NATCHEZ &8212; Once upon a time &8212; the 18th century &8212; there was a prince. An African prince, from what is now Liberia, who was captured by a rival army and sold into slavery. He was eventually sold to a man who had a farm near Natchez.

Originally thought to be named Ibrahima, recent research reveals the prince&8217;s name was Abdul-Rahman.

Thomas Foster did not believe Abdul-Rahman&8217;s protestations that he was royalty and had family in Africa who could provide gold in exchange for his freedom.

For 20 years, Abdul-Rahman was invaluable to Foster. The prince was literate and even kept Foster&8217;s books.

One day, a man named John Cox recognized him. The prince&8217;s family had nursed Cox back to health after he fell ill in Africa.

Cox tried to buy Abdul-Rahman&8217;s freedom, but the prince was too valuable to Foster.

After years of coaxing on Cox&8217;s part, Foster agreed to sell Abdul-Rahman his freedom. Once free, the prince toured the northern states trying to raise money to free his children.

Sensing the political atmosphere was turning against him, and fearing Foster would go back on the deal, Abdul-Rahman returned to Africa.

He fell ill and died shortly after he arrived in Africa, before he could ever make it home.

Two of his children gained their freedom and also went to Africa, but several others stayed behind. Their descendants still live in Adams County and surrounding counties.

This is the story director Andrea Kalin wants to tell in film. Kalin is directing a documentary that will tell the prince&8217;s story, and Thursday, she interviewed about 35 of Abdul-Rahman&8217;s living descendants.

The film, funded by organizations like the National Endowment for the Humanities and the National Black Programming Consortium, will likely air on PBS in about a year.

&8220;(The producers) felt that after 9/11, we all needed spiritual healing and community,&8221; a story the prince&8217;s tale exemplifies, Kalin said.

&8220;It&8217;s a prince to pauper story. He was promised this magnificent future, and he was not only denied that future, he was denied his freedom.&8221;

To cope, he drew from his sense of self and his faith, Kalin said. The Muslim prince upsets many stereotypes, she said.

&8220;Many people don&8217;t realize that up to 30 percent of slaves that came to America were Muslim.

&8220;That didn&8217;t last past the first generation, but their customs are still evident in blues and some of the South&8217;s food.&8221;

Kalin herself is Jewish, and she said she saw the film as an opportunity to build bridges.

Interviewing the descendants at Greenwood Plantation was one of the last shoots and one of the last scenes, she said.

&8220;It was really moving. We felt the end of the story was not Abdul-Rahman&8217;s death but the lives of his descendants.&8221;

One of his descendants reversed his ancestor&8217;s footsteps. Artemus Gaye lived in Liberia until civil war broke out. His father, a high-ranking government official, was nearly killed, and Gaye&8217;s life was in peril at several points.

The worst was when he was mistaken for a rebel soldier and was taken to be executed. On his way, someone recognized him, identified him and saved his life.

Gaye&8217;s family fled Liberia, and he enrolled in a university in Zimbabwe. He received a scholarship to study in the states, and he has not been home since 1994.

Once he was in America, Gaye&8217;s friends encouraged him to find out and talk about his family history.

&8220;It&8217;s important to know where we come from. It gives you a grounding,&8221; Gaye said.

After hearing stories from his great great-aunt in Liberia, he knew his family came from Mississippi, and an ancestor named Simon moved to Liberia.

So he started researching.

After many dead ends, many hours in libraries and many phone calls, Gaye found his ancestor&8217;s name.

&8220;It was under the name Abdul-Rahman,&8221; Gaye said. &8220;That was a great truth for me.&8221;

So he came to Natchez to find more ancestors of the prince. Here, he met up with David Dreyer, a Natchez citizen. Together, they dug through courthouse records and genealogies and found many relatives still living in the area.

In 2003, they held a celebration downtown of the 175th anniversary of the prince&8217;s freedom.

The filming session Thursday was Gaye&8217;s fifth trip to Natchez, and he said he was still getting to know relatives.

One of the oldest relatives there was Clarketta Collins, a 90-year-old woman who gardens every day but Sunday.

She moved away from her grandparents at a very early age, so she had little knowledge of any family history.

So the Woodville resident, now a great-great grandmother herself, had no idea about her heritage until Dreyer filled her in.

&8220;It&8217;s a surprise to me,&8221; Collins said. &8220;I didn&8217;t know what to think of it. I enjoyed it and learned a lot from Mr. Dave.&8221;

Dreyer was an enthusiastic conversation companion, Collins said.

&8220;All you got to do is tell him who your people are and he&8217;s gone,&8221; she said. &8220;He&8217;s something else.&8221;

Dreyer has lived in Natchez for a few years. Since his wife&8217;s family is from the area, he became interested in the Miss-Lou&8217;s genealogy When Gaye contacted him, he went right to work.

The collaboration&8217;s final result, 35 Miss-Lou residents with royal heritage, sat on the plantation where their ancestor was a slave, eating and talking and sharing stories &8212; stories that will be broadcast to be shared with the nation.