Rodrigo, “El Tequilero” Trujillo
Savvy & experienced businessman.
Highly respected in his trade for his hard work, perseverance and innate ability to overcome any challenge.
Strategic and methodical in his attacks
Strong proponent in actions speak louder than words – His fathers’ theory on 'Reputation is Everything' is something he lives by.
I was born in Chuparosa Mexico to a very wealthy and privileged family. My Father Raul and Mother Imelda owned, produced, and sold high quality liquor; Trujillo’s Tequila was the name of our business. My father grew up in a poverty-stricken environment, his father, my grand dad, drank himself to death and was extremely abusive to my grandmother and father. I remember when I was younger, I would overhear my father tell my mother that he never wanted me to have the life he had. He never wanted me to experience the feeling of loneliness or hunger like he felt as a young man. He would do everything in his power to provide me with the best life and upbringing he can. My mother’s parents were accountants and she often helped them conduct their business. Sadly, the Mexican Army invaded her Pueblo and she was abducted at the age of 16. Miraculously enough she was able to escape imprisonment. On her travels back home, she met my father and the two instantly fell in love.
"Born to hard working and very successful parents, Rodrigo was raised and groomed for thriving success. After the murder of his parents as a young man Rodrigo took the world head on using his business experience alongside a partner and built a from scratch empire. However Rodrigo would grow to learn that his talent & ambition would ultimately lead to a life of loss and adversity."
My father’s vision to change and revolutionize the Liquor business and my mother’s business savvy meshed well, they made quite the team. From what I remember my parents were well respected in their trade, they made an impact on the liquor business by inventing the concept of being consumer friendly. They Understood that in order to be the most successful they can be they had to produce and sell a product at a price that even the poorest people can afford and by doing so made their business infinitely expandable. They often gave a lump some of their profits to the poor people in the Pueblo’s. My father owned many horses and had an abundance of fancy garments and suits, I forever have the image imbedded in my mind of him sitting in his study, with the lights dimmed low, smoking a cigar drinking his favorite alcoholic beverage: imported Russian Vodka. Life was good for the most part. At a young age both my parents brought me around their business dealings, as they
At the age of 12, I experienced the worst thing any child can. While traveling in our stagecoach, at some sort of check point or roadblock, I witnessed both my parents berated and harassed for a “liquor tax” by greedy men in suits. My father refused to pay a dime to these men as he despised them, he described them as, “vultures scavenging for scraps of what little is left.” My dad was dragged out of the stagecoach against his own will and faced the end of a double-barreled shotgun. I hid underneath my Mother’s seat. which was a closed compartment my father used to place jugs of his liquor and closed my eyes. I heard a single shot ring off then followed by multiple. Blood splattered the
would often mention that this was my future. I would sit back observe and be in awe of my fathers no nonsense attitude when it came to conducting business. By watching him I understood his vision and what he saw so clearly. His business model clashed with the highest level of capitalism present in America and Mexico. He Understood the way they made money and saw clearly how their business model preyed on the poor and favored the rich. He passionately believed that reputation is everything and the moment it is tainted and tarnished so is the person.
floorboard and amid all the chaos time happened to slow down. I vividly remember overhearing some of the men taking orders from a man they referred to as “Manteca” which translates to grease in English-Manteca was a big burly man with a gluttonous appetite for power and money- I never forgot that name ……Manteca. I later discovered that the men were Government trained Revenue Agents. Once all the noise went away and the world got quiet, I managed to exit through the back of the stagecoach, I fled out of fear that if I returned home, I would too would be savagely murdered. I glanced for what seemed like an eternity at my father and mother’s lifeless bodies in a pool of blood. That image changed me forever.
I found myself in the outskirts of Mexico forced to live the life my father fought so desperately for me not to have. I vowed to never kill innocents or children. I was at the fingertips of deaths grip as I had no food nor shelter. Fortunately, enough in a Pueblo I had found salvation, I got a job picking berries for little to no money. I was often made fun for my raggedy clothes and malnourished figure by the local children this led to me being involved in a lot of street fights. One night a drunken bastard harassed and challenged me to a fight. I did everything in my power to defuse the situation but nothing I did or said helped. I found myself in a fight for my life as the man in a dishonorable fashion removed a switch blade from his pocket. He was able to slash the left side of my face, as blood poured out of my wounds and raced down my face, I knew I had to do something. I was able to disarm the man by smashing a nearby beer bottle over his hand forcing him to drop the switch blade. He removed a gun from the inside of his coat but stumbled to properly get his grip as he was too drunk. Without hesitation, I grabbed the man’s switchblade from the ground and stabbed him in the heart leaving him to bleed to death in the middle of the street near a few empty bottles of beer. Something about his lifeless body and the blood flowing toward the beer bottles stuck out to me. It is as if the universe was giving me some sense of foreshadowing.
