Day 9: Cape Coast

After 3 ½ hours crammed tight in the backseat of a Mercedes (you know how I roll), I thankfully made it to Cape Coast and was able to catch up with the group. We began our day with a tour of the Slave River – the final bathing place for the slaves after they walked for weeks or months from the Northern Region of Ghana and neighboring countries, such as Burkina Faso to Cape Coast to be traded or sold. On site they have built a memorial wall for those who have returned to Ghana after the Diaspora and/or other supporters. The site was touching in a way, trying to imagine the walk folks took and the conditions in which they endured. But, this was clearly a tourist centre. I do not believe there is historical evidence of this being “The” Slave River or bathing site; rather it is a lake with a story. At any rate, the guide gave a good speech which personalized the experience and helped drive home the reality of the history of slavery.

Next stop was the long awaited Cape Coast slave castle. This fortress, castle, dungeon is a true historical building over 200 years old. From the outside it is a beautiful white structure. It looks like a traditional castle. Inside, however, there are dungeons, a holding cell, and cannons. We began with an entrance into the male dungeon. This was a three room concrete cellar with one small window in each room. Guards stood by with rifles in the windows to keep order. Over 1000 men were held at a time and were held for up to 6 weeks. Men were fed twice daily. They ate, slept, and defecated in this same space. A small gutter existed, but archeologists have found evidence that fecal matter and waste reached up to 4 feet tall. Appalling. Despicable.

The female dungeon was even smaller, just two rooms, and held both women and children. The two rooms only had one small window which was also guarded. Women were kept nude and were used by traders and guards as desired. A woman’s “saving grace” was to become pregnant from one of the British men. She would then be freed. The risk was too great to try and sell or transfer a pregnant woman. In the Cape Coast area now there are many people who have last names such as “Stephenson” or “Robertson” – this, quite literally, means the child is the son of Stephan or Robert. (Why do I know no Stephendaughters?)

Near by was a holding cell. This cell was a small, narrow room where rebels were locked up. This room contained no windows and when the door was closed there was no oxygen coming in. They closed it for a minute while we were in there. It did take my breath away – not only the lack of oxygen, but the heat, the closeness to everyone, the lack of light. It was scary – and I knew what was happening and that it would end quickly. I cannot imagine what it was like to be taken from your country by force or manipulation, shackled and forced to walk for sometimes 3-4 months and then be kept in a dungeon for 6 weeks all for no apparent reason. Most of these people were just minding their own business before being taken away and enslaved. I just do not understand humans.

The final piece the enslaved people saw was a big black door labeled “The Door of No Return.” This is the final door where men, women, and children walked away from their homes. The door opens to the harbor where they were loaded on ships to sail to far away, never heard of places. It is such a beautiful sight to behold – the ocean, the rocks, the people. It is difficult to imagine such atrocities happening at this very spot, this very beautiful, breathtaking spot. I had such mixed emotions of everything. I just kept touching the walls in the dungeons and feeling connected to the thousands of hands who touched those same walls. To those who slept and wept on the cement floors I was walking on. To those who lost their lives there. To those who lost their souls there. I could feel that energy transferring through me and into me and it was overwhelming. At several points I cried, but mostly I ached deep inside my heart, in my soul. The fear and pain those people had to feel…

After this journey we visited the upstairs of the palace. This is where the governor resided, where church services were offered, and where slaves were sold. The upstairs of the castle had hard wood floors and many black shuttered windows. They had a beautiful view of the ocean. He sure had nice living arrangements up above people who were lying in their own feces, crying out for their mothers, their fathers, their Lord. The room where slaves were auctioned and sold was also beautiful – a large ballroom with wooden floors and multiple windows opening up to the ocean front.

It is an indescribable feeling to be in that space, to process how much went on there. How many lives were forever changed and how the world was forever changed. I just kept thinking of how many people passed throw there before. My brothers and sisters in humanity. That could have been me or my ancestors, but it wasn’t. Why not? What kept the Swedes or Germans from being enslaved? Why Africans? Why do we continue to abuse Africans and African Americans and other brown people? WHY?! If there is a Goddess, God, Higher Power, Universal Energy, something, anything – WHY does she/he/it allow things like that to happen? Why do we continue the genocide? Why aren’t we, as humans, learning from our mistakes? Why is Wal-Mart enslaving people and getting away with it? In fact, most big businesses are getting away with this, in one form or another. Why aren’t more people in an uproar?!?! We may not be as overt about our shackles these days, but they’re definitely still on. Look at our prisons and detention facilities – are we not still enslaving a particular population today? How did the US just sit and watch the Holocaust? Apartheid? Darfur? How am I involved? Am I a part of the solution? I have always felt that if you’re not part of the solution then you’re part of the problem. I’m realizing though, that I’m part of the problem no matter what, but how can I reduce my emissions? Am I doing enough? Should I, could I be doing more? What is that? Where is that?

After the castles we returned to our beachfront cottages for an afternoon of relaxation. How do I go from all of this intensity to ‘fun time’? It is difficult for me to switch like that. I found myself a nice quiet spot on the beach to journal and think and just watch and listen to the waves. I allowed myself to feel the waves of emotions and thoughts passing through me… I cried. I cried for the past, the present, the future. I cried over all of the ugliness and beauty surrounding me simultaneously.

After ample time of decompressing I joined some friends in the warm, warm ocean water and played in the sand and relaxed. Some beer or wine would’ve been nice, but I’m still taking it easy from my tummy. Instead I gave myself an all-natural, organic sand and sea salt full body scrub. :) I love silky smooth skin. I retired to my room to shower and get ready for our evening and very much enjoyed the hot shower. I had an amazing evening. Enjoyed some red red for dinner, an amazing drum show and performance, practiced my African dancing (my Beyonce is still pretty weak, but I’m working on it), and capped out with a bonfire on the beach. All in all, a great way to wind down after an intense day. It’s crazy that it is so beautiful here when its’ history is so ugly.