Our Favourite Dreamer #1: Sold

Joseph’s story is undoubtedly one of the most moving tales ever.

For my roasted plantain loving friends unfamiliar with it, I shall attempt to reproduce a short version of the story’s first half without sounding like a CRS class. (We’ll take a broken down, closer view soon, I promise.)

Joseph was born to Jacob, when Jacob was already very old. Joseph was also the son of Rachel, the one among Jacob’s wives and concubines that he actually loved, who’d been childless till then. Naturally, that gave Young Joe brownie points in his father’s eyes. Now brownie points would be no problem had Joe been an only son, but he had ten older brothers who felt cheated of their father’s love. It doesn’t end there. Because Joe was a godly, obedient kid, possibly the most obedient of his father’s children, Jacob had him check his brothers for bad behavior when they sent the sheep out to graze. His brothers could not get over being supervised by their youngest brother, and have him tell on them when they stepped out of line. Like that was not enough, Joseph had—and shared!—dreams that implied he would someday rule his brothers! The boy had no idea how sickening he was to his brothers.

So they sold him. Like a bag of plantain he was exchanged for twenty shekels of silver, thrown into the humbling pits of slavery, and carted off to Egypt by the Midianite merchants that bought him. In the household of Potiphar, the Egyptian official Joseph came to serve under, the godly dreamer-turned-slave pleased his master so much; Joseph was put in charge of all the other servants in the household. But a dark cloud settled on his happiness when Potiphar’s wife decided she wanted him to please her wanton, womanly whims. He fled her room, but because he left his cloak while running, she could frame him for attempted rape. To prison went our hero next, and that, my friends, is the end of Part 1.

For those familiar with the story, it’s probably easy to read it merrily, because you know it ends on a high. We love grass-to-grace narratives, fairytale endings. But it was no walk in the park for Joseph. Let’s take that broken down view I mentioned earlier, shall we?

Joseph was sold by his brothers. The initial plan was to kill him, but they figured they’d rather make a pretty penny off him than just have blood on their hands. And so his own brothers—not slave raiders, not citizens of a rival village, not the family of a man whose love interest had jilted him for Joseph—sold him into slavery. 

Maybe you can remember a time when your friend and you got in trouble for something you both planned, and he told a lie to implicate you and free himself. Or maybe you confessed to your best friend that you liked some guy, so bad it was killing you, and in the space of days you saw her and the guy, well, in a position you would rather forget. How was it? How did it feel? Did it make you bitter, fill you with an urge for revenge? Did it make you want to stop trusting, because these people were the ones you considered bosom buddies, chums for life? Did you get the vibe, ‘Those you think have got your back are out to stab you in the back?’

(Ai, punch line. Quote me on that.)

Joseph must’ve the same hurt you felt, only a million times stronger. Impossible? Grant me the reins to your imagination for a moment, will you?

You’re standing in a dark, hollow pit. It smells rustic, like an old, abandoned cottage. The water at the bottom licks your ankles. It’s cold, you’re near-naked; your brothers took the beautiful coat Father made you. The croaking frogs at your feet are your only companions, not counting the flies that whiz by. You’re weak. The monster within your belly rumbles with a vengeance. You’ve left your fate in the hands of your brothers, who threw you here. They’re your brothers, after all. You know them. They play hard, but they’ll never hurt you. When they’re tired of this game, they’ll fish you out and you’ll all go home, singing field trip songs and looking forward to a dinner of smoked lamb and sheep milk. Most of the panic you feel disappears, and you allow yourself a hopeful smile.

Suddenly you hear a whipping sound, just before something wriggly hits your shoulder. You jump. A rope! They lowered a rope! You knew it! Your brothers will never hurt you. You could cry in relief, but you save that for later and begin an eager climb up. At the top the sunlight blinds you fleetingly, but before you fall Naphtali and Dan grab you and hoist you up. Oh, what are brothers for? ‘Thank—’ you start, but it dies on your lips when at once two men—large turbans, big clothes; merchants?—roughly pull you to the side, clasp your hands together, and twist the thick chord you climbed up around your wrists. You’re puzzled—Is this still a game? Because those ropes are...not joking! ‘Guys—’

Your protests are pointless. The men aren’t listening. Your brothers don’t hear. The fear comes back, full force. Your brothers. They’re avoiding your eyes, behaving…strangely. True, they’re not the friendliest bunch, but they’ve never been this…unfeeling.This is unlike any game you have ever played. One merchant is dropping coins into Judah’s palm. ‘Wh—’

At once you’re grabbed from behind and practically flung, and you land behind-first on the hard hump of a camel you hadn’t seen earlier.  A whoosh of air leaves your mouth at the painful impact. Even the camel groans its complaint. ‘Hey!’ you shout. No. This cannot be a game. The animal begins to move, and you’re seized with panic. What on earth is going on? You throw your eyes about, pleading, begging your brothers to see the fear in your eyes and stop this silly thing. But they’re already leaving, already arguing something about who should get which coins. What—you try to make sense of it. The pit… The rope... The coins... The only times rope and coins interact is when you buy some, or when slaves are being bought. Yeah, they are tied with rope, and bought with coins. But this isn’t—this isn’t that, right? You can’t possibly be a slave. Your brothers won’t—can’t—do something this evil. This is a game! This—

‘Quiet, slave!’ A whip comes down hard on your bare back. You howl in pain. The taste of metal fills your mouth. Your eyes moisten, your vision blurs. A sudden heaviness grips your heart. They did it. They did it. Your brothers—the ones you grew up with, children of your father’s loins, your own blood—have sold you. They don’t care if these traders are headhunters. They don’t care about you. They sold you, your freedom. A tear escapes you as the truth hits you.

You’re a slave.

…

And he still had a long stretch of slavery ahead of him.

We’ll explore that in Part 2 of my epic trilogy (hehehe), Owned, when I go on to paint a picture of how Joseph, our dreamer-turned-slave, had a long hard road, not just the fairytale ending we enjoy. Till then, have a great week, and roasted plantain to you! I’m going to cook oil rice.

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For the full story, find Joseph in the Bible, Genesis, chapter 37 and chapters 39-47.