As I wrote yesterday, the Monument de la Renaissance Africaine gave me reason to start paying attention to the context of this continent where I am now living.

On Monday, our trip to Ile de Goree drove home that point.

Goree is a 30-minute ferry ride from the Port of Dakar. The day was sunny and very warm. It was lovely to be on the water. As we approached the landing for this petite island, my eyes wandered here and there, captured by the splashes of color: brightly painted 18^th century residences, vibrant pink and purple bougainvillea, women in traditional Senegalese dresses and headresses .

The entire island is a World Heritage site, which means that Goree is in the process of being historically preserved. The narrow alleyways are lined with graceful colonial homes, some are stucco over native stone and some simply native stones, fitted together so perfectly that sliding a broomstraw in the cracks would be impossible. Wrought iron balconies on the second level and open courtyards off the flower-lined cobblestone paths invite romantic curiosity.

Goree is quiet. There are no roads and no cars. The whole island is only 56 acres, so it takes about 10 minutes to walk from one end to the other. Its small beach is surrounded by boulders and crashing breakers. Commerce is limited to art, artifacts and refreshments. It wasn’t always.

Goree was a slave trading station. On one end of the island is the Castel, erected by the Dutch. On the other, is an ancient fort. Goree’s most famous building is La Maison des Escalaves, built in 1776 by the Dutch to conduct slave trading. On the ground floor, holding chambers segregated men from women and women from children. The slaves were kept alive, but just enough to survive their transport. Dungeons, barely large enough for one person, commonly held five to ten. A dim, dank narrow passage ends at a doorway that opens onto the ocean, so that the prisoners could be loaded directly onto boats.

From the crowded slave quarters, a double curving stairway leads to the second level and an ocean-front terrace. Here, the merchant conducted business, and his family lived in luxurious comfort above the human cargo stored below. Now a museum, the house has an appropriately somber and reverent atmosphere. Docents offered moving portrayals of the house’s grim history. Although only 300 of the 20 million Africans who were enslaved moved through Goree each year, the island’s value is indisputable: a reminder of the suffering inflicted on Africa and its people.

As I wandered through the quiet streets, having left Nathalie and Seal, in the shade for a mid-day snooze, I passed by houses under renovation and courtyards where women were braiding hair extensions. Kids were swimming on the beach and playing soccer in front of the school and large 19^th century church. On an exceptionally beautiful lane, there was a well-tended garden and beautiful gate. The name plate read: Residence George Soros.

I thought it telling that this icon of philanthropy dedicated to social change and social justice would have a home on Goree Island.