My Name Is Not Angelica

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Snatched from her home in Africa, carried across the sea in a plague-ridden ship, she finds herself standing on the platform of a slave market in the West Indies, on the island of St. John, staring down into a ring of strange white faces. Pointing to her, the auctioneer shouts, “Raisha, the daughter of a sub-chief, comely, strong . . .” From the crowd comes the first bid, then another. Raisha smiles the forced smile she learned on the ship. And so begins her life as a house slave on the plantation of Jost van Prok.