Reflections and photo by Kathleen Ismail, Ghana volunteer
I awoke to the tinkling of the phone as Nana Jack beckoned me down for our 6:30am agreed to walk upon the beach. The air was cool as we tiptoed along the water’s edge and it chased our toes climbing high onto the sand only to recede again in it’s rhythm of life. Soon we came upon a small peanut of a baby turtle who was engaged in its life-threatening crawl across the sand to the safety of the ocean. We watched as it struggled to the water’s edge only to be thrown back upon the shore by the stiff arm of an unfriendly wave. Again and again it tried unsuccessfully. Nana and I looked at each other with eyes in agreement that he would rescue this marching reptile and gently place it within the surf. Success, he was off on his way!
As we continued down the beach, we encountered a fishing ship, much like the turtle, attempting to engage the bold and resisting sea. Launching this wooden monster into the broiling surf again beckoned to Nana Jack as he dashed forward to offer his shoulder. He leaned into the boat and it slipped into the ocean as the crew clamored aboard and cheered their thanks.
All along the beach, we observed the morning rituals as the town began to awaken to its new day. Back at the hotel, we eagerly greeted our teammates and enjoyed a delightful breakfast at “our table” beside the ocean. (How quickly we’d staked our claim!). After breakfast, we headed to St Georges Castle, a very benign name for an unspeakable place. The exterior of the building was a somber sight. I hesitated going in and knew that I was not alone. Our guide, Richard, did a thorough job leading us from chamber to chamber and explaining the grizzly and gruesome events that took place behind these arrogant walls. How does one man shackle 150 men and place them in a room with a capacity for only 30. How does one man close the door and submit another man to unbearable heat and no ventilation with temperatures into the hundreds. How does one man refuse to feed or offer water to another man whose hunger and thirst has dried him to meager bones. How does one man shackle another man and drag him to a ship, stripping him of family, tradition homeland and his very soul only to be a beast of burden for another man miles away in an unfamiliar continent. Tears were upon our cheeks for we could still smell the stench of their sufferings in the thick, compassionless walls.
In our company were several black guests. All I kept saying over and over again in my heart was, “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.” We moved into a room with a high ceiling and overhanging balcony only to learn that it was from this balcony that the master of this imposing monster of a dungeon chose his nightly maiden for bedding each night. There hidden to the left were the stairs she would climb….alone and frightened to join this cruel stranger for a night of rape. Bloodied and cast aside, she would descend at daybreak. I thought I could take no more. As we continue to move through the rooms we came upon that balcony but I could not look over. Nana Jack stretched out his hand and beckoned me to the rail’s edge. As I reluctantly peered over, there, below me, among a small gathering of guests was a beautiful black man wearing an Obama T shirt with “Change Has Come” written on the back. It was then I realized how far we have come and, with the grace of God and under new leadership, we can continue to heal the wounds.
After a few purchases at the gift shop, we wondered off into the town. It was dense, hot and teeming with unfamiliar sounds and unfresh smells. Nana Jack, Deb, Katie and Sam selected a cool spot under the shade of the Brick House restaurant while Bonnie and I wove our way through the crowd and among the fishing boats resting along the water’s edge. A kind boy befriended us and gave us an inside look of this tightly woven community. We moved in and out of men repairing nets, children playing and mothers attending to their daily chores of washing, cleaning and cooking. Slowly but surely, Bonnie and I found our way back to our teammates and we all enjoyed a satisfying lunch together. However, one is rarely alone in Ghana for there are always the eyes of the curious children, who are fascinated by the “Obrone” and his unusual habits. Little heads with platters of food balanced atop gazed at our every movement. While most of them looked no older than 10, each had his responsibility for selling his daily wares and returning home with the meager earnings. These were young merchants with wares to be sold and a days work to be done.
After lunch, we headed back to our hotel, a place of calm and beauty. Each of us took his own path for the afternoon. At the hotel gift shop, Bonnie and I ran into a charming group of black Americans from NYC here in Ghana for a family wedding. Back were slapped and hardy handshakes all around when we discovered our NY bond. I asked one gentle giant if he were from Ghana and he replied, “I don’t know. I don’t know where I am from.” I was quickly drawn back to the experience of the morning when shackled men were dragged from their homeland and torn from their history and heritage. It was another sobering moment for me in a day of many. We parted company and headed for the beach. Nana, Deb, Bonnie and I herded together and began a slow crawl down the beach, as the bright orange ball of a sun slipped quietly behind the clouds.
This place called Ghana has truly captured my heart. Its history is unmatched. Its God is forgiving. He has placed his gentle hand on the shoulders of those who live here and love us and treat us with such honor. I love Ghana and intend to soak up all its wonder and hold it hot in my soul. Goodnight, Ghana, my special place.
