so one day we all pile into a bus and go to the slave castles, the afro americans were tripping and boke was gon sit it out cause of finance but I was like no way Ima let you miss the slave castles, there was a whole contingent of Kenyans clueless about the true meaning of the slave castles to afro americans until they saw us tripping, took a couple of hours to get there and binyavanga kept the bus in stiches, he such a motor mack, he talked the whole way about anything that popped into his mind, but even he was speechless at the door of no return, made your flesh crawl when you went down into the dungeons where the slaves were kept, we went to Elmina 1st and it was this huge maze of an edifice, steps leading nowhere, canon and cul de sacs abound, a door with the skull over it where they punished recalcitrant slaves by entombing them, the governors balcony where he would have women slaves paraded for his nightly bed choice and the ladder from the slave pens to his bedroom, the diff between the slave dungeons and the airy church right over them where they would be able to smell and hear them during services and the even more airy governors bedroom over the church, jeff, adero, jacqui, tyehimba, et al, the afroams, we tripping, we like alternative dimension tripping
AND DOORS OF NO RETURN
the door of no return, from which the sea has retreated, leaving an impenetrable bed of rocks, folk, incl myself, took pictures standing in front of it god knows why, bonnie refused, considered it a sacrilege I believe, she said the castle should be allowed to rot away, to declare its impermanence, I thought it should stay, a never again never forget kind of thing, and then there were the hustlers, not so bad at elmina cause the town, a vibrant sprawl I would like to walk thru, was somewhat separate, cape coast was not as impressive an edifice as Elmina but somehow more chilling because the dungeons were even more depressing holes in the ground, at cape coast I ditched the tour and the group experience and went on my own the better to feel the moment, I had ducked the hustlers that be at the gate of every sacred space Ive ever pilgrimaged in the world and inside in the dungeons there was a guy with an elaborate shrine who would let you take pictures for a donation and I found myself irritated, then I think these the very same mercantile fuckers sold us into slavery
then I think how our journeys have forged us into a new people, a new tribe, of which I am very proud, for all the issues I love being african american and wherever I go in the world call myself representing, it is a pride of place that has been accented here in ghana w/this door of no fucking return and it is still fucking w/my head being in those slave dungeons w/floors of compacted feces and wondering what they must have felt like entombed in those communal graveyards and I think of all the folk who suffered there, who died there, who died on the ships and its like all these haints calling on me, don't forget us, and it make me want to cry even as I sit here writing this
but before I rejoined the tour I found myself at cape coasts door of no return alone, it was unlocked, I pulled it open and walked through it and it was this vibrant scene of fishermen coming in at the end of the day and it was some kind of market thing happening w/headtied women sitting in front of piles of fish, and there were all these black-folk and their boats and each boat had a flag snapping in the wind and stacked high with colorful green fishing nets and it was so vibrant and full of life and blackfolk taking care of business and each other and it was the reverse of the hucksters at the gate but im thinking now who am I to sneer at folk making a way, feeding families however they can, this was my takeaway scene, this I can live with, I turned around to re enter the castle and there was a sign over the door, mate to the one on the other side said - Door of Return.
I walked through
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