Good Bye Africa

That morning I woke Rachel up at the crack of dawn to go to the Mosque. Apparently we woke up too late. By the time we got there it was empty but a young man offered to teach us how to pray any ways. We washed our has five times, right then left. Feet: right then left. Arms right then left. head face and mouth. Went inside knelt and did out prayers.

We left Kofridua and headed to a craft market in Accra. Im so glad I bought all my stuff in Cape Coast. It was just like i though. Everything was over priced. Have the crafts I have seen in my neighborhood back home so I just ended up waking around and playing with a monkey I found tried up to a tree.

...I REALLY didnt want to go home. My dads friend Ray and his fience took us out the dinner to this fancy restaurant...way to much for my taste but ok...I had my last Red Red...and that was it

The next morning we got to the airport and had a 12 hour layover. I couldn't wait to be home to get away from these ignorant kids but i Really didnt want to leave. In the gift shop I over hear one of them say "O my ghawd I cant wait to go home..this whole country is SO ghetto"

some people, even when immersed in culture, are still so ignorant to difference.

I really miss Africa...

.:July 23:Koforidua:.

4am: piled into the bus again for the long ride to Koforidua.

Koforidua is high up in the Mountain ranges over looking Accra. On the way up there we passed Rita Marley's studio which was perched on the side of the mountain, it had been through a fire and was in pretty shabby shape but I still wanted to go see it.

The group stopped for a tour of the Cocoa Research Institute of Ghana. They grew several types of Cocoa, Cashews, coffee and shea. Theres a tone of thing you can make with Coca, butter,wines,chocolet, animal feed, jelly/jams,pectin,fertilizer,soap and vinegar. With all these things it made it even harder to see why Ghana had so many imported goods. Black soap (Alata semina) was the best soap ever...but non of the locals seemed to used it.

On the inside, the Cocoa fruit was white and slimy a lot like Lychee fruits in east Asia or Canepas (Mamoncillo) in central America. Its sweetness was alot more like Lychee though.

After the Coca Research Institute, we stopped by an AIDS hostel called the 'Mathew 25 house' for some more community service. The gave us a tour and told us alot about their mission and the stigmatization a lot of AIDS victims go through due to lack peoples of education. Statistically, more woman are found with the virus simply because woman seem to be more health conscious. To me that was a dangerous fact, it ment alot more guys could be sitting around spreading AIDS and not getting checked out all because of ego. The most appalling them was the refusal to teach condom use. I understand that some may see the promotion of condoms as a push for promiscuity but people are going to do what they want, if some one is set on having sex shouldn't they atleast be safe about it? The Mathew house staff told us they didnt even have condoms to give people that asked.

The group was helping paint out side of Mathew 25 house. My father and grandfather both are professional painters, after working a few jobs painting my house and lifeguard sheds at work...i felt like I was pretty knowledgeable in the are. How ever the older gentle men who founded the House was bent on his was, because I was young female my input wasn't really taken to heart and almost immediately the watered down paint began to develop air pockets and chiped. It was irritating to be ignored by these people but non the less I stayed humble and finished the job..in the end i felt good about it.

After we returned to the hotel I was bent on discovering more of Koforidua. It was such a beautiful place, how what I not take full advantage of being here. My dads friend came to visit me in Cape Coast and had briefly mentioned a waterfall some where in Koforidua. I really wanted to go alone but based on the Ostrich farm escapade I decided a few more people should come, just to help out with cab fare.After walking around the Coca place and painting all day I was pretty tired but there was no way I was passing up a waterfall.

.:Akaah Waterfalls:.

The cab dropped us off about a mile from were the falls were actually were. on the hike over we scaled several tall rocks. When we got to the clearing it was like something off of National Geographic..JUST WHAT I WAS LOOKING FOR. I didnt know how much water and mist my camera could handle but i jumped in waist deep and climbed up the mossy falls alone. It was so nice..I was actually really glad we left in such a small group.

