Cape Coast Castle

Passing through the door of no return, we were close to the ocean on a terrace of sorts which would have led out to the pier and onto the ship.  A pillar for trade in Africa.  This was the Gold Coast.

Down on the beach, rows of fishing boats, covered in colourful flags were lined up.  Dug out canoes with sails, storage filled with ice when they head out, with fish when they return.  They fish with nets.  Small scale when you compare it to the big off-shore boats which take most of the catch. Today one of the fishermen caught a sea turtle in his net.  They fetch a pretty dollar (cedi to be precise) among fish mongers and tourists alike.  But more from tourists.  Always more from tourists. Down on the beach, tourists are yelling; negotiating really, with the fisherman so that he would let the turtle go.  Once a deal is struck and currency changed hands, the fisherman, with two friends, carry the turtle embarrassingly hoisted by its shell, up the rampart from the beach, past us on the terrace and down to the water to be released on the other side of the break wall. It was uncanny to consider that when that monster of a turtle hatched from his little turtle egg, these parts could very well have been in the thick of the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade.  And today, it's the turtle being emancipated.

The door of no return was just that.  When it was time to pass through, there would be no going back.  People walked from far away to wait in dark smoldering dungeons, packed shoulder to shoulder for weeks, months even, before being loaded into the bowels of a ship.  As they followed along the pier, the last view of homeland likely would not have come into focus, with eyes so sensitive to light.  Days, weeks, centuries of darkness. There was one dungeon for men and one for women.  Archaeologists who excavated the mens dungeon, found the stone floor only after troweling through 10cm of dirt.  Once upon a time, that dirt was human feces.  Years worth of human feces. Connected to the mens dungeon, underground was a place of worship.  There were many deaths which needed tending.  Many didn't make it.  This would be their final resting place. The women's dungeon was separate, close to the door of no return.  Across the hall was a special room reserved for officers' privileges.  Only the prettiest girls were told to go in there.  A memorable place was Cape Coast, Ghana.  Not soon forgotten.

Timber and gold started the rush, not people.  Sweden set up shop in 1650, then the Danish and Dutch fought over the trading post for a few years before the British finally took possession in 1664, naming it Cape Coast Castle.  The French nearly captured it during the Seven Years War, damaging it so much that the British had to rebuild.  Today the Ghanaian Government maintains the castle.  Tourists pay extra to bring their camera. Strange times these are.  On both sides of the pond.