A few days later while I was out picking berries, I befriended a man who I came to know as “Pantera Negra” a member of the local native tribe in Punta Orgullo. I offered him water from my canteen which he refused. Apparently, He had witnessed the fight I had with the drunken man a few days before. He mentioned his admiration for my resilience to defuse the situation, my strength in battle and sheer will to survive. He invited me to join him and the others on a hunt for boar. I panned back and forth between the wilderness and Pueblo trying to come up with some sort of excuse as to why I cannot go. It was at that moment that I realized there was nothing for me in the Pueblo. I ultimately made the decision to leave the basket of berries behind and follow him into the wilderness.
Pantera Negra never asked me my name he always referred to me as, “Alsadi” which I found out later translates to fight. He treated me like a son and taught me many things, he never asked me about my past and he often spoke about the present. He would often talk about the elders and how they had led me to him and him to me, I never quite understood that.
Pantera Negra was very fond of me, one night after a successful hunt we sat around the campsite and celebrated. I sat across Pantera Negra and all I can think about was the look he had on his face. His eyes were filled with pain, sorrow, and sadness. He began to sing a song in his Native dialect and once he was done he said, “ Ahhhh my father would sing me that when I was a young boy.” He went on to explain how his father was an expert craftsman often making many tonics and provisions for his people and the towns. His affordable prices made many stores and corporations on edge with matching his low prices, this proved to be an issue as one day while in town his dad was confronted by Doctor Ruelas - a sycophantic trifling man who was the main source of medicine for the people in towns, he was once accused of selling placebos. Pantera Negra explained that Dr. Ruelas showed interest in purchasing a large sum of
tonics from his dad and invited them both back to his office to finalize the deal. My father had me wait outside, as he never wanted me involved in his business. Once inside the office Dr.Ruelas offered my father a drink which he politely took. Ruelas asked my dad , “So what’s your secret?” my dad simply replied , “nothing, I’m just not greedy.” Ruelas smirked and responded , “Very well.” The conversation was quick, and it ended with Ruelas recanting his business proposition. On the way back my father was quiet, but he did mention that he felt sick. As we continued to ride, my father fell off his horse and screamed in agony he shouted, “my insides feel like their burning.” I picked up my dad and put him on my horse and said we will get home soon. I rode like I never rode before but no matter how quick I rode my dad was dying, he came to the realization that the drink the doctor offered him was poisoned. My dad’s last words to me were, “I love you my boy, my only son, be a good man, be a good father and most importantly honor your tribe.”
I was in shock of Pantera Negras story... and before I can even open my mouth to share mine he stopped me mid-sentence and said, “I know Alsadi…….I know…. I never got to marry or bear my own children and that’s ok…. But you… you’re like a son to me.” He paused momentarily and asked if I can help fulfill his father’s dying declarations and show me the true way of his native people. After that night Pantera Negra and I were inseparable.
A few days later, Pantera Negra had asked me to ride into town with him, something he has not done since his fathers’ death. Without hesitation I responded, Yes! We both gathered arrows and sharpened our knives, as we normally would before a trip, but this time felt different. I watched as Pantera Negra dipped darts into a liquid which I had known to never touch as they were extracted from poisonous frogs. We rode for what felt like days until we arrived. Upon our arrival we were welcomed with looks of disgust and uncertainty, some of the townsmen shouted derogatory names at us. I bit my tongue as I so desperately wanted to shout back, I remember looking at Pantera Negra and his innate ability to ignore all the noise was something I admired. The way he socially interacted with the townsmen reminded me of my father in many ways, the look he had intimidated anyone who stared him in the eyes, as they saw what I saw a man born to fight. No amount of disrespectful yelling or intimidation techniques would ever phase a native. This was not something I was taught instead I learned this by watching all my native brothers and sisters.