We had no clue how to get back to Kofridua or the hotel. Hitchhiking along the long winding dusty path in the direction in which we came, several tro-tro passed up and refused to stop. You'd think it was a taxi drivers dream to see 5 Americans just walking around looking lost. NOPE..no one stopped. We must have walked five miles before a cab stopped. as long as we had day light I was fine with it.

In the cab were two brothers blasting local music on the casttes player. We piled in like a clown car. We got back around sunset, on the way back I spotted a mosque which I was determined to go to before I left Africa.

.:July 22:LAST DAY IN CAPE COAST:.

This was maybe the most depressing thing ever...I didnt miss home AT ALL...

We spent most of the morning in the market getting gifts, I had a hunch that the place we where supposedly 'shopping till we dropped' was going to have jacked up prices. Plus I'd rather give business to my Rasta friends...everyone had nicknames...my name was Baby Rasta...and as soon as I got comfy it was time to go home...

After getting my hair braided -for only 6 cedsi!!!- (like $4-5) I walked up to the Rasta hang out to say my good byes....It was really sad..most of them gave me gifts and trinkets to remember them by...I had my last Red Red from Fish Bone's vegetarian spot and that was it...

..no not really. we went out to some club with them for the last time and that was it..

.:July 20:.

Ostrich adventure

I was determined to ride an Ostrich...

turns out no one knew where to find one. So I grabbed all the money I had left and hpped in a cab...turns out the cab didnt know where the Ostrich place was either. We drove half way around the world and fount the small town of Efutu Monpong where the Ostrich farm USED TO BE...after turning all the way around we noticed the Ostrich sign on the sign of the road...fallowed it to some shbby little place ran by one guy on the top of a hill in the middle of now where.

There were maybe 3 Ostriches...and we could even ride them...I was ready to go as soon as he said that...'o you can in Zimbabwe though" yeaaa....riighhhht.....FAIL

.:July 19:.

BEACH!!!

I grabbed my breakfast that I eat everyday..rice Gari and shito...50 Peswas...life is good

We went with the group this time but of coarse I had to explore. Me and some other kids walked to the opposite side of the beach and found all kinds of ousters, cowrie shells and sea urchins.

Today was a good day.

.:July 17:.

Today was our community service day.

The job was helping clear a football field in which just so happened to be on property of Coke-a-Cola..I couldn't help but wonder why they weren't cleaning this crap up..but it wast hard to guess.

We got there and they gave us brooms. brooms? I didn't come here to sweep if im going to help im going to help for real so i quickly ditched the broom and helped some guys pull boulders out of the 'shit pit' (my special name for it)...it was a long hard day of work but I was cool with it. Couldn't help but notice a bunch of able bodied men just standing around though...

My boy Unice hooked me up with this guy Johnny who he met when he was on DOC last summer. The guy was cool but he was trying WAY to hard to impress us sometimes. He took us around to some of the spots we'd missed like the Crocodile hotel. Basically theres just restaurant on top of a Crock infested pond. I guess they feed the crocks so well that the dont bother people so we could get right up close and pet them.

That night him and his friend took us to the club in their fancy cars...just the kind of guys I like to avoid..overly shallow...it seemed like the younger generation are just like that every where.

The club was OVERLY packed this time. a few fights went down but nothing serious. I got over the whole scene real fast when a few dudes around me started getting really homophobic and pushy when it was obvious i wasn't going to dance with them but what ever thats life.

.:July 16:.

Today I traded most of my unneeded clothes for craft goods with Muhammad.

We watched heritage Africa at a professors house. Its a pretty deep movie and the irony made me laugh. non of the other students seem to have gotten it at all. Its crazy how people have / continue to sell their souls to win the acceptance of those who could care less...I feel like i see this trend every where...the plague of the conscientious uncoutious.

July 11-13

In the days that fallowed our return from Kumasi there wasn't much to do. I ended up spending more time sleeping and hanging out in Kings was...at this point I felt I saw all there was to see in Cape Coast...

.:July 10:Koo Nimo and the market:.

On the way to meet the legendary Ghanaian folk artist Ko Nimo Ansa (Daniel Amponsah), I couldn't help but be annoyed by the number of adds for skin lightning cream, they were every where. Always featuring a light skin model with a wavy weave on. It felt like kind of in insult, in a country full of various shades of beautiful brown and black skinned women..they are still pushing undertones of white supremacy introduced during slavery.

