I arrived late Saturday night and met up with some volunteers from my program who had made the trek earlier in the morning and had visited all the attractions that day. We had a large communal bungalow booked for 15 cede each per night (around $7 USD). The room was modest and lined with bunk beds fitted with mosquito nets, but outside was a beautifully landscaped courtyard that housed several huts with flush toilets (a luxury!), open-air shower huts, hammocks, shaded lawn chairs, and a full outdoor restaurant and bar.
The "real" shower was amazing after a month of bathing out of a bucket.
The pack of Obrunis and I went out that night for a drink at an amazing hidden upper-level bar on stilts overlooking the crashing ocean. I was half-convinced the place would collapse onto the sand and rocks below, and even more so when we were joined by one of our Ghanaian foundation directors and his friend who had traveled to meet up with our group and an impromptu Ghanaian dance party commenced. Thankfully the creaky stilts held up, and we made our way back to the bungalow in the early hours of the morning.
After too few hours of sleep, the group groggily arose and some of us made our way to a great breakfast cafe where I ordered a pancake, one of my favorite Ghanaian discoveries. The pancakes here are eggy and thin like crepes, and I ordered mine served with avocado and sugar like I had had it served in Busua Beach on my first weekend in the country. One girl went on a limb and ordered a chocolate pancake, which turned out to be a crepe smothered in Hershey's syrup. Nice.
I broke off at this point from the group, excited to spend a day by myself taking in the sights at my own pace. Kakua National Park sounded amazing but was a fair distance from where we were staying. Also I'm irrationally terrified of alligators and therefore was not overly enthusiastic about the possibility of running into one at the nature reserve. I chose to spend my time at the Cape Coast Castle and slave forts instead and broaden my historical knowledge. It was also located quite conveniently about a two-minute walk from our breakfast spot. I paid a small entrance fee and joined a tour that was just beginning with a group of about 8 visitors.
Built 349 years ago, the massive whitewashed structure overlooks the ocean and boasts menacing cannons and countless turrets. Contrasted against the bluest sky and turquoise ocean, the landmark is a beautiful and famous hallmark of Ghana's Gold Coast. Unfortunately, the beauty is dimmed considerably by that which is unseen from the outside. The castle houses several dungeons where Ghanaian slaves were held in the most brutal, unthinkable conditions before being shipped trans-Atlantic by the English conquerors in the eighteenth century.
Courtyard of the Cape Coast Castle. My back is to the ocean, and I entered through the archway under the stairs directly ahead of me. The dungeons are located below this open-air area. The rooms here housed governors and military personnel back in the day. The ones on the left are now a museum, and the others are preserved for public viewing.
The tour, given most excellently by a man named Isaac, was incredible. He led us into dim cells carved out of the stone foundation and explained that over 200 men would be packed into each chamber at a time for up to three months. Those who survived would be shoved out of the "door of no return" onto slave ships where they were stacked like books on a shelf in cramped vessels. If they survived these barbaric voyages, they would be sold into slavery in the Americas.
In one such chamber, Isaac pointed to a mark on the wall about thigh-high and explained that that was the level to which the chamber was filled with human excrement due to inadequate drainage systems. In another cell that had been used for solitary confinement for those who had fought their captivity, he pointed out the scratches in the stone floor from the shackles and chains used to restrain such men. The women were treated slightly better but were not immune. One chamber about the size of my bathroom in Seattle (which is tiny) was said to hold 8 women at a time for refusing the sexual advances of their European captors.
I literally had chills that kept erupting into goosebumps up and down my arms despite the 90-degree heat. I was both haunted and enraptured by the tragic history that took place right where I stood hundreds of years ago. I saw a plaque presented by Barack and Michelle Obama, who visited the castle in 2009 with the belief that Michelle's great great grandfather had spent time in the dungeons below. Another plaque hung in apologetic remembrance of those who suffered there.
This portion of my trip was very different from anything else I've done and was incredibly sobering. In reflection, I really enjoyed being able to experience firsthand such an impressive memorial commemorating an unthinkably dark time in African history. I realize how lucky I am to be living in the era that I am, where persecution to this degree is not a factor. I am not naive to the reality that there is still incredible suffering in the world even if it is not portrayed as publicly as it was when these slave dungeons were active. It takes an experience like this one to remind me that using a latrine cannot be classified as torture, and to be grateful for the life I was given and the opportunities I have to experience snapshots of those of others.
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