As the day grew longer a strange looking man with a white coat arrived in his traveling stage, set up shop and offered the towns people medicine and an abundance of herbs. As the town gathered around the stage to listen to the man. Pantera Negra and I watched from a distance. I remember asking Pantera Negra if we should go check it out and he responded in the calmest of tones, “We will Alsadi.” As I went to grab the canteen from my horse’s saddle bag, I observed Pantera remove his bow and without hesitation shoot a single arrow towards the direction of the crowd. I looked into the distance and saw the crowd disperse. The air became filled with dirt and dust clogging my view. Pantera Negra charged on horse in the direction of the town, I did what anyone else would do and followed. As we got closer the dust in the air began to fade and all we saw was a man lying on the floor with an arrow through his chest gasping for air. Pantera Negra removed himself from his horse approached the man and shoved the arrow further into his chest “For my father you savagely poisoned…my mother you left a widow…and for taking away the best thing I had in life.” Pantera Negra removed the arrow and looked at the man and said, “you shall feel what he felt the burning sensation will soon kick in.” Pantera Negra mounted his horse and we rode away slowly all I can hear was the man’s screams fade away as we got further. The Man was Dr. Ruelas and Pantera Negra had avenged his father’s death. Once we arrived to camp Pantera Negra told me that revenge is never the answer but when the wound cuts real deep and the pain never seems to fade sometimes it’s the only thing one can do to stop the pain.
Pantera Negra and the native tribe taught me man things like how to track and hunt animals to utilize every part of the animal’s body. I learned how to identify various herbs for crafting medicine and their traditional tribal alcoholic drink. The best lesson taught was how to treat and admire the natural world. Pantera Negras, simplistic view on life and nature was different than that of my fathers. The Tribes resiliency in battle and strength and intimidation was something I always admired. They made the most of the little they had and fought until the death to defend it.
At the age of 17 I was granted permission by Pantera Negra and the Punta Orgullo tribe to leave and begin my own path in life. Pantera Negra explained to me that he knew my path was already set and that I must go out and experience it. After that day Pantera Negra avenged his father, I knew I had to avenge mine and continue my family’s legacy.
With the knowledge I garnered from hunting and herb picking, I had the vision to honor my father and so I began to produce and sell Liquor. It was not easy at first as I learned a lot by trial and error.
One day, I befriended a woman named Lyla in a
asked her why? She said that when the peaches are
sweetness and richness to the alcohol, “it gives you
jokingly said I like your hair even though it was
carry the peaches to her mount and invited her
operation and had her show me her process.
passion for firearms and an eye for trouble. She
hunting. She fled to Mexico when her father
as, "some dumbass guy". She explained to me
imposed a lot of his rules and world views onto
her a rebellious and very resourceful young girl.
out when she was drunk. She would often tell me
an everyone else who knew them before continuing,
tortured soul.. I often contemplated if her troubled
Lyla taught me not only how to handle a gun but how it
Mercado.Lyla was buying 2 dozen peaches and when I
blended and mixed with liquor it adds a sense of
a real kick in the ass.” We clicked instantly as she
uncombed, and shaggy at the time. I helped Lyla
to come check out my exceptionally low budget
Lyla was a cute American southern gal with a
earned her money in the business of Bounty
arranged for her to marry, what she describes
that her father was a high-level politician that
her which in turn aggravated Lyla and made
Most of the stories i learned of her past came
if I told anyone these stories she would kill me
passing out, crying or screaming. She truly was a
past was the source of her effective success today.
works how it is manufactured and how to maintain it.
It was clear to me that she had learned a lot from those she listened to in her life when she was younger... In all honesty I couldn't make heads or tails of whether or not this was for the better or worse for her.. It seemed to do a lot of both. I never really had to worry about her being on her own..the only real risk was her hurting other people...not the other way around. It felt as if her history was the driving force for her toward a new destiny in life...which seemed really directionless until we met. Her complexity as a person drove my curiosity and willingness to listen without judgement or questioning. This made us good friends in the long run. I always felt like with the right people around her...and the right purpose in life..she could end up being a truly happy person..never needing to be driven by anger again. She gifted me my first sawed off shot gun that I still carry till this day, she had special engravings added to the gun to make it unique to me.
