Sorry for Partying

...well at least I wish I was partying right now. I miss all you at Tridelt! I hope you're already out for Mardi Gras!

0 degrees 0 minutes longitude, 0 degrees 0 minutes latitude

At this exact point in our world, there is a buoy in the ocean. I am proud to say I am no longer just a shellback, but now a Emerald Shellback. How many people can say they intersected the prime meridian and the equator?

Castles and Slave Dungeons

February 16, 2012

Excerpts from my journal while I was participating in the tour.

            FDP for Anthropology of the Ocean—Castles and Slave Dungeons

            The Ocean was not always seen as a beautiful place and in some cultures it is still not seen as something peaceful and serene.  It is a medium for trade and enslavement.  Cowrie shells were circulated as money and slaves were sold for them.  The money went from white to black and never made it back to the black from the white.  Once it was in the black's hands it was considered useless.  Once slavery was abolished, cowrie shells were deemed illegal but no similar effort was enacted in the west with the dollar and similar currencies.  Watery metaphors for money—it does not flow by itself.  The local name of the cowrie shell is cedai, that's how they get the name of Cedi for their money.

 

Elmina Castle

Portugueseà Dutchà English

"Until the lion has a historian, the hunter will always be the hero."

 

Me: "Does it upset the locals to see us touring the castle?"

Tour Guide: "Yes, some cannot even go inside and others get very upset when tourists come to see it.  It is a sad part of Ghanian history"

 

            Saying 'can you take a picture of me' has felt awkward times, but asking while in a graveyard felt like I was demeaning the history associated with what actually proved to be a beautiful place.  Would I take pictures in the hospital my grandmother died in?  Is it because during this voyage I'm identifying myself as a tourist and student that this is okay?  My ancestors did not own slaves and as far as I know, we were not a direct cause of the enslavement of Africans throughout the Americas.  I don't feel responsible, but I know I am just by being an American.  A white American.  Maybe that's why the Africans stare at me.  Did any Africans ever come to America willingly? One woman was African American in my group.  How did her reaction of the castles different from mine? After the slave trade, how many Africans were left?

             I asked where they put the people that died and he began to explain where the governors were buried.  I did not want to know about them; they felt like the enemies as I walked around the dungeon.  The slaves that died before they made it out of the dungeon (most were there for about 2-4 months) were sent out to the ocean and sunk to the bottom.  The ocean was increasingly feeling like more of a graveyard.      

            Walking around the castle made me feel very uncomfortable.  The rooms should only hold about 40 people 'comfortably' but they were crammed over 150 slaves inside.  The rooms used to be storage rooms for gold and ivory. These people were viewed as commodities; goods. They were living in their pee, blood, and feces with only a small hole for ventilation as their source of sanity.  When someone died, they did not immediately remove her but instead kept her there until removal was necessary. They were fed only the amount needed to survive so they didn't have the energy to try to escape.

            The women slaves were stored 3 floors down from the governor's bedroom. Since the governor never traveled with his wife, he would choose women slaves to rape.  They were considered the chosen ones.  After they raped the women, they were sent back to the dungeon.  If they became pregnant, once they birthed the child the governor moved to a home specifically for the mistresses and their children.  These mulatto children became guards of the slaves. Many of the men that worked in the castle had children with the slave women—sometimes as many as 14 at a time.

 

Cape Coast Castle

            Over 1,000 men and 300 women were stored in the dungeon at one time.  The people in these rooms were dehumanized.  There are 77 shrines around the property remembering the slaves that died.  One of the shrines is from Michelle Obama when she visited the castle in 2009.  They have a plaque remembering her visit.

            The smells of slavery still linger.  The ocean is heard from inside the dungeons as a warning of what awaits the slaves.  The pathway to the door of no return has been closed to signify the end of slavery.  Both men and women crossed through the door of no return that now reads from the other side 'the door of return'. 

            Cape Coast castle served as a slave trading post for over 200 years.  Even though more slaves passed through this castle, I was not as impressed Maybe I was already numb.

 

 

            I have felt like an outsider many times in Ghana, but today I was an intruder.  This was their culture and horrifying history, why should the Africans have to showcase it to me? It's not mine to know, it's theirs.  The two buses driving us to Cape Coast had a police escort.  Why did we, as Americans, need this service?  We're not any more special than the local African.  It did make me feel a little funny but also safer, even though it attracted more attention to our already obvious large charter bus filled with white students.

            The Ghanian police drive in large, blue tanks.  4-5 officers dressed in blue army print ride on the top with helmets similar to those I would wear for a costume.  Two more officers were poised in the front with large rifles.  They invoked fear, but waved to us as we drove by.  They have a camera in the cockpit that made me wonder if it's not just the officers watching but also someone higher in charge.

