Barracoon: The Story of the Last "Black Cargo"

by Zora Neale Hurston

I wanted to ask that, but I want to ask you many things. I want to know who you are and how you came to be a slave, and to what part of Africa do you belong, and how you fared as a slave, and how you have managed as a free man?” Again his head was bowed for a time. When he lifted his wet face again he murmured, “Thankee Jesus! Somebody come ast about Cudjo! I want tellee somebody who I is, so maybe dey go in de Afficky soil some day and callee my name and somebody dere say, ‘Yeah, I know Kossula.’ I want you everywhere you go to tell everybody whut Cudjo say, and how come I in Americky soil since de 1859 and never see my people no mo’. I can’t talkee plain, you unnerstand me, but I calls it word by word for you so it won’t be too crooked for you. “My name is not Cudjo Lewis. It Kossula.