the moment of his capture was swift and he had not a moment to tell them goodbye - the weight of his lost family had built and built during the journey across the atlantic and consumed him completely.
he spent his life doubled over - during the day, in front of a hot kiln, and at night, praying in vain, talking to the moon in front of the quarantine pier and washing his tired feet and working wounds in the mild seawater.
only with the first bird song would he return to the slave quarters, crestfallen, embittered and homesick. years passed, and joăo grew ever older and sadder, more broken by the weight of his longing until one day, he didn't return to his shack with the rising sun.