            I asked how they get all of the coconuts to sell.  The locals climb up the large (over 30 feet) palm trees to get the fresh coconuts I ate at the market the other day.  I definitely won't be letting the gardeners steal my coconuts anymore.

When in Ghana!

February 15, 2012

 

            Stuck in traffic.  Again.  We are on our way from Accra to James Town and I'm convinced I could've walked there faster.  Half of us are in one taxi and the other half is in the other, including our tour guide.  Hopefully I can ask him all of my lingering questions about his country and culture.

            Regarding slave castles: "How did you feel when you first went there?"

"I went as a child and when I went back I had a real feeling of how it felt.  I had an emotion and took it as how it felt.  I was unable to put myself in their place"-our tour guide referring to the slave castles and dungeons.

            Why does it frustrate me so much that the Ghanians don't really speak English?  Even though tier official language is English and the schools are taught with English grammar and science, they have a rough time understanding me when I speak.  I get frustrated, then they get angry.  I know I should accept them speaking Ewa or Twi they learn not in school, but on the streets.  To me, not knowing how to speak and understand phrases in English in Ghana is like not being able to understand Spanish in Miami. 

            Today, our "tour guide" brought us to the lighthouse in James Town, the British part of Accra.  We climbed the lighthouse then walked through the small fishing village.  The village on the beach has everything the modern person needs to survive—food, running water, showers, etc.  We saw where they bring in the fish and a few of my friends took a boat ride into the water.  While they were in the hand-carved canoe, we hung out with the locals and took pictures. We gave the kids toffees (lollipops) and the swarm started.  The children and the parents followed us until we left the fishing village.

            We were walking on the street and we met Emmanuel Ashie.  He owns a school called Christ the King of Kings Preparatory School.  It has students from pre-K until 5^th grade.  We followed him to the school and were allowed to go inside and meet the students.  It was lunchtime so it was a little out of control.  Each grade was in one 'room' in a large warehouse-style building on the street right next to the lighthouse.  The rooms were sectioned with pieces of wood that you could see from one classroom to the other.  We visited each room and gave the kids candy from Ghana and Canada.  The black boards had evidence of a western culture.  They were learning English grammar and everything on the board was written in English.  I only met a few teachers.  Where are these teachers educated?  Ghana University? Is a teacher a prestigious job? Some children were very outgoing and spoke to us in English while we were visiting while others were very quiet and could barely understand us. 

            After we played with the children and they made fun of us while we took pictures of them, we left the school to walk to a restaurant.  Another thing I noticed in the school was that they displayed the student's grades with their ranking and whether they passed the class or not.  The grades were according to rank and out of about 20 students, at least 4 failed and not just because of the grades, but also because of the grading curve. 

            The restaurant we went to after the school was far, but it was very nice. It reminded me of a local's bar in Jupiter. It was called The Rising Phoenix (www.the-rising-phoenix.com) and it was right on the beach.  Since it was a local's hangout a lot of people were smoking ganja despite the sign that told them not to.  There was no meat served at the restaurant because the owner did not think the animals in this world were treated correctly.  After I at my veggie burger and jaloff rice, we (me, Jill, Melissa, Colleen, and Cam) left. 

            We took a taxi with our tour guide to the town of Nema.  Nema was even scarier than the fish town of James Town.  The people were more welcoming but the surroundings were more shantytown-like.  We got handed off from Nathan (our original tour guide) to a local guide named Charles Sablah.  He took us through alleyways and brought us to where he lived.  His room was one bedroom with a fridge, bed, and small bathroom.  He said he was lucky because his room had running water and most people don't have that in Tema.  After we took pictures in his room for his "couch surfer" pictures, we continued to walk through Nema.  We went to a courtyard that consisted of a local family and their offspring.  A lot of the parents didn't want us to take pictures because they were worried we were going to put the pictures in a calendar and sell it in America.

            The children were excited to see their pictures again as their mothers cooked dinner.  The dinner was a white sort of mush that they said was cassava and maize.  I'm glad the food was not being cooked for me.  Once Charles brought us to his family, he put us in a taxi back to Accra.

            Nema was split into two sections—Christian and Muslim.  There was only one church and once you passed the church, the whole atmosphere changed.  The music was different as well as the smell of the cooking in the Muslim section.

