No Castles Here

Cape Coast Fort

Castles invoke a sense of fairytale-ness. I believe the words we choose matter and this is why I refuse to refer to Cape Coast, Elmina - or any other space that transported human cargo - as a castle. These are forts and dungeons. Their primary purpose was for defense and trading and will be acknowledged as such. 

I came across Ussher Fort while looking for things to do in Accra. Online reviews and Google Maps identified the fort as a museum, but when we arrived the doors were shuttered and there was no one inside. The rusted iron gate was peeling and showing signs of a long-abandoned building. We pushed on the gate and it opened. Inside the lobby were reminders that this was once a museum. In front of us was a cracked glass window with a small opening in the center and to the left was a sign outlining entry fees of gh10 per person for non-citizens and gh3 for Ghanaians. Further to the left was the entry into the fort. 

Ussher Fort

As we stepped into the open-air courtyard, one of the first things I noticed was the silence. It was truly as if we were transported into another world from the one just on the other side of the wall. Ussher Fort was built in the 1600s by the Dutch as a trading post. The fort did hold prisoners and a few slaves were transported through here, but a majority of the slave trade occurred further west at Cape Coast and Elmina. As we stood in awe, a gentleman approached us. It appeared he’d made himself a home in the abandoned space. He offered to walk us around the fort and, not sensing any threat, we graciously accepted.

We roamed in and out the jail cells, made our way to a small section where slaves were held until transport. Then, unknowingly, we found ourselves marching along a similar route as those slaves and maybe some prisoners would take as their last on their native soil. When we made our way upstairs and stepped out onto the roof my friend and I both paused. A blue-grey overcast lingered over the ocean. There was a stillness in the air. Small fishing boats dotted the water and swayed in the waves. Was this the last view before being marched downhill and transported to a world of uncertainty. It was painful and beautiful.

It’s hard to describe how I felt in that moment. When I walked out onto the rooftop I got goosebumps and a weird sensation came over me and tears welled in my eyes. I tried taking pictures, but ultimately stopped and just stood there.  My spirit needed to be fully present. There was a force moving through us in that moment and I’m convinced it was our ancestors. 

Slowly we made our way out and paid the gentleman who kindly walked us around the fort. As we hopped in a cab and made our way to Labadi Beach to decompress, my friend and I knew we had to get our headspace ready for the next day’s visit to Cape Coast. 

A coastal city, Cape Coast is about two hours from Accra depending on traffic and any stops along the way. Despite my friend’s beau owning a car, we all agreed to hire a driver for the day. It cost about $150 USD. I slept for majority of the journey, but it’s mostly the countryside. By the time I started to wake up, I could smell the sea.

Upon arrival in Cape Coast, you’re greeted by a number of men, women, and children selling their goods. It can feel overwhelming but keep in mind these people are just trying to make a living. A simple no thank you and excusing your way through to the entrance will suffice. I never felt unsafe or that someone was going to pickpocket me unlike I did in Paris when visiting the Eiffel Tower. 

While waiting for our tour to begin there’s a small room with history and mock-ups of Cape Coast dungeon. We didn’t get much time in the room, but it’s well worth the visit once your tour is done. 

The tour around the fort lasts about an hour. I won’t go into detail about the tour itself. It’s optional, but I recommend it. Once the tour is over there’s an opportunity to roam the grounds on your own. Please take advantage of this and if you’re with a large group I encourage you to break away and walk the grounds to explore the spaces on your own or maybe one other person. 

While touring the dungeons of Cape Coast we had two Dutch journalists on our tour. They were there to document Year of Return for a national magazine in The Netherlands. Blonde hair and blue-eyed they followed us writing and photographing the group and fort. When they introduced themselves my friend asked how they’d plan on telling the story of what happened. My friend restrained herself given the setting, but what she was asking was absolutely right: Why couldn’t the magazine hire a black person to tell the story? And if this brother and sister pair are the ones to tell the story, will it, like so much of our history, be whitewashed?

Directly above the men’s dungeon, sits a church. Europeans worshipped Christ above the screams of men, women, and children. And directly outside the men’s dungeon, our ancestors were stripped of their beliefs and forced to convert to Christianity before being sent to uncertain fates. 

We got to the dungeon where women were held. Our tour guide confirmed what many of us already knew: many of the women were raped. (And, given what we know about humanity, I’m sure men and children were also raped).  A woman would be taken from the cell, bathed and then taken to the chambers of whatever man wanted her. One of the generals even took a woman as his mistress. I was not at all shocked by this. It was just a reminder that we have always been desired, even when we are at our dirtiest and lowest.

From the women’s dungeon, we made our way through the Door of No Return. On the other side of the fort’s walls is a lively fishing community. As we made our way through the Door, we saw the men gathered along the coast in fishing boats with their nets and catches. The women carried baskets of goods to a nearby market and the children ran carefree along the waterfront. It was a fascinating sight. The same waters that for hundreds of years stoked fear and death, now appear to breathe life.  

Door of No Return.

Our particular group comprised Ghanaian students, black Americans and Europeans, a Portuguese gentleman, a couple of Asians, and the two Dutch reporters. Throughout the tour the guy from Portugal, traveling alone, would ask different persons to take his photo. Smiling, he’d point to the sign reading “Cell” or “Door of No Return.” Off in the distance I saw a white couple posing for photos, and the group of Asian visitors were giving the peace sign with huge smiles on their faces. It was only the non-black persons who were interested in having their photos taken. To them, this was a tourist attraction and not a place that deserved their deepest respect. 

At the end of the tour, one of our friends was asked a series of questions by one of the journalists. My friend let her know that being there was more along the lines of putting a face to a name. The journalist asked more questions, but she was trying to understand why my friend wasn’t on her knees in tears, wailing for her ancestors. Finally, my friend let her know: Yes there’s a level of emotion, but I know my history. I know what happened here so none of this is new to me.

That said, after the tour I encourage you to break away from the group and walk through the fort on your own. I took 30 minutes to do this and the energy is different. You are better able to tune out and tune in, allowing you to connect with and feel the forces/spirits that still move through the fort. It felt so good. The blood that runs through me once lived in this part of the world before it was violently removed. My ancestors were subjected to the harshest horrors this world has known. We survived three months at sea in inhumane conditions to suffer through hundreds of years of indentured servitude. Even after that ended we faced a genocide under the guise of Jim Crow, then red lining, workplace discrimination, and police brutality.  Yet we persist. This gives me more courage than anything in the world. It’s part of me; literally runs through my veins. 

Since being home I’ve thought a lot about my time on the rooftop at Ussher Fort. I’m convinced that the energy that moved through me when I walked onto that rooftop in James Town was my ancestors recognizing their home. And so I say to them, welcome home.