Lyla and I had a lot of work ahead of us but the introduction of peaches to our liquor created something different for the people. I remember one day while delivering a batch to the loca town’s bar the bar’s owner tried to lowball us on are already low cost. Lyla grabbed the man by the collar and put her shotgun to his throat and said, “ We can either leave her with the amount we offered or leave here with the amount you offered
coupled with some shotgun shells to your
throat…… Now how’s that
sound?” The bar owner immediately gave
gave us our asking
price. Lyla’s aggression and fearlessness
to admire she had a presence about her
that i really
respected. I’ll never forget when a
group of 4
Del Lobo men asked her, “Is your
sex as cheap
as your liquor, you whore?
let’s see!” As one of them
tossed a peso at her
She looked at the men dead in the eye as she removed her shotgun, the man then said ,”ooooo are you going to
shoot me?” Lyla stared at them and silently said, "you're not
worth bullets from my gun.” and tossed me her shotgun. Almost immediately she unsheathed her
knife from its holster and stabbed the man in the testicles, as he dropped to his knees, I blasted him in
the chest with the shotgun. Before the other 3 men can react, Lyla had shot at them with her pistol killing
them instantly. Instead of saying thank you to me Lyla’s first reaction was, “why did you shoot the son of a bitch should have let him bleed out.” We then grabbed a drink and cemented our friendship and partnership.
Soon enough our products name rung across the country as our affordable prices were unbeatable anyone with a few pesos or quarters could get their hands on something of real quality. it started to eat into the competition’s profitability, specifically the U.S. government profits, they took notice. We hardly advertised as we traveled town to town offering free liquor to the people of the pueblos, word of mouth soon got out and our production ramped up and started to spread rapidly. Public demand for our product was becoming unstoppable and it could not be ignored. By the age of 20 Lyla and I had eliminated all our rivals through strategic and often bloody battles as she showed our competition no mercy we assembled a crew of mercenaries/ relentless men and women who showed their loyalty to us in any way they can most notable among them was Sandra, Maximiliano and Richie. The way Lyla viewed battle was the same way Pantera Negra viewed hunting and that it should be done with patience, resilience and only when needed. We controlled most of the market. Through our rise to power I earned the nick name, “El Tequilero “by law enforcement, Lyla was referred to as, “La Matadora”. With all the wealth we earned I donated a portion of my earnings to the native tribe that raised me and to the Pueblo’s like my parents did. The name of Trujillo’s tequila rang across the West in every saloon and store worth a damn. People started to choose ours over the governments when given the option.
One night while in a saloon I overheard a group of men talk about a man named Manteca. My ears perked up and a fire ignited inside of me as I played close attention to their conversation. The men mentioned that Manteca will be doing a roadblock on the road east of Chuparosa tomorrow Morning. I spent the rest of the night cleaning my sawed-off shotgun, polishing my boots and preparing my best outfit.
The next morning, I saddled up my best stallion, Vodka, I rode east from Chuparosa to settle a score with Manteca. As I approached the check point two men yelled out, “STOP THERE!! We need to see ID or pay the fee of 35 dollars to pass.” I removed myself from my horse and slowly walked up to the men with my hand inside my coat as if I were looking for my wallet. After a moment of silence, I smiled at the men before revealing the sawed off shot gun instantly killing the two men. Manteca who I observed sitting in a chair rose to his feet. I shot him in the left foot bringing him to his knees. I approached Manteca, pointing my shotgun at his face, and said, “7 years ago you ruthlessly killed Raul and Imelda Trujillo you greedy fat fuck. This is for them ...from me... Rodrigo Trujillo.” Before I pressed the trigger Manteca maniacally laughed and said , “You think your dad was innocently killed, he failed to meet his end of the bargain… he was working for the government but turned against us which is why I had him killed.” I paused momentarily before sending Manteca to his inevitable death my boots were soon covered in blood, I looked to the sky and saw what I felt was my parents spirit watching over me. I mounted Vodka, removed 35 dollars from my satchel and placed them on Manteca’s chest and continued traveling east. I had done it; I had finally avenged my parent’s deaths, but Manteca’s last words resonated with me was he telling the truth or was he lying?
