The Bones of the Baobab Tree

A story of slaves. Based on fact, embellished in empathy.

Main character Nicholas. Born on a plantation in 1767. Taken from his mother aged seven, by his Masters’ worker Barn, who heads up the boys for the Moloch cult. Nicholas is initiated. Seeds are sown for Nicholas to become a deranged psychotic. He has a penchant for white females.

Khat, delicate, timorous. Shunned by mother and siblings is raised by her grandmother En; a high priestess versed in voodoo. Is En a force for good or evil? Khat is taken, sold to a wealthy plantation owner. With his first wife he was kind, generous, loving. She died in childbirth. He remarried a harridan, a malicious, vindictive woman. Hence: he became a malevolent, obese, caricature, the antithesis of a South Carolina gentleman. Beth the head cook enfolds Khat. Does she influence Nicholas’s and Khat’s destiny?

Is the novel about white oppression and black submission, or does good triumph?

Plucked from their traditional culture in Africa. Pitched into a white culture of manners, finery, folly and frivolity. Their lives could be forever destroyed. Or could they draw on their own native spirit, the supernatural with a tincture of voodoo – to survive?

The topic thought to be stale, even arid. But my story not only touch the heart of human nature. It pierces its very bowels.

“Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage.” Richard Lovelace.