Takoradi/Cape Coast, Ghana

Man it's HOT here! Crossing back into the northern hemisphere has brought us back to warm weather.

We arrived in Takoradi around 9:00 this morning. Pretty uneventful, we didn't even have to deal with immigration...just walked right off the ship! We traveled with some faculty and residence life staff today. And boarded a van that took us 2 hours east to the Kakum National Forest. We drove the more scenic route along the coastline. On our way, we watched out the window as our tour guide pointed out everything we saw. At first I thought it was rather impressive of him to know as much about this area as he did. He was able to explain the history of businesses, schools, government, industry, churches, etc. It is his job to know all this, however. But then as I looked around, I realized that there really just isn't much here. Vast forests. Poverty. Townships with churches and schools sometimes but mostly just shanty-type homes. More forests. Poverty. Market area. Forests again. Another township. More poverty. And so on. The 3 things that marry all these areas together were wondering goats, Shell fuel stations and piles of produce found on the roadside. The produce is harvested and collected on a daily basis all in hopes of someone stopping their vehicle to buy. Most times, they end up rotting where they sit. Goats and Shell stations are just everywhere.

We reached the Kankum National Forest just before 1:00. It is a rainforest. High above the ground among the tall treetops is a canopy bridge system for an arial view of the forest and more importantly, the forest floor, far...far...below.

It's funny how I just don't know my kids at all. After a bit of a hike, we reached the first bridge, suspended by what doesn't seem to amount to much more than a meek rope system, and some wooden planks. I put Ben first because...hmmm....I don't really know. Maybe I thought I could lunge for him if things started falling apart? Who knows. Instead, I had to slow him down and stop his constant threat to jump up and down once I got on. Jeremy, I know, has a slight fear of heights. I put him last because I didn't want to draw attention to his phobia. The next thing I know, the bridge is swaying and I look behind me and Jeremy is rocking it from side to side! Remember, we are hundreds of feet above the forest floor! Six bridges later, I was spent. Yes, Chris was with us but he was far behind us taking pictures as we crossed. His experience was probably not as death defying as mine.

After a delicious Gahanian lunch, we visited the Cape Coast Castle, built by the Swedes in 1653, and the Elmina Castle, built by the Portugese in 1482. Both structures were beautiful whitewashed buildings mostly of brick and limestone mortar. Each sitting on high ground above golden sand beaches. The waves of the Atlantic Ocean smoothing the boulders that decorated the landscape. And of course, the palm trees, a staple for any tropical paradise. I could just imagine the residents drinking up the cool ocean breezes of the early evening as the hot African sun set in the horizon.

But this was not the case. For most of the castle residents, of whom totaled over 3 million, two-thirds died here of unthinkable acts of inhumanity and the other third past through the "Door Of No Return" to begin new lives as slaves. We listened to stories of how these people were taken, abused and sold, each riddled with increasing atrocities. They took us to the dungeons where the captured were held in complete darkness, sometimes for months at a time, waiting for the slave ships to arrive. The dungeons were every definition of the word. Restoration work included the excavation of one of the males slave rooms where they removed layer upon layer of human excrement, blood and disease to reveal the brickwork below but left a square foot patch as a vivid and tangible reminder of what it once was.

I did not expect to be as moved as I was walking throughout the castle walls. From dungeon to governor's quarters, from branding room to auction room and to peer out the haunting and narrow exit literally labeled with a sign, "Door of No Return". But, if I've learned anything on this voyage, it's that surprises can happen anywhere and most often involve a human touch. As we went through the door and stood outside the castle we looked back onto the doorway and were told another story. Several remains of 1st generation American slaves have been returned to Ghana and, as a sign of complete reverence, they have been taken back to the castle and thorough this once "exit-only" door. Above it, is a sign that reads, "Door of Return".