Yet another weekend trip to note…

A three hour bus ride down, and we arrived an Assin Manso, otherwise known as the “slave river.” (Oh, background, Ghana was a major exporter in the trans-Atlantic slave trade. People were “collected” from the countries surrounding modern day Ghana and funneled though markets here to be shipped to the newly discovered Americas to harvest cotton, sugar cane, etc…) The river was known as the “last stop” for slaves, where they would be bathed before being marched all the way to the ocean, many miles away. Sounds like a quick enough process, but no. Slaves would be stuck sitting, in chains, next to the river for up to 6 months as they waited for space to be cleared in the dungeons of the coastal castles. Mind you, they would only be bathed once during this whole process, so I’m not really sure what purpose the river bath actually served. The only ones who were bathed twice were the few women who were set aside as somehow special- those girls were to be the wives of the castle men (the Dutch.) They took African wives because European women died too readily from African diseases (as would 70% of the slaves sent to America, from European diseases.) As the ruling African tribes who rounded up slaves for the Europeans (who in turn supported them in inter-tribal wars and introduced guns into their society) they looked for children as young as 6 or 8, boys and girls. If they rounded up a pregnant woman, and she gave birth on the way to, or at the river, they killed her child- infants were another mouth to be sparingly fed. I personally am in awe of any woman who managed not to miscarry throughout this process.

Today the river is the site of a rather nice (by Ghanaian tourist center standards) interpretive center with a few interesting points of note:

-There is a part of the land the center has not developed, because the ground is the site of the mass graves of people who died while waiting to march to the coast… I don’t know why this part hit me particularly hard, but it did.

-The gate people walked through to go down to the river though is now painted with images of men whose chains have been cut apart. What was once called the “Door of No Return” has been designated (by whom, I’m not sure- tourist board? Politicians? Academics?) as the “Door of Return.” The site is a major point of visit for African Americans, and other Africans in the Diaspora (which I’ve learned only recently just means any person of African decent living outside of Africa. Apparently you can get a whole degree in its study…) The final arch one passed through has the words "last bath" painted on it, though I'm not sure that was there in the 1700s.

-For those who want to reclaim a part of their history, a Diaspora resident can now come to Ghana and participate in the "Joseph Project." They can come, look though the sparse archives, and attempt to find out what country their ancestors came from. if they manage that (in theory, when the red tape gets worked out) they can apply for dual citizenship, and actually be able to vote in matters in the country that, had slavery not happened, they would probably live. I find it an interesting concept, though I wonder about the political and social ramifications for the African country, to have American’s, etc. voting in elections across an ocean, for a social context they can’t possibly understand. I bet there are a few Africans who wouldn’t be to happy to think of an American voting for their president, when they can’t possibly understand Ghana’s developmental issues, unless of course, they are a development scholar. I’ve been reading an interesting memoir lately, from a scholar who came to Ghana to learn about the slave trade’s lasting impact on Ghanaians. She found that a) most Ghanaians don’t know a thing about it, other than it happened, though some don't even know that... and b) no matter who you are, if you weren’t born here, you will always be a foreigner in the mind of Ghanaians, not the “brother” or “sister” that some Diaspora Africans seeking their “home” expect to be viewed as. Anyway, I digress…

-The Joseph project also has a less controversial aspect. In 1998, the bones of one former slave, and one slave descendent were sent to Ghana to be buried on the shores of the river. For those who cannot afford to ship their relatives "home," or don’t have their bones, they can come to Ghana (or call), pay 100 cidis ($105) and have their name inscribed on a long wooden wall. The project is in its infancy, so there are only about 30 names currently, but I think it will be an amazing and striking when more people know about it and have names inscribed, a very African version of the Vietnam War memorial.

-The river itself was an interesting experience. As I will note with the salve castle, it is painfully ironic to think about such a terrible thing happening in a place so beautiful. And it really was- a very peaceful, shady place. Today, life goes on as usual. As it always strikes me at non-American tourist sites, other countries do not keep natives out of tourist areas for the benefit of tourists (I experienced this in Italy and Ireland). Children bathed and did their wash in the murky (no doubt totally infested water), begged us for money, and delighted at the site of our cameras. Thinking about people bathing in chains I felt compelled to mouth “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” over and over again. I felt far more connection and sorrow in this place than later at the castle, and I think it may have something to so with the natural setting, a place where I have always felt more connection to God, and usually feel a strong spiritual connection to the rest of the world. Yet the childeren played on...

On that note, the tour of the castle was boring in comparison. It has two gift shops, and has been whitewashed several times in its 526 year existence. Cool to note- it is the largest and oldest European edifice outside of Europe. Again, another strangely beautiful place for something so awful. Here, the beach is absolutely pristine (give it 30 years, rich people will make it into a resort…) and deserted. Palm trees in a natrually perfect line on the shore, and fishing villages on either side. The only part of the tour that affected me was the women’s main dungeon. I absolutely wanted to throw up when our guide (as frankly as I have described events in this post) told us 150 women slept in the small, moldy room where we stood. They urinated, defecated, and menstruated right onto the floor on which they slept. They were hardly fed, but many refused their meals as an act of defiance. Every once in a while, one would be plucked out and attached to a large ball and chain in the courtyard to wait until they would be marched up a tall wooden ladder to the Governor’s bedroom. Others were simply raped by castle workers less distinguished, and without the fanfare.

So you can understand my hesitation to say I enjoyed my day. But I did. Any trip with 30 friends where they feed and house you in a nice beach hotel for no up front cost is bound to be enjoyable. When our program director led us in a “reflection session” most commented on the disgust they felt with themselves as human, because clearly a lot of people were involved in making this happen, so we can’t possibly all be immune from all of their mentalities. Greed was mentioned many times. I personally wonder if the men actually thought about the money they were making for their country as they stared the women in the face, preparing to rape or march them somewhere. Really, they must have had something mighty distracting to be thinking about, otherwise, I simply don’t understand how one could do that to another living, breathing, probably crying or dying person.

The rest of the weekend carried an entirely different tone. We went to Kakum National Park to participate in the canopy walk, the only one of its kind in Africa. If you didn’t know, the canopy is the upper layer of a rain forest, sitting right below the treetops. This is where most of the animals and insects live, though they are nocturnal so I saw only butterflies. We walked from tree to tree on rickety, creaky rope and wood bridges about 10 inches wide at the base. So cool though. My occasional fear of heights was nowhere to be found, so I danced through the tree tops:) A friend and I let everyone pass us so we could take our time admiring the beautiful scenery (the guide eventually yelled at us to hurry up). I thought it was SO cool to be staring right into the tops of trees; I just didn’t want to leave. Can you blame me? When else will I be in a tropical rain forest in my life?

Ok, much more than I intended to say, and not on what I intended to say it on, per say. Sorry for the very frank descriptions. Until next week!