Day three came with a more somber experience. Not because of the people, or the culture, but because of seeing the ugly side of history. A three-hour ride down to Cape Coast provided a lot of time to soak in the beautiful coastline and local community life. The destination: Cape Coast Castle.
“Cape Coast Castle” has a more palatable ring to it than, “slave castle.” The amount of emotion that I felt and the overall experience of touring this facility has seldom been felt. I recall the way that touring the Rodina-Mat in Kiev felt, and seeing artifacts of the Holocaust… this was similar. It’s difficult to put in words what I saw, what I felt, or what any of my other senses picked up. It’s surreal and harrowing. When you walk through the first corridor, it’s clear to see that the facility is maintained really well. The building is 354 years old and is the youngest of the slave castles. One of the first stops on this tour was the male slave dungeons. Three adjacent cells with no light, no restroom facilities, and thousands of men shoved inside. Just three, large cells. We walked down the tunnel and entered the first cell. It was musty and dark. It smelled of stale air, and there was this eerily overwhelming sense of emptiness and pain filling each cell. One cell led directly into the next with a urinal gutter running through the three. There were fossilized excrements layered in each cell. Each cell was just as eerie and somber as the previous. The third cell had a larger window to allow more light in, which was used by the captors to see and assess the health of the men they stole. There was a narrow doorway at the end of the third cell, where captors would drag the men through before they were eventually sent through the “Door of No Return.”
Once we exited the male dungeon, we walked through the courtyard and further to the female slave dungeon. Next to the female slave dungeon was a rape chamber, where captors would pick a female from the dungeon, violate her, and then throw her back into the dungeon. The female dungeon smelled just as foul as the male dungeon. Moving beyond the female chamber and you see the Door of No Return. This is where captors would load boats full of stolen men and women and sail them to larger ships in the Atlantic. Those who passed through the door never returned as they were sold into slavery, benefiting the Americas, and other countries. This castle was their last memory of their home.
Drive 20-minutes west and you find Elmina. Same coast, same atrocities, different castle. The name “castle” was explained as a way to suppress the individuals inside by claiming they were protected in a fortress. What I found the most interesting about Elmina was the church in the center of the courtyard. I’ve never understood how someone could commit a heinous crime against another person and seek atonement through religion. I understand there is a large assumption that people of faith are this exact imagery, but there’s a difference between people of religion and people of true faith, and they’re unfortunately muddled frequently. The church at Elmina was turned into a museum, displaying the history, footprint, and news related to Elmina. One display in particular caught my eye, and it was the display of chains and restraints. When you see physical, tangible items that connect the dots between the large facility and the humans tortured inside, it’s emotional. Like the artifacts at Rodina-Mat, walking into the rape chamber at Cape Coast Castle, and this.
Obviously, the history in the United States doesn’t discuss this darkness and I almost feel that slavery was really brushed over. I feel that it’s continuously made light of as if it weren’t as bad as it was. I’ve always felt that way. I think there was an assumption that I was entirely unaware of the horrors of slavery, and I gather this thought because I had a few people during the tours of both castles talk to me about the horrors of slavery – as though I hadn’t a clue. But as someone who is aware and is privy to understanding what actually happened… seeing these places first-hand was intense as it confirmed my understanding. I’m a very empathetic person and walking through both castles made me feel pain, anger, fear, sadness, hopelessness… there was an overwhelming burden of emotion that I don’t normally walk around with. I wanted to take a selfie, because 1) I’m a millennial and that’s what we do, and 2) I just wanted to have a picture of me at either location. I took a selfie… but it turned out terrible. I couldn’t bring myself to smile, because the emotional burden of pain and suffering I felt through both castles was too much to muster even a fake smile.
Ghana is celebrating the “Year of Return,” because 2019 marks the 400th year of the first enslaved person being sold in Jamestown, Virginia. As a way to reclaim identity and ownership of self, a placard now rests above the external side of the Door of No Return at Cape Coast Castle, that says, “Door of Return.” Some members of the tour had opted to not walk through the Door of No Return, which is understandable. I felt that for me, I had to walk through that door to acknowledge what was done to innocent men, women, and children. For me, I had to walk through that door as an act of atonement. Looking out at the ocean from the small dock made me feel angry. I could imagine ships in the distance and boats being stuffed full of stolen people. I could imagine the heartbreak of not knowing what would happen next, or whether my loved ones who were still inside the castle would make it out alive. I completely spaced on anything the docent was saying because I was in full-blown reflection on the terrors done to the African people. My heart sank.
It was a solemn day followed by a quiet ride back to the hostel in Kokomlemle, where we were staying. I spent the rest of that evening in reflection.
Day four. It’s hard to recover from a heavy day, so we spent it checking out some of the markets near the hostel, and doing some light tourism. The day started late and ended early. We dined at a nearby restaurant and enjoyed the presence of one of the sweetest waitresses I’ve ever met. Serena. I’m not sure if that’s how you spell her name, but she was the embodiment of joy. Our table tipped her what I imagine is our “American standard” tip, which blew her away. The amount of joy and awe she felt by seeing what we told her was her tip put many things in perspective for me. I think that in the United States we’ve been so used to the capitalistic mentality that we don’t appreciate the little things anymore. Everything has to be “harder, better, faster, stronger,” (Daft Punk, anyone?). When you do the conversion, the tip we gave to Serena was probably a grand total of $12 USD, but in Ghana, that makes a huge difference.
The joy on people’s faces, the appreciation for everything, the happiness and work ethic… Ghanaians are an amazing people. It made me think about how many “little” things in my day do I actually express appreciation for? How many of those little things have I let slip by because I’ve grown expectant or accustomed to them? It’ll take time to change that habit of expectation, and it will be difficult as I live in an environment and culture where instant gratification and high expectations are the norm, but I want to work on that.