Koo Nimo was the man. His dancers reminded me so much of the dancing I used to do at home; Krumping. Its a street dance but not alot of people know what that is still despite the fact that its mainstream now. Anyways..this guy set up a clan of artist to take over after him. Its a shame not alot of people honor legends like they used to. His top guitar student George offered to give me privet guitar lessons after..but first we went to the market.

After riding the tro tro for like 10 minutes we stopped at a HUGE market. It was like street markets at home times 100..everything was divided up like before but this one had two versions of the same market; the Muslim side and the Christian side. everything was so much cheaper in the Kumasi market too. Gold, soap and shea butter was all cheaper than in Cape Coast. We both got really tired of that place pretty fast and headed out.

Back to the hotel then off to find George. My lesson was great, we chatted and exchanged music then headed off to the hotel. I wish Kumasi lasted longer. I had to learn how to say black in Fanti cause I was SO tired of being called Obruni (white)

.:July 9:The Road to Kumasi:.

After a 6hour bus ride through the rain forest, we stopped in a Kente cloth weaving community called Bonwire. Half way sleep through the whole ride I had to straighten myself up beforegetting off the bus looking all types of Native with my hair freshly liberated from braids.

Climbing off the bus I could help but be a bit confused at my surroundings. Where were the loom? The cloth? Anything?. Just another shanty little town with kids bargaining with me other things I never agreed to bye in the fist place. I dug into my bag for loose bills hoping 30 Cedisand bargaining would get me all the material I wanted. After my sleepiness wore off my natural Boston instinct kicked in an I was ready to leave the group and explore myself until I notice that my Conrad Rachel had drifted off and the group separated into two. Panford insisted that I fallow him in the second group no and despite not wanting I guess there was a first time for everything so I fallowed along. I was a little confused that this Kente weaving community wasunusually small for something said to be home to the finest Kente in the area. I expected busy streets and looms on every corner.

Clumsily meandering through side streets fallowed by street kids still trying to push uselessparaphernalia in our faces, the group finally came to a stop in a clearing were the buildings seemed to open up into haphazard plaza and we were reunited with the other half of our group. To the left of me I could scarcely see a commotion going on infront of a wooden long house. Shortly after I learned that is where the –serious- kente weaving took place.

Once inside the long house all small time hustlers were locked out and the weaver took there place. Some were between the noses and the shoving in the narrow walk way of the long house I was able to recognized some familiar American accents. I didn’t really miss physically being home at all but I still felt good to know fellow black Americans were in the vicinity. It’s a weird feeling knowing your not completely at home in America but still sticking out in Africa. I guess I just missed tho familiarity, being able to speak to a black person that used the same type of English I do and shares a similar sense of humor.

The path along the walls of the long house were barely big enough for two people to walk side by side. Making my way around the one big room, It is impossible to ‘just look’. Weavers are ready to sell and the patterns and colors were unheard of. Eager to find the perfect purple material to bring home to my girlfriend I couldn't resist toughing ever one I saw, comparing prices. but people there don’t just tell you the price and let you walk away. The have to pull out the whole 6yard long piece of fabric and give you a million reasons why you should buy it from them. Of course me not having the “you must buy” from me bit, I try to reject as kindly as possible and go about my way taking as few snap shots as possible to avoid being the obnoxious tourist. Not having the slightest clue about fabric and dress making made it all worst as I tried to negotiateprices. My base length was 2 yards but of coarse everyone wants to tell you the best type of dress u should try to make and of coarse its going to need 6 yards of material and of coarse the only person with 6 yards of that particular material is them. PHA..i wasn’t having it.

Aggravated that my chaperons failed to communicate the fact that this would be our first stop, Ihadn’t had the chance to change money, but of coarse this was all my fault because I didn’t have the syllabus and/or didn’t hear them correctly or some other non sense excuse they continually use to pass the baton of blame from administration on the me the student. Yea right. Any how, Isettled on just being satisfied with my pictures since I didn’t barley have enough money and apparently there was no way we were coming back to this place again.

