Walking in a city called Dakar, 
a tall dark man approached me as 
I sat down on a bench eating a mango, 
my body was wet with sweat as I rested 
my feet from the streets, I shook my 
head because I didn't speak French, 
I told him that I was from the States, 
a far away place, he pointed toward the 
ocean without any notion, telling me 
there is an Island across the way 
where people lived and die before 
their time, ships came and carried 
them away everyday, he took me to this 
place they called Goree Island, he 
told me to be strong and if I pain, 
we wouldn't stay long, 
Goree Island was beautiful, 
full of tropical plants as 
tourists came to see a place where 
history stood still on top of a large 
hill, such a beautiful Island to have 
paid such a heavy bill, Tourist listened 
as the storyteller told his stories, 
walking away with their heads bent to the ground, 
a sad history flashed once again 
in my face, all of a sudden sharp pains intruded me, 
you see, Goree Island, 
the last passage, the place I most 
remembered along the coast of West Africa, 
the last passage for folks away from 
home to other places, traveling the deep 
Sea against their Will to be!