Months had passed and one day while traveling to the city to look at properties to purchase my main distillery was ambushed and destroyed by an organization of men that had no recognizable affiliation with anyone..not Manteca, Del Lobo's, Revenue Agents, none of them...Who were they..? I thought to myself..the competition? Couldn't have been...way too organized and with some serious weaponry.. after they stole my moonshine for personal consumption and to be resold. As I arrived the ashes of the building remained warm from the flames. I approached my land and slowly walked through the settled devastation...Some of my best workers and employees..good people that had families that I knew. My head of expansion operations...my production manager...my distribution team..its as if these men knew
where to hit my business the hardest...they knew everything that they weren't supposed to know. Although the building was mostly destroyed it was still a struggle to get through the door Lyla had barricaded herself behind. I looked in the distance and observed Lyla’s lifeless body slumped over her chair. She had taken her own life... outside her room were several dead men dressed in all black, well equipped gear.. Her body looked as if she had went through hell...with several cuts to her face and neck.. several bullet wounds all over her body.. She always said if she goes down it is not going to be easy..and then men that came here had no intentions of leaving anyone alive. I looked through the debris and mess and found a partially burned note from Lyla. The note read, “Richi just gave word that a large group of men was spotted in a nearby town looking for you...they looked like they weren't wasting any time, I'm gonna move our people to our set rendezvous spot and we can come back for the equipment later... they're taking-” the note ends there as the rest of it was burned. After searching through all the chaos I found Sandra, Maximiliano, and Richi’s bodies all shot up. I recovered their bodies and buried them near a beautiful flowing creek with an abundance of wildlife and flowers. My friends were gone...Lyla...such beautiful and sharp energy...a truly great person that i'm glad was finally able to find comfort and purpose in her life a world away from where she came from. I sit sad sometimes wondering about who she could have become if only given enough time to become it. Lyla would always say to me, “This world doesn’t flow quite as easily as the whiskey.” I had that written on her tombstone.
I vowed to avenge their deaths, a few weeks later I scouted and located a camp Revenue Agents...Considering it was the network I was apart of I figured any number of them will
may have all the information I needed.. Fortunately for me I had plenty of time to spare
I patiently observed the group to learn their patterns and weaknesses. It felt strange to
me being alone..Even when I was a kid there were always people working with my dad
constant noise...constant busy work going on...as I grew up and started my own; that
noise never changed nor went away...and with Lyla around you could hear her party
all the way from the mountain tops....But those days were over now....All the noise I
had left were my own thoughts...thoughts of the life I had...the people in it..and who
I was yet to still become.I waited until dawn to strike. I planted explosives nearby to
cause a diversion.. and after it detonated.. they all ran out of their tents towards the
noise.. I picked them off one by one with my Rifle.. making sure to keep one of them
alive. After all the chaos subsided. I tied the remaining living revenue agent to a tree
I asked him some questions that only those involved with my business would know...
I was sure that had the information I needed....I started to slowly cut off chunks of his
flesh. I put a rag in his mouth to stop the screaming from blowing out my own eardrum
I angrily and passionately asked why they did this to me...first my father,my friends..my
life.... everything.....why? I took the rag out of his mouth... The agent revealed to me who
tasked them with not only killing my father but my partners and close friend.. It turned out
to be some of the richest business organizations in the United States.Some of which I knew by
first name...A number of them I thought to be friends of my fathers and partners I have made.. I
realized the sheer level of my business acumen has gotten me. I am contending directly with the most capable and highest powers of U.S. economic control. This realization startled me and made me realize that I was in no position to fight this fight. Maybe in times past I could have found a way...but with the amount of loss that i've taken.. I realized it was not worth it nor possible to do at all. I ended up killing the agent tied to the tree by stabbing him in the heart. I left multiple jugs of our liquor and a pile of money soaked in blood next to their bloody corpse’ to symbolize their greed. This event made me public enemy number one in Mexico and in a country, I have never even been to. The last thing I wanted to do is bring trouble to those I love like Pantera Negra and my native family, so I made the decision to flee north in search of a new life I made the decision to drop my business and completely flee becoming an outlaw.
Weeks had passed being on my own, once again. One day in the town of Valentine I met and befriended a man in the saloon. This man had the appearance of a man not to be messed with as his eyes carried many stories, he complained about the quality of liquor being sold in town as it no longer gave him a good buzz. He shouted at the bartender, “What is this shit teatime?” I slid him a sample of what little I had left from my satchel and said “the names Trujillo and that right there should give you a real kick in the chest brother.” The man looked at me with uncertainty almost as I insulted him, he looked like he was debating to kill me with his bow and arrow he had draped over his back. After a few seconds passed he took a swig from the jug and half smiled and shrugged. He removed him self from the bar and walked over to me and said, “Not bad.” He began to walk away from me until he stopped turned around and said, “The names Wahkan and I’m not your fucking brother.” I watched as he walked out of the bar and stood out front to smoke a cigarette. This man for some reason intrigued me, he had somewhat of a mystique to him. I remembered I had some Cigars in my satchel that Lyla had gifted me. I walked outside and stood next to Wahkan. I lit my cigar and handed him a fresh one from my satchel, which he accepted with no word. We stood there in silence as we both smoked. I said, “Hey uhh I didn’t mean any disrespect in there by calling you brother.” He responded with, “I guess it’s alright …you didn’t know better but now you do. Its not just a term I like to hear thrown around loosely.” I responded with, “Understood” He whistled for his horse and as he mounted, he asked where I was staying. I told him I just came from Mexico, I and that I really do not have a place to stay. He looked ahead and said, “Well you have a horse right?.” ..”Hell yeah” I responded…”We’ll then keep up.” As he galloped his horse kicking a wave of dirt in the air. I mounted Vodka and followed Wahkan out of town.
