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Published: July 15th 2010
July 15, 2010: Cape Coast
Day One: First off let me say I am typing this from our balcony, which overlooks an infinity of palm trees on a beach as infinite. You can also hear the children playing and laughing at the nearby school. Right below us is a lot of weathered concrete, some chickens and goats, and some tiny box homes with rusted tin roofs. The air is thick with salt, cooking smoke and a hint of rain --- always a hint; we have yet to experience a full-fledged down pour.
Vineta, Rosie, Paul, Ted and I went swimming in the surf, although I’d call it more of Mother Nature’s version of a bitch slapping. The waves and undertow threw us around like rag dolls, but we loved every minute of it. Nothing says beach more than being a bunch of kids screaming in the surf. Although, we later learned that many still believe that the ocean likes a human sacrifice every now and then, which is why you won’t see any of them jumping into the waves just for fun. Luckily for us the ocean just wanted to beat us up a little. I think she loved watching us enjoy her waters so much.
We had so much sand embedded in every pore that we had to jump into the hotel pool just to get rid of some of it before taking a shower. I half expected to find a conch shell hidden in my derriere and a flounder in my bra.
Before reaching Cape Coast we stopped at the site of a former slave trading area. I wish I was a better student and could write down the name, but what I hear and what the place is actually called never matches up. It’s located where two rivers meet. It’s actually a beautiful, peaceful area. Today, there is a small village right by the rivers. The villagers collected wood and hung laundry while we took off our shoes and made the walk to the river, in an attempt to sort of experience what they did. But, we weren’t stolen from our homes, nor did we just finish up to three months worth of walking with shackles and chains, nor did we have to step on thorns or avoid snakes and whips and lord only knows what other nastiness.
Those, many from Senegal (again I probably heard that wrong), who made it to this place were marked and sold off, however, they needed to get their bath first. To prevent captives from running while being in the water, heavy iron balls were attached to their chains and thorny branches were used to build blocking dams.
Women, especially, were in need of a bath because you see just because you’re in bondage doesn’t mean your menstrual cycles stop. And since you’re no longer considered human, the walk doesn’t end just because you’re cycling. Imagine three months of not being able to clean? Add to it our need to relieve ourselves. I cannot even imagine what it would have felt like to finally get a chance to bathe --- even with the whips and chains.
To save cost and rob these women of even a trace of feeling clean, babies were yanked from their mothers and smashed against the shores. Those adults who were too sick or wounded to go on were abandoned. Some of them healed and lived, and some of their offspring’s offspring live in the area. Some managed to migrate elsewhere in Africa --- some even managed to make it back to their original countries --- and sadly some were recaptured into slavery.
Our tour guide told us that for many of the slaves who made it there that was their last bath on African soil. I dipped my toes into the refreshingly cool water and imagined what that would be like. If I knew that’d be the last time my body would feel my home’s waters wash over me, I’d look up at the trees and remember every shade of green, every vein of leaf or palm, every scent of wood. I’d call out to the dragonflies to call upon the river deities to go warn my people. But the problem is if I were a slave I wouldn’t have known that this was just the second phase of a long journey of unknowns. I probably wouldn’t have even had the energy to block out the sounds of tortured souls so that I could see the beauty that surrounded me. How could any of them think sanely with babies dying and heavy chains sawing away at blistered flesh?
Day Two: At breakfast many of us complained about our pillows --- and rightfully so, they’re lumpy and stained and not at all what we’re used to. Because it’s soooo humid --- even more so than in Accra or Kumasi --- it’s mildewy in our hotel. Again, not something we’re used to, BUT the beer is ice cold and the A/C blows arctic air --- two blessings! And, as always, the people are so friendly and accommodating. When we came back this afternoon they brought us all brand new pillows. They also baked us fresh raisin scones to snack on during our outing.
Today’s destination was Cape Coast Castle. You’ll have to look it up on the Internet to get the full story, but in a nutshell it’s a slave castle. It was built as a fortress and has changed hands many times, but it earned its fame by shipping out massive amounts of slaves. Obama and his family visited here last year.
During his speech about the Castle, Obama said he was surprised to learn that there was a church built right over the men’s dungeon. When you walk down into the dark, and I mean dark, quarters you feel as if you are walking straight into hell. So, I share Obama’s shock. I will never understand how we can pray to our gods while persecuting others and their gods.
Downstairs --- you could say in the church’s basement --- is a system of narrow, dark tunnels that, eventually, connect the men’s and women’s quarters. Up to 150 men or more are jammed into a concrete/rock room with only three holes at the top --- for light and ventilation. There is a trench in the middle of the room and alongside its walls. Our guide explained that the men could stay in there for up to several months (although they were let out twice a day to eat in the sun) --- depending on ship arrivals and departures (some slaves were ‘lucky’ and immediately placed on the ships without having to wait underground). The trenches were for human waste, if you had the energy to crawl over your brothers to find the bathroom place. Feces would fill the trenches and pile up the wall. By the sounds of it the ‘caretakers’ never actually cleaned the holding cell. It wasn’t much different in the women’s area, except some women were carted up to the officers’ area, where they cooked and cleaned and slept and bathed as long as they continued pleasing their male captors.
Needless to say it didn’t take long for us to realize that we were damned lucky to spend last night sleeping with moldy, lumpy pillows.
When you go through the Door of No Return you no longer see docked ships ready for cargo. You now see a loud, bustling fishing community. Kids play soccer and entertain tourists while men repair fishing nets and boats. It’s loaded with color and vitality. To some of us it was an insult to have this close to where so many have suffered; to others it was a way to spit on the past and go on living.
Regardless of what people think of having fishermen so close to the castle, the government has declared Tuesdays no-fishing (in that area) days. It forces the fishermen to take a day off while also honoring yesterday’s victims.
There’s so much for me to take in from this experience, and so much I want to share with my own children and my students, but for now I’m stuck on a quote we heard from Nana Yaa (the retired New York school teacher we interviewed what seems like weeks ago).
She said something along the lines of: If you are the mother of civilization, how do you get to be the bottom of it? We are all from Africa.
By we she didn’t mean ‘black.’ If we believe in evolution, we are all descendents from the same remains found so long ago. In essence Africa’s children came back to rape and pillage. And, yes, it was with the help of those who still lived in Africa. I’m rambling, but what I think my point is --- regardless of what any of us believe --- how can we evolve to anything better if we’re still exploiting and demeaning our own species (yet alone the other forms of life we disrespect)?
It’s not a new question, but it certainly has more impact when it’s question mark is the sound of volatile waves slapping against the shores of a fortress that helped turn a birthplace into a miscarriage. Although, I’d like to think that it was more of a premature birth (of a bipolar being still searching for the right meds), and that there’s still hope for humanity to live up to its name.
On a brighter note (and I bet you guys are happy to see this) we’re off to Kakum National Forest tomorrow, where they have a large suspended bridge. So, my next post will be all about swinging with nature, and you know how much I love to do that!
P.S. I'm on a hotel computer, and it won't let me upload photos. I promise to post as soon as I can.
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The cape castle has a rich historical background and I hope I can visit there someday. I know you enjoyed the first two days because of the scenery and the affluent history of that place that makes it more interesting. I can’t wait to hear from you the Kakum National forest trip and I think that will be an exciting stopover because it involves nature.