Quote of the Day:
“In Everlasting Memory of the anguish of our ancestors. May those who died rest in peace. May those who return find their roots. May humanity never again perpetuate such injustice against humanity. We the living vow to uphold this.” Plack on the wall of the St. George’s Castle, Elmina, Ghana.
As we continued down the beach, we encountered a fishing ship, much like the turtle, attempting to engage the bold and resisting sea. Launching this wooden monster into the broiling surf again beckoned to Nana Jack as he dashed forward to offer his shoulder. He leaned into the boat and it slipped into the ocean as the crew clamored aboard and cheered their thanks.
All along the beach, we observed the morning rituals as the town began to awaken to its new day. Back at the hotel, we eagerly greeted our teammates and enjoyed a delightful breakfast at “our table” beside the ocean. (How quickly we’d staked our claim!). After breakfast, we headed to St Georges Castle, a very benign name for an unspeakable place. The exterior of the building was a somber sight. I hesitated going in and knew that I was not alone. Our guide, Richard, did a thorough job leading us from chamber to chamber and explaining the grizzly and gruesome events that took place behind these arrogant walls. How does one man shackle 150 men and place them in a room with a capacity for only 30. How does one man close the door and submit another man to unbearable heat and no ventilation with temperatures into the hundreds. How does one man refuse to feed or offer water to another man whose hunger and thirst has dried him to meager bones. How does one man shackle another man and drag him to a ship, stripping him of family, tradition homeland and his very soul only to be a beast of burden for another man miles away in an unfamiliar continent. Tears were upon our cheeks for we could still smell the stench of their sufferings in the thick, compassionless walls.
In our company were several black guests. All I kept saying over and over again in my heart was, “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.” We moved into a room with a high ceiling and overhanging balcony only to learn that it was from this balcony that the master of this imposing monster of a dungeon chose his nightly maiden for bedding each night. There hidden to the left were the stairs she would climb….alone and frightened to join this cruel stranger for a night of rape. Bloodied and cast aside, she would descend at daybreak. I thought I could take no more. As we continue to move through the rooms we came upon that balcony but I could not look over. Nana Jack stretched out his hand and beckoned me to the rail’s edge. As I reluctantly peered over, there, below me, among a small gathering of guests was a beautiful black man wearing an Obama T shirt with “Change Has Come” written on the back. It was then I realized how far we have come and, with the grace of God and under new leadership, we can continue to heal the wounds.
After a few purchases at the gift shop, we wondered off into the town. It was dense, hot and teeming with unfamiliar sounds and unfresh smells. Nana Jack, Deb, Katie and Sam selected a cool spot under the shade of the Brick House restaurant while Bonnie and I wove our way through the crowd and among the fishing boats resting along the water’s edge. A kind boy befriended us and gave us an inside look of this tightly woven community. We moved in and out of men repairing nets, children playing and mothers attending to their daily chores of washing, cleaning and cooking. Slowly but surely, Bonnie and I found our way back to our teammates and we all enjoyed a satisfying lunch together. However, one is rarely alone in Ghana for there are always the eyes of the curious children, who are fascinated by the “Obrone” and his unusual habits. Little heads with platters of food balanced atop gazed at our every movement. While most of them looked no older than 10, each had his responsibility for selling his daily wares and returning home with the meager earnings. These were young merchants with wares to be sold and a days work to be done.
After lunch, we headed back to our hotel, a place of calm and beauty. Each of us took his own path for the afternoon. At the hotel gift shop, Bonnie and I ran into a charming group of black Americans from NYC here in Ghana for a family wedding. Back were slapped and hardy handshakes all around when we discovered our NY bond. I asked one gentle giant if he were from Ghana and he replied, “I don’t know. I don’t know where I am from.” I was quickly drawn back to the experience of the morning when shackled men were dragged from their homeland and torn from their history and heritage. It was another sobering moment for me in a day of many. We parted company and headed for the beach. Nana, Deb, Bonnie and I herded together and began a slow crawl down the beach, as the bright orange ball of a sun slipped quietly behind the clouds.
This place called Ghana has truly captured my heart. Its history is unmatched. Its God is forgiving. He has placed his gentle hand on the shoulders of those who live here and love us and treat us with such honor. I love Ghana and intend to soak up all its wonder and hold it hot in my soul. Goodnight, Ghana, my special place.
Quote of the Day:
“In Everlasting Memory of the anguish of our ancestors. May those who died rest in peace. May those who return find their roots. May humanity never again perpetuate such injustice against humanity. We the living vow to uphold this.” Plack on the wall of the St. George’s Castle, Elmina, Ghana.
1 comments:
I enjoyed your blog. I am Ghanaian myself and reading your words took me back...
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