As we approached the campsite, I hitched my horse. Wahkan walked to the campsite while I stood back and watched. I observed a group of diverse individuals all uniquely different surround the campfire as one man sat in the middle. I noticed another man with an eye patch sitting by the campfire calmly strumming a guitar. By the time I saw him he had already stopped looking at me. He looked familiar but I couldn't tell at a glance..Everyone here seemed comfortable yet productive..As if they all had their own personal peace of mind and diligence. I could feel the confidence of all them as they each glanced at me with judgement and disinterest. I built up the courage to walk to the campfire and as I approached I heard lively conversations and laughter but as I got closer the man in the middle stood up and everyone else got silent and focused their full attention on me. I will never forget the image of the man wearing a black gamblers hat, a blue Irwin coat, with a white flask dangling from his gun belt. This man had a presence about him...it was almost as if he commanded attention effortlessly. I assumed he was their leader as everyone stood quiet as he got up, everyone understood his social queues and were aware of what he wanted them to do. He looked at me with a smirk of disbelief and said, “Can I help you friend? You seem lost.” He looked at me as if he were ready to shoot my head off. I took a moment to think, as I thought, I was for sure going to die. After a few seconds I said, “ I'm just a man whose lost my purpose...the people I love... and the life I once lived.. I no longer belong to where I was born...I dont really belong anywhere anymore. I've learned a lot in my time...and I only hope to continue to learn more.” Chesmu looked at me as if he was looking into my soul with no emotion on his face. I couldn’t tell if he liked or hated my answer. He sighed and said,”You can rest here for the night.. We'll speak in the morning.” I took a corner of the camp away from everyone's tents and they gave me a bedroll to sleep on.. I spent the rest of the night listening to the sounds of their conversations and feeling their energy from a distance...I was nervous..I didn't know anything about these people and felt really out of place. How would any of them be able to understand me or the life i've lived..? Each of them seemed to have a lot of life experience like myself...I could feel it.
Over the next few days I learned that they had high levels of street intelligence, they knew how to disappear from an area quickly and stay on the move. They were constantly one step ahead of those who wanted them dead. I learned how to fight better than I ever thought possible with them..They showed me their love for each other....their dedication to each other...their commitment to each other...They did violence to anyone who threatened their safety in anyway. No matter how many of us happened to be present during any situation..we always operated with the same amount of power and efficiency...They had clear military training and street smarts. Chesmu spent time teaching me how to understand the human brain and how people think. He taught me how similar we all are as humans...and how this can be used socially to you advantage. I told him all about Lyla and our past experiences...the business we built...the life we lived...The people I lost and how I lost her...Chesmu responded by telling me about his upbringing in Saint Denis...His life with Robin...and what ultimately lead to him being where he is now with the people hes with. Although I stayed thinking it was a convenient strategy.. overtime I really grew to love them and devoted myself to this brotherhood. After a few weeks of being on the outside not involved in much of the gang’s activities, their leader Chesmu invited me out for a ride one day. I told him even more about my past as I grew to trust him. Chesmu is a wise and intelligent man.. he taught me many things indirectly. Teaching in this way allowed me to fill in blanks on my own. Allowing me to have a better understanding of what is being taught effectively and efficiently. He is way wiser than my father and Pantera Negra ever were.. He told me one thing I’ll always remember, “I can’t tell you or show you what it takes to make it here that’s something you have to find on your own, be yourself and trust your instincts. Be loyal to the brotherhood as this is all we have in the end you’ll either stand on your own two feet or fall flat on your face” Later that night I sat near my bed roll and watched the gang sit around the camp site enjoying their stew. I laid my head and looked into the sky and all I can think about is that a few weeks ago I no longer had the desire to live after I’ve lost so much this gang revived me, their views, customs and structure all were important to me, I’ve grown to love these savages...Lyla would have loved these people...this place...with these people is where she belonged....I now see what Pantera Negra meant by my path being set....
I had to lose everything I wanted to gain everything I needed.”