Hats off to the great communication and planning.

.:July 8:.

Today there wasn't much to do so Miriam Rachel and I decided to go explore another beach not too far away. We got in the cab and just said Coconut Grove and that was it. We didnt know what to really expect or how far it was. I loved how the taxis worked down there, you agree on the price BEFORE you get in the cab.

Coconut grove as part of a resort. It was pretty far for the town but it was secluded and peaceful. No one was around so we just walked in like we owned the place and ran around the beach like crazy people. When we got tired we all ended up just laying on the beach and falling asleep...and THATS how i got my first sun burn....never again.

Tomorrow was Kumasi..

.:July 7:Rasta Internship:.

At this point I had been going to Kings way to hang out with the Rastas everyday. So when it came time for the internship portion of the coarse, I'd already known what I wanted to do: make drums with Rastas. I'd really gotten sick of being fallowed around by Rachele 24/7 and was so ready to experience something ALONE with out her always gearing the conversation to her self plus as an artist I could connect with them more.

Drum making was hard work but I didn't mind it. I hated being paraded around while I watch everyone around me working, so I jumped right in it. Muhammad was by far my favorite Rasta. He was always chill, watching and observing but not saying much unless it ment something. People say thing just to be part of a conversation and those empty words often have little to no meaning..Its kind of hard to put the experience into words. When you meet people of your same caliber you just click. It was like hanging out with my big brother at home. Plus Muhammad looked like a lion.

He offered to teach me how to play all of his home made instruments but Tuesday was the Gods day of silence. No one was to be drumming or making load nosed on the beach. I figured the ecological reason may have been to give the marine life a chance to replenish in an effort to avoid over fishing. Mean while Rachel was banging away at the drums in another Rasta hut off in the distance...-TRYING- to rap with some Rastas who had already been smoking and drinking all day and who, unfortunetly for me, had been feeding into her ego all day..

We had long conversations, the Rastas shared theories on everything. I admired them for their simplistic way of live which I what I aim for at some point.

At the end of the day my arms were so sore but I was happy about it. In return for my apprenticeship Muhammad asked me for something in return. Not money, but something from the heart, a token of humility and gratitude from student to teacher cause he didn't have to show me his secrets, skills like these are apart of the culture passed down in families..which ment so much more to me because I hate giving have hearted gifts. Everything has a significance to me and it was the same with him. I didn't have much so I slept on it. It had to mean something, something he could use and something I'd miss.

July 6:Bakatue festival

I had gotten word of a festival in Elmina from my Rasta friends so we decide to go.

Bakatue was the welcoming in of the fishing season. Local chiefs, elders, and stool carriers along with member of thier respective tribes march from the bottom of Elmina's main road to a lagoon right next to the Elmina Castle. I accidentally bumped into a woman and as I apologized I realized she was marching with on of the tribes. I asked if it were alright for me to join in the march and capture it all on camera. She was more that inviting. On the march up the hill I met the chiefs family. His mother, uncle , aunt and grandparents welcomed me as if i were one of their own and had me dancing all the way up the hill with them. When we got to the end, the chiefs uncle set me up in front of the elders to take pictures. climbed down to the edge of the water and got right up front. This was the type of thing I came to Ghana to witness. After offering the gods a meal of mashed yams and eggs, a net is cast several times to predict what the new fishing season will bring, symbolizing the opening of the season to all other fisherman aswell.

As we left the festival I discovered one of my home favorites. Sorrile; a hibiscus drink that cures just about anything..here they called it Bissap...and with that my day was complete.

July 4: Elmina + Kakum Park

Its ironic that on the 4th of July we were exploring our second slave castle.

Elmina was a beautiful fishing town.Busy.Every one was doing something. No one was just walking around to be walking around. Everyone was going some where for a purpose. its crazy the things you can just do when you come from privilege..at home people just wonder..

