1. My great, great, great, great grandfathers were assholes
The day after our program officially ended in Ghana we hired a driver to take us to Cape Coast, a town about 165 km west of Accra. Cape Coast is the home of the Cape Coast Castle, a hub for the trans-Atlantic slave trade, beginning in the 1600’s. After a very bumpy, 2 hour drive from Accra we finally arrived at the castle. We found a white washed fortress right on the sea, complete with waves periodically crashing on the western walls.
While on a tour, we learned that the castle was built by the Swedish in 1653 but changed ownership several times over the next decade, eventually ending up in the hands of the British in 1664. The castle was originally designed for gold and timber trade but once Europeans realized the profit potential of human slave trade it was re-purposed. We were first taken into the male slave dungeons that, at capacity, could hold up to 1000 slaves – unbelievable seeing as how the spaces we saw seemed only slightly bigger than my Los Angeles apartment. The slaves were held in the dark, musty dungeons for up to three months before they were loaded on ships destined for America. How anyone could survive in these accommodations for that length of time, without knowing why they were there or where they were going is beyond me. We also viewed the women’s dungeon, which could hold up to 500 women. In addition to enduring the terrible conditions in the dungeons, many of the women slaves were also periodically pulled from their chains only to be raped by the European soldiers.
I got fairly emotional during on tour as I took in all of my surroundings at the castle. It is hard to believe that my European ancestors were involved in this type of activity for well over 100 years – I am deeply shamed by their inhumanity. In elementary and middle school I was quite fascinated by the trans-Atlantic slave trade; I read books and wrote a few papers but none of the stories that I encountered during my research quite prepared me for what I found in Cape Coast.
2. The Fresh Prince would be jealous of this Big Milly Style
We were all exhausted after our emotional tour of the Cape Coast Castle and although we had planned an excursion to a nearby rainforest, we opted instead to return back to Accra a little early for a beer on the beach. The rest of our stay in Ghana was at a beachside hostel outside of Accra called “Big Milly’s Backyard.” We were all quite excited about a couple relaxing days at the beach, a much anticipated 24-hour bar and the promise of a menu that included vegetables. Getting there was quite a challenge as the road to Big Milly’s was nothing short of horrifying, full of over-eager pedestrians and potholes the size of swimming pools. Our driver was quite concerned about his vehicle as he twisted and turned down the road attempting to avoid the plethora of hazards. Instead of slowing down, like the average, sane driver, he instead sped up, zooming over bumps and holes at 50mph. We all held our breath, closed our eyes and prayed a little.
When we finally arrived at Big Milly’s we decided we would stay put for the rest of the trip, not wanting to brave the road again until we were ready to return home. After some drama with our room (which we had reserved several weeks before), we found ourselves in the Big Milly Suite on the first night. Although we paid 24 cidi more than we had wanted (about $19), we realized we had been quite spoiled when we moved to a smaller room the next night, which was full of creatures and lacking in many luxuries, most notably a hot water heater. We managed to enjoy the majority of our stay, drinking a lot of 1 cidi drinks (about $.072) and decent meals. The beach was not exactly what we had hoped but we enjoyed a few scenic walks and watched the local children play in the waves (whoever said black people do not swim has not been to Ghana).
3. Sometimes a private beach is a bad thing
On our last day in Ghana we enjoyed a delicious breakfast and then ventured out for a walk on the beach. The day before, the beach was full of people fishing, swimming and just hanging out and we were surprised to find it nearly empty (we later learned that the locals do not fish on Tuesdays). At first, I was glad to avoid the circus of attention that we tend to attract, but once I realized we were being followed, I longed for the bustling activity of the day before. The man followed us for a quite a while and when he continued to follow us after we turned back toward the hostel I knew we were in trouble. We walked quickly and I kept looking back at him so that he knew that I knew what he was up to. After a while I got a bit distracted and it was in that moment that he came up from behind me and grabbed my camera. The camera was strapped to my wrist so he was not able to simply grab it and take off running. We struggled for what seemed like several minutes. One of my colleagues got involved and at one point we had thrown the man onto the ground, but after he got up and grabbed me again and barely flinched when he was repeatedly kicked in his male region, it was clear that we were not going to win the battle. I finally let the camera go and burst into tears as we ran back toward to hostel. It was easily one of the scariest moments of my life, but I am relieved that we escaped with only a few scrapes and bruises. In the words of my colleague, “be thankful that he just stole your camera, not your vagina” – such wisdom.
4. There is no place like home
After the mugging, I was more than ready to go home. We arrived at the Accra airport early, which turned out to be a very good thing as we spent the next two hours navigating the most ridiculously inefficient system I have ever seen. We were asked for our passports no less than 11 times before we finally boarded the plane. The whole experience was nothing short of unbelievable although uneventful compared to some of the horror stories we had heard from other tourists. It is fairly common for visitors to be arrested as they pass through immigration due to various visa-related technicalities. Immigration officers request that they pay bribes in order to be released. I breathed a sigh of relief when the immigration officer that questioned me let me through after he had reprimanded me for being a “lazy American” because I didn’t complete one of the dates on my immigration paperwork.
The next 22 hours were some of the most miserable in recent memory as I was nauseous nearly the whole time, complete with a fever, chills and body aches. After seeing the movie Outbeak only a few days before, I was nervous I might be bringing some type of rare African plague back into the United States but after a week at home, I am happy to report that I appear to be the picture of health.
I was overjoyed when we finally landed in Los Angeles. As we drove home I was excited to see stoplights and traffic laws being observed once again. Although I enjoyed my experiences in Africa and would not trade them for anything I am glad to be back where the world makes sense again, where I can blend in with the crowd, where I can drink water out of the faucet and can find turkey sandwiches on nearly every corner.
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