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.