Ghana Journey: ELMINA

Wednesday 12 June 2013

It was a restless night. At bedtime I took my malaria medication, Mefloquine,  which is known to induce vivid dreams. Last night's was a whopper! I dreamed I was playing piano for my parish school drama club but instead of "Godspell" it was a production of "Jesus Christ Superstar." My friends in the CRS/spiritandsong delegation were also in the dream, which was narrated by Thomas. Lastly, the dream took place in my former home in Orinda, California. Huh??

Anyway, I woke up groggy from the medication and arrived late for breakfast in the Jesuit refectory. My mates had finished their meal and were entertaining our hosts with more music. I chomped down a hastily made peanut butter & jelly sandwich because we were already heading to the van for this morning's activity: a visit to historic Elmina Castle.

Erected by Portugal in 1492 as St. George of the Mine Castle, Elmina was the first trading post built on the Gulf of Guinea and the beginning of a consistent policy of European exploitation of the land and people of Africa, particularly on the Gold Coast. Smooth-talking explorers and military leaders would regale tribal chieftains with promises of prosperity, only to turn against the locals when it was advantageous to European interests.

Elmina became a strategic seaside port for the export of gold, ivory, spices and, most infamously, slaves, which became the most financially lucrative "commodity" of the 17th century. Over the years, control of the castle and the slave trade would pass from the Portuguese to the Dutch to the British.

Slaves were captured in the African interior by European slave-catchers and brought to Elmina to be "processed" under the most torturous and inhumane conditions before being shipped out to Europe and the Americas through the castle's notorious "Door of No Return." By the 18th century, 30,000 slaves had passed through Elmina annually, a policy of horror that "thrived" for three hundred years.

A guide walked our group through the castle, which is in a state of arrested decay. I am hard of hearing and could not really understand the guide but I didn't need to hear him to feel the castle's impact. The main structure still stands, with many rooms empty. But the bars remain on the windows, and the passageways are dark and putrid. We had a real sense of the cramped quarters in which the slaves were housed, and the clumsy castle construction in which slaves risked severe injury by bumping their heads on low beams and ceilings in the darkness. We were even "locked" into solitary confinement, a humid and claustrophic experience that is not for the tender-hearted. At least we tourists were freed after a few minutes; the slaves were not.

We had all been silent and subdued during the tour as Ted and Ben took photos. I soon found that I needed to distance myself from my friends because I was becoming increasingly emotional and distraught. Allow me to explain.

One of my gifts is the ability to literally feel what another person is experiencing. I'm guessing this is in compensation for my loss of hearing. People tell me I'm a good listener and this empathic ability is probably the reason. I cry easily when a friend is experiencing grief and sorrow; I'm filled with joy when others are happy. So as we walked through Elmina Castle, I began to feel pain -- the pain and distress of the millions who suffered within these walls, as well as the somber emotions of the friends around me. 

We soon found ourselves in the dark room at the "Door of No Return." There were three floral wreaths there, placed to honor those who suffered. ValLimar lit a candle and called for Alsy to join her at the wreath wall. As they held hands, Val sang a haunting version of the African-American spiritual, "Freedom." Tears filled my eyes and I was grateful for the darkness. Val then segued into "We Shall Overcome" and the dank room was filled with the sound of our sweet voices, singing in solidarity and remembrance. It was a powerful prayer experience!

We eventually made our way upstairs to the castle overlook, with its spectacular view of the Atlantic. I looked down at the square where the slaves probably stood at attention in the blistering sun as the garrison commandant barked orders, and where slaves were beaten and roughed up by merciless soldiers. I could "hear" their cries of anguish in my head; I was feeling the pain of centuries of torturous abuse. That pain was beginning to crush me and overwhelm me. I was dizzy as I walked gingerly down stairways and passageways, hoping no one was noticing me. I was not feeling well.

The castle seems devoid of color. The walls are an off-white; the doors and the trim around the windows are black. It almost seems like an apt metaphor for the rough relations between the Europeans and the Africans, and for the austere existence of the slaves. After a morning of stark empathy, I was unprepared for the rush of joy that would wash over me when we entered a room whose walls were filled with art -- paintings by the people of Ghana, the descendants of the slaves. These were vibrant, hand-drawn masterpieces of African trees and animals and children, in brilliant colors and movement that lifted me from the despair I was feeling just moments before. I walked slowly from painting to painting, soaking in the positive energy behind these marvelous creations. Out of centuries of desperation and oppression, hope somehow broke through. 

(Note: Photography was not allowed in the museum art shop. This is an example of art found in the shops of the marketplace next to the castle.)

I began today's journal entry with my vivid dream of the night before. But my dream pales in comparison with the dream and vision of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., a descendant of African slaves who, decades after the 13th Amendment abolished slavery, was fighting for the rights and freedoms that were so cruelly denied his ancestors. 

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal. . ."

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. . .

. . . And when this happens, when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:

                Free at last! Free at last!

                Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!