            The traffic was horrible, again, and we got in a gridlock.  The driver got out of his car (which we nicknamed Mario Kart) and yelled at the drivers that weren't moving.  We finally got out of the gridlock after a couple curse words were exchanged and our car barely missed hitting a tro tro (public bus) and falling into the gutter.  We sped out of the town of Nema and sideswiped a local which we understood was named Daniel.  Yelling ensued but we kept driving.  We told our driver about the 'point system' when we hit someone or something and he found it very funny.  We got back to Accra somewhat safely then waited over an hour at the Citizen Kofi for our shuttle back to the ship in Tema.

 

            The Ghanians really like Obama.  They have American flags with Obama's face on them.  When I asked some people if they liked him, they were hesitant.  It is not custom to talk negatively about Ghana's government, so I think they were uncomfortable.  Our past three presidents have spoken in the Freedom Arena in the Millenium Square in Accra.  It is a large, open space with many seats.  When I first saw it I thought it was a racecar or horse track.  It is where they celebrate their Independence Day on March 5^th.  It will be their 55^th anniversary this year.

            A sign I saw and found interesting in James Town: "Only Africans can build Africa.  Stop begging and do something profitable with your life…sirbo"

Oh, Africa

February 14, 2012

Talk about culture shock.  The Ghanians don't use their left hand for anything important, they speak English sometimes but with a huge dialect—so much that I cant understand them a lot of the time which creates a language barrier.  I walked off the ship into what felt like a different world. In some respects it was.  We got a shuttle from out dock to the main area of Tema. We thought it was going to take us into Accra, but instead it dropped us off on the side of the road right outside the security checkpoint into a swarm full of hagglers.  Confused and disoriented, we (me, Melissa, Colleen, Mik, Ryan, and Cam) got a taxi to take us to our hotel for the night, Ramada Resort at Coco Beach.  The drivers in Ghana are out of control.  Since the roads from Tema to Coco Beach are only paved in certain sections, they have to kind of drift when they drive.  The cars are mostly manual so it reminded me a lot of when they drive in Fast and Furious Tokyo Drift.  We kept asking the driver questions about where we were, but he wouldn't answer.  Maybe it's customary to not talk when driving in Ghana? Or did he just not understand me?  

            We arrived at the hotel and had some issues checking in.  We wanted to get the family room so we could fit more people, but those rooms are reserved specifically for parents with children. I was tempted to go rent a child while we checked in.  Defeated, we reserved two double rooms for one night.  Once the hotel was figured out, we took another taxi into Accra.  The cab was the oldest, most unsafe car I have ever been in.  There was no key in the ignition, wires coming out of the steering wheel, and the speedometer and other gauges did not move.  This was just the beginning of the many times I said to myself "What am I dong here? What have I gotten myself into?"           The taxi took us to Barclays Bank, the only ATM on Columbus Street that accepted our debit cars.  Most of Semester at Sea was waiting to get money out when we arrived.  The hagglers knew we were there, and did not leave us alone.  They were selling bracelets personalized with our name, painting that they claimed their brothers painted, wooden masks, mancala sets, necklaces, and more. I was very overwhelmed by the whole situation.  I couldn't walk away like I am used to doing because I had to wait in line to get money out of the ATM.  They asked everyone's name and would make the personalized bracelets without telling us to.  Luckily, I got away before I had to pay for any unwanted goods.

            We asked someone where to get lunch and he said he would take us there.  Not satisfied with his answer, Mik went into a jewelry store and asked the only white person where we should eat lunch.  He pointed us toward a restaurant/hotel named Frankies.  It was very clean and modern with flat screen TVs and edgy lines.  The menu was extensive, but no 'local' Ghanian cuisine.  I had some kind of Turkish sandwich and chicken skewers.  It was excellent.  To top off the food, I had a few bottles of Star, the Ghanian-brewed beer.  I haven't been able to figure out where the actual brewery is, but it is brewed as a Conglomerate of Guiness.  Ghana also bottles Guiness and the Ghanian flag is incorporated into the label.  There are many billboards advertising Guiness, so I'm assuming it is pretty popular.  There's also a Malt Guiness that's different but I'm not sure how.  After the full stomach and slsight buzz from Frankies, we walked around the market and shopped for souveniers.

            The prices they quote you and the prices they will actuall sell it to you for one insanely different. Melissa was quoted 170 cedi (about $100) for a mask with an alligator on top.   She walked away only spending 40 cedi.  I bought a gold plated (or at least it looks like gold) giraffe as well as an alligator bottle opener.  Everyone that we talked to but didn't buy something from started following us.  We couldn't escape them.  No matter how many times we said no, they persisted.  We took refuge in an outside bar, where I ordered a large Club beer that tasked very similar to the Star beer—very light.  The hagglers continued to trickle into the bar to try to sell us their products.  Once we finished our drinks, we took a taxi back to the Ramada.

