There stood a faded sign attached to a rusty iron post. It announced the site to be part of something called “The Slave Route,” but it provided no further information. With the sun racing downward in the western sky, I paced about briefly, snapped a few photographs, and then finally collected myself as the wind whistled through the cane. I tried mightily to conjure some sense of the horrors that had transpired nearby, and of the abundant wealth and pleasure that the sweat of the dead had procured for others. In the moment, there was little else I could do to render proper homage to the
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