Many years ago I met a wise old man in Antigua by the name of Glentis Cole. He took me on a ride around his island and we stood atop a hillside by a pile of old stones and he told me that this was his grandmother's house and where he'd been born. The whole area had been a sugar plantation where she'd been brought as a slave to work.
That night he came over and we sat in a small bar on a beach, the moonlight dancing on the water, the sound of reggae wafting through the air and the stench of rum on our breath and I asked him.
"How do you deal with knowing that your family were forcibly removed from their homes, half way around the world to be used as slaves?"
He said to me, "Look around you, boy. You work in an office for 50 weeks a year in a cold, grey city and save up to come here to my home for 2 weeks. Thanks to the sacrifices of my Grandma, I live in the most beautiful place in the world as a free man and want for nothing. I'm sure my ancestors left behind in Africa weren't so lucky. Slave trade was evil but even from evil came some good. I am a lucky man. I have no axe to grind"
We stayed in touch until his son emailed me 8 years ago to let me know that he died aged 87. I never forgot our conversations. Real humanity.
Nice to Atlas back to full health.
Best wishes to the three of you, have a great weekend :-)