History will remember Jean Jacques Dessalines as the strong black man who defeated the French colonial forces on the island of Saint Domingue, founded the Republic of Haiti in 1804, crowned himself Emperor of the New World's first independent black nation, defeated Napoleon's overconfident and ultimately outmatched forces and showed to the entire world that European colonialism isn't invincible.
To me, right up until he was assassinated by some of the very same black men whom he fought so hard to free from slavery, Jean Jacques Dessalines was my lover. The only man I've ever loved in the 389 years that I've lived upon this earth. From the moment I first laid eyes on him, I knew Dessalines was different. When I told him that I am one of the Undead, he accepted my true nature and I became his lover, his ally and his confidante.
Although I came from far away, the island of Haiti is my home and its people are my people. Now and forevermore. While it is true that African and Arabian blood flow within me in equal measures, my heart is with the people of Haiti. Family doesn't stop with blood, and I consider myself a citizen of the Republic of Haiti. The African-descended men and women living there are my brothers and sisters.
My name is Fatima. I was born in the City of Nouadhibou, Mauritania, in 1627. The daughter of Cheikh Mahmoud Yassin, an Arab tribal chief who married an African woman and came to Mauritania during the clash between Berber, African and Arab tribal factions. My mother Mariam Bamidele came from West Africa. She was born and raised in what is today known as the Republic of Nigeria. I grew up at a time when Mauritania was torn by war. Berbers, Africans and Arabs fought over control of Mauritania, culminating in the Char Bouba War which lasted from 1644 to 1674.
Five-foot-eleven, with long black hair and light brown skin, I am often mistaken for a mulatto woman. I take offense to that term. I was born of an African mother and an Arab Muslim father. There's nothing European about me. I am definitely a woman of color and I've embraced the African within me for centuries. A series of unfortunate events brought me to the island of Saint Domingue. Yes, I've lived here long before it was called the Republic of Haiti. I thank the fates for bringing me to this wonderful place.
Today, I live in the City of Cap-Haitien, northern Haiti, and work as an instructor at the prestigious College Notre Dame Du Perpetuel Secours. It's an all-male Roman Catholic school, and the students are all young black men from the town's middle-class families. I love my job, sharing my worldly experience with impressionable youths and molding their young minds. It's a task worth doing. I teach history, which I'm passionate about. I played a hidden hand in the history of Haiti, one which I can never reveal, unfortunately.
I have quite a story for you today. Let's start at the beginning. In 1645, at the age of eighteen, I married an Arab merchant named Jabir Mustapha who, through his European allies, became an active participant in the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade, which I despised. The Africans who were being bought and sold by the Europeans and others looked like my mother, and I despised the institution of slavery. My new husband Jabir was an even worse monster than I thought. For this evil man had a secret. Jabir wasn't a man at all but a monster who drank human blood, using his wealth and power to hide this horror from the world.
"What kind of fiend are you?" I asked Jabir as I discovered him feeding on one of the slaves he was transporting from the Motherland of Africa to the New World for his European business connections. I'd long found my husband peculiar. I only saw him at night. Although he was quite virile, his skin felt cold to the touch. Oh, and he seldom ate, though he drank a lot. I thought Jabir a very strange man, but had no idea what type of monster he was. Until that night.
"I truly wish you hadn't seen that, my dearest Fatima," Jabir said, and he tossed aside the slave's lifeless body, and came after me. I tried to flee but it was to no avail. Jabir caught me, bit me, and killed me. When I awakened a few nights later, I was...changed. I became a vampire, and like most fledgling vampires, I was completely in thrall to my new vampire master.
"What have you done to me?" I asked Jabir as I woke up in our house, the following night. I felt...wrong. All over. Laughing, Jabir sat me down and talked to me. The fiend explained to me that I was his slave, and would be until he died. I seethed with rage and wanted to lash out at Jabir but I decided to bide my time. Indeed, a plan to escape eternal bondage was already forming in my mind.
I became the most devoted servant Jabir ever had. I learned from him. Jabir taught me the ways of the vampire. How to hunt and dispose of our human prey. How to hide from the hated sunlight and move stealthily in the darkness. How to hide what we are from mortals, who have been known to hunt down and kill our kind in ages past. I learned all that I could from Jabir, and then one day, in 1779, while on a ship bound for the island of Saint Domingue, I murdered him in his sleep. I shoved a stake through Jabir's heart, and my vampire master turned to dust.
The crew manning our ship, The Crimson Dagger, was loyal to Jabir and turned against me. I dove into the dark waters of the Caribbean ocean, and swam to the island of Saint Domingue. Once there, I began my new life. Due to my exotic good looks and education, I easily assimilated into Saint Domingue's growing community of Free People of Color. I became Mademoiselle Fatima, something of a socialite among those known as Les Affranchis. Those black men and black women on Saint Domingue who'd earned their freedom from their former masters and now lived as free people.