On the walk up the the castle a young man about 23 came up to me and asked if I was American and tried to shove merchandise in my face. My response was no Im not American, Im Black..he took is jewelry a way asked me my name and told me I was Ghanaian and welcome home.."too black too strong" he said as he shook my hand smiled as he walked away....this was pretty much every conversation started went during the remainder of my trip: Im not American...Im Black...Black reaches further..American is shallow..it means you can sucker me easily and I'll put up with you,it means I come from money and I'll give you poor Africans some because that just what we do, sit back and take pictures like we're in a Zoo...Black means im just as broke as you.It means I could be your long LONG lost cousin and I could have been working this market just like you. Black means some one from my past went through the door of no return but I returned... American means your a tourist....Im Black. Not American.

There were lots of stylistic differences between the Elmina castle and the Cape Coast Castle but non the less it was still a slave castle. An Ashente king was held there for months because he refused to give up is rule and the sacred artifacts of his people. I started putting myself into the positions of the captive to fully experience the place in different ways. They led us to the court yard where public displays of punishment were held. Thats were Portuguese also made the woman parade around as they watched from high up balconies and took their pick, raping who every they saw fit and refereed to the children of such brutalities as 'mulatto' meaning mule in Portuguese...

...Mule. a mixture between a donkey and a horse, two totally different species,a mutated human creation that cannot bread. mules are infertile .and the term is still used to refer to people of bi-racial black and white decent today...how much of slavery have we really gotten rid of when we call our selves this?

As soon as we got back in the van all the white kids are taking bets on how many Ghanaians they can 'get' as if it were a game...ironic...we had just left a slave castle where the Portuguese felt it was their God given right to pick any Black woman they wanted and rape her..Im sure it was a game to them too...how much have we really changed?

.:Kakum National Park:.

After Elmina. We drove up to Kakum National Park. I was ready for an intense mountain hike...then I looked back at the group and knew it was a long shot...

Walking around up there I couldn't help but feel a slight sense of pride at the fact that my ancestors probably knew this place like the backs of their hands.. What plants to eat and which to stay away from. Back when no one laid clam to the land itself trying to tame it, but just lives in harmony with it....its the same way I feel when I walk through a forest at home.. before the reservations and flood of white settlers..this was all us.

.:July 3:.

I woke up sooooooo sick from the night before. I missed this funeral we were supposed to go to but... for real who wants to go to a funeral of some one you dont know? I would hate for some one to show up to a funeral of my family member with a bunch of white kids I dont know just standing there looking clue less and uncultured. I was ok with missing it. I figured it was just like baptist funerals like the ones I've been to in New Orleans at home any ways, which area always more of a celebration of life.

Later that day we visited the village of a Chief. Was walked in and these old women where sitting there in traditional garb watching soap operas on a labtop. It was a really ironic picture. The chief comes out and his cell phone rings. Apparently their tribe has bee around for about 800 years and even defeated the Ashente, a great war tribe know through out the diaspora. They told us they were the first to have contact with the Europeans when they first landed. Their strong tire to their culture lasted through the ordeal of slavery, people sent to Jamaican colonies kept their African names and passed them down, they even named towns after the places they grew up in in Africa. I learned about his a while back. The Maroons of Jamaica were members of the Ashente tribe that were solid into slavery and joined together once they got the the colony. They ended up running away and forming their own societies in the jungles where they resumed life as if they were still in Africa. This actually happened alot in the Caribbean and in Brazil...it just so happed that the Jamaican Maroons were from the Ashente..

We when out side of the chiefs palace after pouring the libations and talking with everyone. The children gather every where to make fun of us. I was the only one to break from the group, kneel down and talk to the kids while everyone else just stood at a distance at took pictures like we were at a zoo. I met a young girl names Sarah who was in charge of the children, she a had a stern face as if she had been around for years and held ages of wisdom for a girl so young. She was 13 and carried her younger sister on her back and whipped all the younger kids into place.

.:July 2::.

