Our sailing ship docked at Fotoba. Scores of naked black bodies were lined up, shackled together, heads bowed, skin shining in the tropical sun. Our captain ordered the casks of rum and boxes of guns unloaded. Then purse in hand, he strode over to the slave trader sitting in a mahogany chair in the shade of a huge kapok tree.

This scene from the 18th century blurred my vision. What I actually saw on January 20, 2006, was a stone and concrete dock, perhaps 200 yards long, completely devoid of life. No people, no dogs, no goats, not even any birds. What had been a port of debarkation 200 years ago was now just a relic of a bygone era.

Our expedition team, none of whom had ever been to Fotoba, expected to be greeted by the local people. None came. At the foot of the dock was a marble plaque imbedded in tile: CENTENAIRE DE L'ENTENTE CORDIALE, FRANCO-BRITANNIQUE (1904-2004) Iles de Loos, 30 Avril 2005 - proof that Great Britain had turned the islands over to France in 1904 and celebrated the act in 2004.

The water supply of the village of Fotoba is dependent on this hydraulics project by France. Behind the marker was proof that France once ruthlessly ruled West Africa, the remains of a prison where those who offended the colonial ruler were incarcerated. It reminded me of Devil's Island, the prison in French Guiana so eloquently written about in Papillon.

When I visited Devil's Island in 1976, it was being turned into a tourist resort with cabanas and cafes. Not so at Fotoba. Just ruins, blood stains, iron bars, and soulful graffiti.

We walked up the path thinking there must be a village nearby. A red, white, and green sign announced a village hydraulics project donated by France. Behind it was a huge metal container with hoses running from it in all directions. A water collection and distribution unit? Maybe. Since the islands are so small, there is probably a shortage of fresh water.

Voices! Two little girls raced down the path toward us shouting, "Foté, foté" (white men, white men). They stared at us, then fled into a mud house. I realized we were in the middle of a Christian compound - a church, a health center, a parsonage, a cemetery - the Anglican Church of St. Jean le Divin (St. John the Divine).

The French colonial prison, reminiscent of Devil's Island, kept political prisoners at Fotoba. The girls returned with Alseni Soumah, an old member of the congregation, and Marthé Williams, widow of a former priest. We toured the grounds and discovered the church was founded in 1874 by British missionaries. There are 100 members, 80 active.

The ill-kept cemetery contained six visible graves. The oldest grave, no date, held the remains of the carpenter who came to repair the roof, fell off, and died. The Rev. Alexandre Maddy was born in 1936 in Freetown, Sierra Leone, and died July 20, 1991, in Conakry. Thomas Hiller Cramar Payol, professor of physical education, was born in 1942 in Fotoba and died February 3, 2005 in Fotoba. (Ironically, Payol was a teacher of Bah Oury, a member of our team.) Samuel Morgan died in 1980, Isaac Morgan in 1997, Emmanuel Williams (Marthé's husband) in 1998.

The town of Fotoba. We took a quick tour of the village, finding only a few old women, a senile man, and a group of small boys and girls. The men were out fishing. There were fewer than ten homes, one shop, and several sheds. What had once been a thriving slave trading port, then a colonial prison town was now a tumble-down Christian village struggling to survive.

(Next week: Tamara, fortress against time)

Dr. Mohamed Baldi stands amidst the ruins of Fotoba prison. Since the end of the French colonial period in 1960, the jungle has reclaimed the buildings. The grave of Thomas Payol, professor of physical education. The Anglican Church of St. John the Divine was founded in 1874 by Britsh missionaries.