I have not told you a story for a long time; here is one of my very own on the occasion of the abolition of slavery, that crime against humanity, which is part and parcel of our history?

Bamboula is now miles away from his inland village of 18th century Mozambique. His lonely walk to the coast in search of a rare shell is coming to an end. The sea breeze caresses his scarred cheek and the sound of waves dying on the beach at the dawn of adulthood sings the hymn of freedom in his ears.

In fact, a week earlier, Bamboula turned 13, he is no more a child but a strong young man who now has to prove himself as such. Adolescence is unknown to his tribe.

Betrayed as belonging to a different tribe by the scar on his cheek, he is suddenly attacked and captured by the slave raiders of the coastal village.

Chained to fellow captives, he is forced into a ship under the whip of a ruthless black man. Some pale-skinned men they have never seen before are handing over some guns, cloth and barrels to the village chief. They later will understand that they have been exchanged for these articles?

Bamboula is lost, while the ship sails away from the coast towards the unknown; he can hear the drumming of his people looking for him. This tam-tam dying in the winds is his last memory of his land and family.

During the long and painful voyage to Mauritius, Bamboula is fed once a day with an unpalatable mixture which would not have been good enough for the animals in his village.

Outside the supposedly recreational hour when his co-detainees and himself are forced to dance on the mast, they spend the whole day in the stench of the hold, where they are crammed up in urine and vomit.

When some of them die, they are simply thrown out into the sea. Those who try to fight back are severely whipped.

The coastline of Mauritius is finally in sight after weeks of torture. The human cargo is disembarked on Paradise Island, which rapidly turns into a nightmare for Bamboula.

He is brought to a public place where he is sold by auction. He feels stripped of his dignity, being touched, felt and at times smelt by would-be buyers who want to make sure that the goods are worth buying.

Bamboula is finally awarded to Mr de Versailles who takes him to his sugar estate. There he is introduced to Zan, a slave overseer who explains that he is expected to wake up with the first rays of the sun and toil in the fields until dusk.

He will be staying in the slave quarters called ?cases des noirs?, which consist of thatched huts. He will get a monthly ration of staple food and a pair of trousers and a shirt from his master. He will neither be paid for his work, nor will he be allowed to do any business outside his master?s.

Days pass by painfully. He is called with other fellow slaves to witness the hanging of Fuyard, a slave who has tried to escape several times. Sometimes on a Sunday, he manages to join the others on the nearby beach to sing and dance the sega, a beat which reminds him of his native land.

During one of these meetings, Bamboula falls in love with Michelle, a young domestic who becomes pregnant. Bamboula is happy but not for long: Michelle and her baby are sold to Mr de Versailles?s brother, who lives in another village.

Out of fatigue and lack of medical care, Bamboola dies at the age of 31 after having fertilized our land with his sweat and blood. His coffin is ditched in the slave cemetery but his memory remains among the many others who against their will were forced to our island? the first builders we should never forget.

Alain JEANNOT