Today we had one of the most interesting lectures yet: Africa and appropriate technology. I loved the professor, the passion he had for the subject was a breath of fresh air, i could tell he really loved his country and how fed up he was with the system and westernization of the Ghanaian. Basically what I got out of it was; the world under western influence is dooming itself, nature is ignored in the design of everyday things, people in tropical climates are wearing hot pant suits to be like westerners while drinking hot coffee and depriving families of energy using their high powered air conditions. Technology and nature need to be paid closer attention too, ancient society invented ways to preserve their ways of life working in harmony with nature but the modern world has forgotten the lessons of the past in order to be more like those that enslaved them...its crazy. African countries (in fact most third world countries in general) have the labor and natural resources to be successful, all they lack is the technology and forward thinking because all their scholars what to do is get degrees and move to America and never really go back home to help. Mean while Americans and other developing countries think they are helping by donating western clothing making the problem worse and the money given to aid never really even leaves the country. Im convince that only Africans can save Africa..more people like Nnkruma and more Black Americans like Du Bois...but its like revolutionary thinking is out dated to people now... especially in my generation..

We visited several small compounds where the visiting professor was helping organize the teaching of crafts and self sufficiency. After that we went to a small place where woman were harvesting the Plam fruit. Its amazing the amount of stuff they can make out of that one fruit. This guy had some big ideas...all it takes is a few people to invest in them. An eco-friendlily Plam mill with local workers.

When the group got back we had a ton of free time so Rachel and I dipped to Kings Way where the Cape Coast Castle was. After walking around the whole town and wondering through the villages we ended up back on the beach fishing with some little kids. With a line and a rock weight its kind of hard to see how they ever caught anything. On the opposite side from the beach was a small line up of craft shops ran by all Rastas. Once they got past the fact that I wasn't there to buy anything from them they opened up and got really cool with me. Finding vegetarian food was a mission. Fortunetly enough for me a kid named Fish Bone ran a vegetarian cafe next to the Rastas. We talked for a while about music and food an America. He hooked me up with some red red which quickly became my favorite food. In the middle of the meal I heard some jimbes close by and walked around till I found were they came from. A high school dance group was practicing for an upcoming festival. The leader of the group was a Chinese Ghanaian..i wanted to ask him more about what his family was like but we didnt have time.

That night we watched the world cup Ghana versus Uruguay..they should have won...I was pissed.

After we went to the local gas station with the group to chill before we went to the near by night club which was in the Elmina Beach Resort. I was so at home, every one could dance. These kids were all around me popping and house dancing, up rocking, I know they probably might have not knows what any of those were but me being a dancer, thats what we call it at home. EVERY one could dance...its such a big part of us as a people in the diaspora and it showed me that so much of myself was here...so much of who I am comes from this place..

The club was cool too. really small and chill with good local music. Its more about dancing and enjoying yourself then clubs at home were everyone just wants to be so close to each other focusing on sex making it hard to actually have fun, especially if you really dont want to dance with anyone...

June 30:: Urban Drop off

The night before I introduced myself to another study broad student from Pen state who was rooming in the Chalet across from ours. She gave us all the inside scoop on Cape Coast; where the clubs are, how to get internet, where the cheap food is.. We made arrangements to go to the club that Friday. It seemed like her group was just a boring and sheltered as ours so we ended up exploring a near by town at midnight. All the way at the end of this dusty path on the out skirts of the town was a small shop ran by a woman and her two children. She scolded us for being out so late and demanded we come back and visit her in the morning. She reminded me so much of my grandmother...I mentioned this to Rachel and of coarse she took it and ran..'mother' this 'mother' that bla bla bla..

The next day we got a 'formal' tour of the campus. I really just wanted to go to sleep cause this was all stuff I'd found on my own the last few days we've been here. After the tour was over we went back to the other side of campus so get our 'Urban Drop-off' assignments. Urban drop off was exactly what it sounds like; they dropped us off in a market and told us to go buy specific items in our groups. Me, Rachel and this girl Nichol were told to go buy Gari. I had already eaten Gari for breakfast that morning plus I had asked the bus driver what it was made out of and how else it can be prepared, basically I had everything I needed before we even got to the market

It was so strange to me how the whole economy seemed to be based off of foreign goods. I came in there thing thinking WORD im about to get maaaad Shea butter and Black soap (Alata Semina) but I really had to search in the inner market for those. Everyone is trying to be American so hard its ridiculous....

