{"product_id":"african-town-isbn-9780593322888","title":"African Town","description":"\u003cb\u003eChronicling the story of the last Africans brought illegally to America in 1860, \u003ci\u003eAfrican Town \u003c\/i\u003eis a powerful and stunning novel-in-verse.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn 1860, long after the United States outlawed the importation of enslaved laborers, 110 men, women and children from Benin and Nigeria were captured and brought to Mobile, Alabama aboard a ship called \u003ci\u003eClotilda\u003c\/i\u003e. Their journey includes the savage Middle Passage and being hidden in the swamplands along the Alabama River before being secretly parceled out to various plantations, where they made desperate attempts to maintain both their culture and also fit into the place of captivity to which they'd been delivered. At the end of the Civil War, the survivors created a community for themselves they called African Town, which still exists to this day. Told in 14 distinct voices, including that of the ship that brought them to the American shores and the founder of African Town, this powerfully affecting historical novel-in-verse recreates a pivotal moment in US and world history, the impacts of which we still feel today.\u003cb\u003e\u003cu\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eAfrican Town\u003c\/i\u003e:\u003c\/u\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eA 2023 Scott O’Dell Award Winner\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eA 2024 Sequoya Book Award Nominee (OK)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA 2023-2024 South Carolina Book Award Nominee\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003eA 2022 NPR Books We Love List Pick\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eA 2022-2023 Yellowhammer YA Book Award Honor (AL)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA 2022 Great Reads from Great Places Reading List Pick (AL)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e“African Town\u003c\/i\u003e is a \u003cb\u003estunningly powerful \u003c\/b\u003eand \u003cb\u003evisceral novel\u003c\/b\u003e.” —\u003ci\u003eOprah Daily\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A \u003cb\u003ehaunting\u003c\/b\u003e,\u003cb\u003e beautifully told\u003c\/b\u003e history.” —\u003ci\u003eNPR\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e★ “The authors have done a \u003cb\u003eremarkable\u003c\/b\u003e job of weaving the stories of the characters together and telling the story from both the perspective of the slaves and the people who orchestrated their purchase. Though this story is fictional it is based on a vast amount of research that was done on the actual people who participated in this story. . . This story \u003cb\u003ewill inspire readers\u003c\/b\u003e to do some research to find out more about the real events that took place. . . \u003cb\u003eNot to be missed\u003c\/b\u003e.” —\u003ci\u003eSchool Library Connection\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003cb\u003estarred review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e★ “Inspired by the true story of the last American slave ship, African Town is an \u003cb\u003eepic\u003c\/b\u003e . . . \u003cb\u003ecompelling\u003c\/b\u003e novel that doubles as an \u003cb\u003eimportant \u003c\/b\u003ehistoric document,\u003cb\u003e invaluable\u003c\/b\u003e for both classroom use and independent reading.” —\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003cb\u003estarred review\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e★ “\u003ci\u003eAfrican Town \u003c\/i\u003eis a book that \u003cb\u003eshould be both taught and treasured\u003c\/b\u003e.”—\u003ci\u003eBookPage\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003cb\u003estarred review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e★ “This \u003cb\u003egripping\u003c\/b\u003e novel . . . [is] told from the perspectives of a myriad characters directly and indirectly involved in this event . . . where each \u003cb\u003eunique voice\u003c\/b\u003e contributes to the greater whole. \u003cb\u003eCarefully executed\u003c\/b\u003e passages appear in various forms of free verse and poetry, and each one is specific to the particular character represented. This choice makes the individual contributors not only \u003cb\u003ecome alive\u003c\/b\u003e but also stand out from one another as the narrative progresses. \u003cb\u003eExtensively researched and purposefully designed\u003c\/b\u003e, this book brings together details of events from 1859 to 1901 and culminates in several pages of back matter that reinforce the entire work. VERDICT This \u003cb\u003ehonest, heartrending, and inspiring\u003c\/b\u003e story is an \u003cb\u003eimportant and necessary\u003c\/b\u003e contribution to historical fiction collections for young adult readers.” —\u003ci\u003eSchool Library Journal\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003cb\u003estarred review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“An \u003cb\u003eambitious\u003c\/b\u003e verse novel told in many voices . . . The authors employ a range of poetic forms, resulting in an \u003cb\u003einsightful, quickly paced\u003c\/b\u003e telling that \u003cb\u003ecenters tradition and resilience\u003c\/b\u003e.” —\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The \u003cb\u003ehighly personal\u003c\/b\u003e stories in verse reveal the different aspects of this illegal trade and the impact on both the Black enslaved people and the White crew members. . . The Africans’ attempts to hold true to their home cultures and traditions—most were Yoruba—as they try to adapt to their new reality come across most \u003cb\u003epowerfully\u003c\/b\u003e. Enhanced by \u003cb\u003erich backmatter\u003c\/b\u003e, this is a \u003cb\u003estrong addition\u003c\/b\u003e to literature about slavery.” —\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“A \u003cb\u003ethoughtful portrait\u003c\/b\u003e of how trauma informs and inhibits identity making. The end matter is a wealth of \u003cb\u003efascinating\u003c\/b\u003e information, from the author’s note that details Waters and Lathams’ research process, to a list that elaborates on the characters’ lives, to an account of what modern day Africatown (formerly Africa Town) looks like.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books\u003c\/i\u003eIrene Latham \u0026amp; Charles Waters are “Poetic Forever Friends” first and collaborators second. They are the writing team behind \u003ci\u003eCan I Touch Your Hair? Poems of Race, Mistakes, and Friendship\u003c\/i\u003e, which was awarded a Charlotte Huck Honor, and \u003ci\u003eDictionary for a Better World: Poems, Quotes, and Anecdotes from A to Z\u003c\/i\u003e, an NCTE Notable Poetry Book. They share a passion for poetry and are committed to creating  meaningful books for young readers. This is their first novel together.\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eKOSSOLA\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eOur Story\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBe still, my children. Listen with your ears\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand your heart. Our story starts with this\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emark on my right cheek, these chipped teeth.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSee? This is how you know I am who I say I am.