Photo – ceayr

Dad was taking me on a tour of Savannah, his hometown, stopping in front of a grand French-style home.   Grand Historic Home – Tours Daily read the sign.   A group of tourists milled about.

“Our family lived here for generations,” Dad said.

“Lived here?  They were rich?” I asked.

“No, honey.  They worked here.  They were slaves, then, after the war, they were servants.”

I remembered the stories I’d learned in school.  People in chains, treated as less than human, subjected to all manner of inhumane treatment.  I stare at the tourists snapping photos and laughing, confusion twisting my face.

For Friday Fictioneers



12 thoughts on “Tourists

  1. Interesting take. It is unfortunate and plane wrong people have background from being servants or slaves. You know they didn’t have a choice and if they were servants were probably paid poorly if at all. People are crazy sometimes.

  2. If I was there, I’d have gotten more mad than confused. ‘Cause people are either laughing ’cause they don’t care or because they don’t know. And not caring or not knowing is equally disrespectful. The fact that they didn’t consider that type of history to be upsetting or even worth knowing about is incredibly upsetting.
    Maybe my feelings are exaggerated, but people have gotta learn to respect other people’s racial background and their history. The fact that they don’t study much about the history of other races only proves how little they care.

    1. You’re right. This story was a little autobiographical. Here in the states it happens all the time. In my dad’s hometown in Charleston, there is a building that was once used as a slave trading house, where human beings were bought and sold, it was converted to a flea market. Really strange. And there are so many homes that were former slave plantations where you can tour, they’re just tourist attractions. I get that it’s a part of history, and history isn’t always pretty, but I would expect more of a solemn mood from people.

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