Gari is made from fresh cassava, which is grated and the excess liquid is then squeezed out. The remaining cassava is then fried with over an open fire, on a broad metal pan that has been greased with a little oil, could be palm oil or other vegetable fat.

The result product is crisp and crunchy to taste, and is stored easily and can be eaten with stew or soup or shito and fish. Or in secondary schools it can be soaked with water milk and sugar. http://www.ghanaweb.com/GhanaHomePage/food/gari.html

I had this theory that having us find Gari was our T.A. way of proving to us that we dont know everything..were we supposed to get Gari or Cassava? It wasn't exactly laid out so I just go cassava. The market was like any street market in layout. The western goods and sold on the outside of the market on the main street, there's a taxi stand near by, the inner market it mostly children and older women selling kente cloth soaps, seasoning and other fresh local foods and meats.That evening Rachel and I walked to the near by beach. I was more interested in walking around and talking to the fishermen but Rachel wanted to show off her skim board while I was stuck taking pictures of her like always. I ran into some fishermen who let me take pictures of them and help carrying some nets and pull the boat up from the beach. They had about 9 other guys pulling at the same time. Its really hard work.

June 29:: Cape Coast Castle

That morning it was the usual: I wake up early and go wonder around until I find food that coast less than 1Ghana Cedi..I only brought $400 with me so I was trying to make it stretch big time.

Our early morning lecture was on the Cape Coast Castles and the history of slavery. The biggest things that puzzles me about the whole concept of slaver are two things: (1) People always talk about slavery in dehumanizing terms which in fact was a method used by slave masters to justify doing what they did...so its like...have things really changed in terms of how we refer to our ancestors? and what exactly dose that mean about us today...seems like we're still slaves if you ask me...(2) what about the Europeans made them resort to the extremely brutal form of slavery? Muslim and other African forms of slavery weren't nearly as brutal and dehumanizing. What about the European made him so cold... probably the crazy money they were making out of it..

Its crazy, and in a twisted way, brilliant the ways and the amount to witch Europeans have damaged the African people in every aspect...so much so that century later we still haven't bounced back...I really liked the lecture. I didn't feel like everyone was taking it as seriously as I was though....this feeling actually echoed through out my whole time in Ghana sadly enough.

...:CAPE COAST CASTLE:...

From the out side..life goes on. people don't seem to dwell on the the thought of slavery like Black Americans do..maybe people have gotten so used to the castle being there that its just another building...in side there were offices and shops and people going about life as if the building were a normal place of business...but to me it was something sacred. The foot prints in the floor, the stench of the holding cells, the shells and fist prints left in the walls of that place. I wanted to feel anger but I didn't, I wanted to feel sad...but I didn't..I just felt..a block...going to a place like this with a group of white students flashing pictures for their face book profiles so they can seem 'cultured'..Rachele fallowing me every were so I didn't have a chance so sucking anything up on my own....I left...dipped out of the group..fell behind..I couldn't be here in a crowd..this place had too much history, too much importance and way to many way word spirits for me to be herded around like a lost sheep in a herd of castle..I was a different species from these kids and I just wanted to be on my own.

So I waited until the groups moved on a explored by myself (or at least tried too seeing how Rachel was at every turn)

No picture can ever capture what one feels in that place walking around alone. The punishment cell were they put those who were caught 'miss behaving' (which could have probably just been sneezing in African accent)...was maybe the most ere experience of my life. The room had to be 15ftX8ft and PITCH BLACK once you get more that 2 people in there...As soon as the group left I tried to find the edges of the room in the midst of the blackness...it was like walking into a cemetery blind folded..the deeper I go the heavier the air around me felt..not many things frighten me but that just about did it..not scared like of things unknown..but scared like..i could almost feel people touching me..my over active imagination kicked in and all around me I could imagine bodies dreamed in sweat blood and vomit. Women being forced to sit in their own menstruation, no food, water or light. Knowing your surrounded by people but not being able to see a face or hear a familiar language....It humanized that which had been dehumanized...for me at least...and with my heart in my throught I finally reached to opposite side of the room.