Feeling the cool, smooth bumps of ancient human excrement-covered cobble stones makes the memory of slavery more recent than its abolition in 1807 by the British. A very real, physical and visual bridge connects past atrocities with the present sunshine, colourful fishing boats and golden sands walked by free people and smiling faces. The bright sunlight reflecting off the flaky grey-white walls of the inner courtyard and passage to the Door of No Return contrast starkly with the cool damp interior of the Men’s Dungeon. Each chamber unbelievably holding 200 men cramped at one time and home to some of the most unbearable conditions imaginable, both physically and emotionally. Human feaces, urine, blood — all compacted underneath where you would have rest your head and piling up over the months, years and eventual centuries due to the lack of cleaning and applying ‘out of sight, out of mind’ tactics of covering up the waste with sand. A quick fix for mere cargo.
Small holes in the thick stone walls allow dim squares of light to penetrate the blinding darkness and, in the past, allowed the influx of blood-thirsty mosquitos and disease-ridden flies, just to add to the misery inside this harsh hope-less prison. Above this cold jail sits the castle’s church where one could “wash away” the days sins, and above this, the ‘5-star hotel room’ — curved in shape, white, as large as an entire single dungeon, air conditioned by the fresh sea breeze brushing softly in through eight large windows framing squares of bright blue sky — the best light and views of the entire castle. The governor’s quarters. Big, bright, breezy; the domain of the highest-ranked European asshole around, his girls and his entertainment served as pleased, mere metres of layered stone above the innocents’ living torture below. The ridiculous irony of it all.
Tomorrow → Day 34: 11th.April.2016 — “Lift Lift” Along Ghana’s Golden Coast
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Shani
