English?" You open your mouth, but aren't able to say anything. "You come from that boat, yes? English boat?" he asks, pointing to your ship. "Well, y-yes, I am English." He smiles, satisfied. "Very good! Come English, come, I have very good ****!" You puts his arm around you, almost dragging you away. "N-no, I'm not a merchant, just a passenger!" you try to tell him, slipping away from his grasp. He moves back toward you, visibly annoyed. "Don't be shy English, good ****, good price!" He grabs your arm, and this time you meekly allow him to take you away.

He leads you over to a line of about 6 or seven chained people, watched by another man is a similarly mismatched outfit. "Ok English, you want all?" he asks. "No, I want none! I can't buy slaves, I have no money!" He either doesn't understand, or he thinks you're using a bargaining tactic. He goes and pick one of the people out from the line. "Come look, Mr. Hard Bargain! Good girl, make good ****!" You weren't paying attention to the people in chains before, but now that he points her out you must admit the girl is something special. She is dark, though you've seen darker here today. Her black hair is tied into thin, shoulder-length braids. Perhaps most eye-catching are a set of tribal marks along her well-defined left cheek that look like long furrows; they may even be scars. But the thing you notice most is the fact that she is scantily-clad, bare from the waste up. Her hips are wide, and lead up to a narrow waist which rests below petite breasts. Your companion notices you staring. "You like, eh?" he says with a white-toothed grin.

Well, even if you wanted the girl, you couldn't have her. "I told you, I have no money! Nothing to trade!" The persistent salesman look thoughtful for a moment, then seems to get an idea. He looks down at his mix-matched clothes, then at yours. "Very hot for white man here. Do you need so many clothes, English?" he says with a beaming smile.