“The African slave trade is the most dramatic chapter in the story of human existence. Therefore a great literature has grown up about it. Innumerable books and papers have been written. These are supplemented by the vast lore that has been blown by the breath of inarticulate ones across the seas and lands of the world.”

In opening Barracoon, Hurston offers a scathing criticism of how literature around the slave trade has always been from the perspective of enslavers. She offers this criticism to, in turn, pose Barracoon as a challenge to that history. Kossola’s life story—told from his perspective—provides a point of view in the discourse that’s rare yet vitally important.

“Oh, Lor’, I know it you call my name. Nobody don’t callee me my name from cross de water but you. You always callee me Kossula, jus’ lak I in de Affica soil!”

When Hurston calls out for Kossola, he knows it’s her because she’s the only one left who calls him by his African name. His name, “Kossola,” represents his heritage and his identity. Thus by calling him Kossola, Hurston establishes a sense of familiarity: She knows the “real” him. Meanwhile, his American name—”Cudjo”—symbolizes his bondage. Likewise, it’s a symbol of his forced assimilation into a culture that isn’t his own.

“Seeing the anguish in his face, I regretted that I had come to worry this captive in a strange land. He read my face and said, ‘Excusee me I cry. I can’t help it when I hear de name call. Oh Lor’. I no see Afficky soil no mo’!”

At many points in Barracoon, Kossola interrupts the narrative to express his grief over losing his home. Kossola’s sorrow is a fundamental element of Barracoon, as his life story involves so much loss. Hurston shows that she genuinely cares for him as a person by including these expressions of heavy emotion in the narrative rather than leaving them out.