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDe town where I was born is called Bantè.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt’s nowhere near here, not in African Town, not\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ein Alabama. This town’s way across de ocean,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eon de west coast of Africa in de kingdom\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eof Dahomey. My family’s home was a round,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003etwo-­story adobe with a terrace. Surrounded by hills,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eabout eight days’ walk to de sea. Someday maybe\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eyou will see de world de way I have seen it\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ein Bantè. Then you will know how de sun\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ekisses de earth, melts like honey over de land—­\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eit’s no wonder I believed all of life would be\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebright and sweet. No wonder it still shocks me\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethat de world can be so hard, so dark.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut that darkness, it brought me here.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt brought \u003ci\u003eyou\u003c\/i\u003e here. This is our story. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eKOSSOLA\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eMarket Day\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy favorite day of de week is market day.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDe market sits right in front of de king’s\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecompound, which is located near de center\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eof Bantè. Villagers come from miles around,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epassing through de eight gates in de tall\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esolid walls that enclose our town on all sides,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elike a fortress. Dey come to buy goats, cows, yams,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efried wàrà, fùfú, palm roots, and yards of lace.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Hurry up, ọmọ mi,” my ìyá sings in Yorùbá,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elike I’m still a child. She says I’ll always be her\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eprecious boy, even though I’m eighteen years\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eold now. “Your bàbá and bàbá àgbà\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esaid you must rope the goats.” I come from\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ea family of farmers—­not royalty, but rich enough\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto own our own animal herds. On market day,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eall of us older children help out while\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ede younger ones race between de stalls\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand bang homemade drums. When there’s a lull,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI sneak away to find Adérónké̩, who waits for me\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eat de trunk of a mahogany tree. “Watch where\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI put my feet,” she says, scrambling higher\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebefore my eyes can find her first foothold.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHer laughter rains down on me, soft\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand shimmery. Teasing me, challenging me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI grunt with my efforts, and when I slip,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI try again and again until I make it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTogether we watch de market from above,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003etwo bright birds singing our own song\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003euntil de sun drops behind Bantè’s walls\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand de other villagers head for home.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“A good day,” Bàbá àgbà says. We carry\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eonly three cases of palm oil and two goats\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eback home. When I grab hold of de goats’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehead-­ropes, Bàbá àgbà puts a hand\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eon my brother Tayo’s shoulder. “Stay close,”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehe says, “or I will sell you to the Portuguese\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efor tobacco.” Bàbá àgbà’s eyes sparkle,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebut his fingers hold firm. I throw my shoulders back,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ekeep my voice light. “Why would dey want Tayo,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewhen dey can have me?” We’ve all heard stories\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eabout people getting snatched by King Glèlè’s\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esoldiers and being sold to traders who carry them\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eacross de sea. But that doesn’t happen\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ein Bantè, with our walls and gates and families\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eall looking out for one another. Besides,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBàbá àgbà doesn’t even like tobacco.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBàbá àgbà’s cheeks lift, and he gives me\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ea playful shove. “Those traders don’t want you,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eKossola. You talk too much.” De goats follow\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eas Tayo and I pull ahead of Bàbá àgbà,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebut not too far ahead.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eTIMOTHY\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eMaster of Disguise\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs the sun drops, I turn over the wheel of the \u003ci\u003eRoger B. Taney\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto my first mate so I can dress for dinner. Soon I’ll join\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emy guests for drinks, smoking, and chatting. Oh, how\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI love being on the water! Gives a man\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ea chance to dream, and to count successes.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd there have been many since I’ve moved to this state some\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003etwenty-four years ago. Since then, me and my brothers Jim and Burns\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edominate the shipping routes in Alabama. Our ancestors would\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebe dancing with pride.