            The drivers have distinct honks—one for each action they are trying to portray.  They honk to say hi, to let someone in front of them, to warn the other car to not go, and to tell the horrible traffic to get a move on.  They very rarely stay in their lanes and sometimes drive around traffic.  Cutting someone off is very common.  They never yell at the other drivers—honking is the only form of communication. 

            When you stop at one of the few traffic lights or you are stuck in traffic, the locals walk around and sell goods.  Anywhere from fish, fruit, and beans to toilet paper, large clocks, and sponges.  I have not been able to ask a local about these practices because they are not willing to speak to me! Hopefully I will get the opportunity to ask my random questions. 

            Once we got back to the resort, we sat by the pool and beach and ordered drinks.  We got two bottles of nice wine for less than $30.  As evening neared, we ordered pizza from the wood-fired pizzeria at the resort.  We had one with octopus on it!  At this point we were all sufficiently drunk.  Semester at Sea really is like a bit of a rehab.  Later, Don arrived with 3 girls and about 6 bottles of liquor. We sat by the pool and took shots.  At about 3am there was a group of people that were not staying at the hotel and were heading back to the ship.  We called a taxi to take us back, but they wouldn't let us leave.  The reception told us it was unsafe to leave before 4am.  I needed to get back to the ship for my Habitat for Humanity FDP, but there was only one guy going back so we couldn't split up the taxis.  I went back to the room to hang out and figure out how I was going to make it back but was unable to make it work so I fell asleep.

            The next morning we assessed the damages. I broke two glass bottles throughout the two rooms.  One of the rooms had blood all over the sheets, bed, and pillow because one of the guy's hands was bleeding.  He definitely should've gotten stiches and we're not sure why his hand was cut in the first place.  We bolted out of the hotel and got a taxi back to the ship. 

            The taxis are pretty cheap for how much time spent—about $5 for an hour drive for the whole car. The traffic is horrible and I was constantly sweating waiting for the car to move at least one inch.  The women and men walk around selling bags of water to people stuck in traffic.  When I think about how hot it is, it makes me feel dumb.  Of course it's hot—it's AFRICA. 

            After one of the longest showers back on the ship, we took the shuttle back into Accra.  I slept the whole two-hour bus ride.  We walked around the small marketplace on Columbus Street then went to Global Mamas.  IT's a free trade corporation and I'm visiting it again for one of my FDPs on the last day in Ghana.  I bought a shirt that is way too big, a colorful blanket/quilt for my cabin, and a Christmas ornament of the African Star.  We realized at around 3pm that we needed to go somewhere else but didn't have anything planned.  We asked around and decided to go to Markola, the largest marketplace in West Africa.  It wasn't a tourist attraction; it was a place the locals shopped at.  It was interesting to see how they found certain niches that people buy goods in.  All of the women walk around with everything on their heads.  Their heads are the showcases for their goods.  We definitely looked like dumb Americans with our backpacks in front of us, walking around the market slowly. 

            We stopped and bought a coconut and jaloff rice from a street vendor.  The man with the coconut opened the top with a machete (I really need to buy one of those when I get home), and then we drank the water out of the top.  Once we were done with the water, he opened the coconut and gave us the nut part.  When we realized that they didn't give us a spoon with the rice, we bought a big wooden spoon.  We sat down don a doorstep and ate the rice with the oversized spoon.  There was a little boy (about 2 years old) that came up to me and gave me a big hug.  He had the cutest smile and was very curious.  While I was playing with him and taking pictures then showing him to watch his reaction, I realized people were taking pictures of me.  The roles were reversed.  We were the foreigners doing something dumb and they found it entertaining because they eat the rice with their hands.  They were video taping and taking pictures of us to show their friends and laugh at us. 

            Before we left our stoop where we were on display, we gave the little boy a jolly rancher.  We handed it to him with our right hand and when he grabbed it with his left hand, his mother went up to him, slapped his left hand and put it in his right.  I was amazed by this cultural practice.  We waved goodbye to the boy and his mother, but not before Colleen helped the mother put her sack back on top of her head.  We walked into an alley and bought some lollipops for other children we may encounter.         

            Our taxi took us back to Frankies and we had our Valentine's Day dinner.  After we finished our meal and I had 3 beers, we went to citizen kofi to get the shuttle back to the ship.  We were planning on going out to some bars once we got back but the drive took about 3 hours. At least there were music videos on—"Oh Africa" was my favorite.  We got back to the ship and I watched Garfield then went to bed.  We're gong on a tour to James Town tomorrow.  Who knows what we're in store for.