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs I gallop toward fifty years old, I’ve given my family’s\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ename dignity—­for my sweet, young wife, Mary, who isn’t\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebut half my age, for our future children, and for my brothers, too.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs I enter the dining room, my guests greet me with respect.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Good evening, Captain Meaher,” they say.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Evenin’, everyone,” I reply, tipping my hat.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI may be Irish by nationality, and a Mainer by birth,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebut when necessary, I can transform myself into\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eeither a Southern swashbuckler or a Southern gentleman,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edepending on what’s needed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eKOSSOLA\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eDreaming of Orò\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFor four years I’ve been training\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto be a soldier, getting ready for my\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003einitiation into orò, de highest level\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eof our Yorùbá religion. “I’m ready now,”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI tell Bàbá. He shakes his head.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Soldier first. You must earn orò.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe hands me de spear, shows me again\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehow to settle my weight into my thighs,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ereminds me to use my sight. “Keep your\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eeyes open, and the spear will follow.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI drop into de proper stance, but my mind’s\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003estuck on orò. I want to be part of de secret\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esociety of men \u003ci\u003eright now\u003c\/i\u003e. I don’t want to wait\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efor de elders to say I’m ready. I \u003ci\u003eam\u003c\/i\u003e ready.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNo one’s more respected than de orò.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDey decide which punishment fits which crime.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDe king may have ultimate say,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebut even he listens to de orò. I want to know\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewhat it’s like to sit in de woods for days\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewith fellow orò, deciding de fate of others.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI want to know that kind of respect and power.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEven de market shuts down and waits\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efor de orò’s return. “Higher,” Bàbá instructs,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand I lift de spear. If I can’t make de years pass\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eany faster, at least I’ve got this time alone\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewith Bàbá. Perhaps I can impress him,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003econvince him I’m ready. My eyes zero in\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eon de target, and I heave my spear.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTIMOTHY\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Bet\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe smoky room turns from laughter to seriousness\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efaster than a water-­wheel when our conversation spins\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto Congress’s refusal to reopen the international slave trade.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI pound my fist on the table. “How do they expect us\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto make a living? We need slave labor, and we need it cheap.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe gentlemen nod their heads, and talk\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eswings to the possibility of our state, and others,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eseceding from the Union. “We \u003ci\u003eshould\u003c\/i\u003e secede,” I argue.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Handle our own slave trade, set our own prices.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt’s the only way to turn a profit.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMr. Deacon, a businessman from New York City,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eshakes his head. “Well,” he says, “until that happens,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe threat of being lynched will disabuse anyone of\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003enotions about bringing slaves in illegally.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI cough his words away. “Deacon,” I say.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You put more faith in the government\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethan I do. No one’s going to lynch \u003ci\u003eme\u003c\/i\u003e.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMr. Ayers, another Northeasterner, who specializes\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ein the production of pills, pipes up. “You can’t bring Africans\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewithin sniffing distance of America without being caught.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMr. Matthews, a Louisiana farmer of the highest order,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eshouts, “Of course it can happen. Matter of fact,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI’ll bet you all a hundred dollars!” Well, that gets my attention.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Gentlemen,” I say, my voice ominous as a windless sky.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’ll wager you all a thousand dollars\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethat I can smuggle a good number of slaves back\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto Mobile without the authorities knowing about it.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe room erupts with shouts and laughter,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebefore we all shake hands to seal the bet.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHang me? Let the government try.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA bet is a bet—­and I aim to win.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"G.P. 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