From Pasta to Pigfoot (37 page)

‘Is that the sea?' she asked impatiently, her eyes darting round.

‘No,' Amma replied. ‘But we'll soon be driving along the coastline and you can see it then.' She leant forward and tapped Faye's shoulder. ‘Look over there, quick!'

Faye turned back to look through her window and squealed in shock as they drove past a group of young men dressed in ragged shorts standing by the roadside. ‘What were they holding? They looked like giant rats!'

‘They're grasscutters.' Amma laughed at Faye's reaction to the large furry animals the boys had been dangling by their tails. ‘They're grass eating rodents and a very popular bush meat in the local soups. Sometimes they sell them smoked and flattened on frames. They are pretty tasty.'

Her friend shuddered. ‘I'll stick to basic beef, chicken and fish, thank you.'

Rocky laughed and pointed to a road sign that indicated that Cape Coast was now 36 kilometres away. They drove quickly through Mankessim, another market town, but this time the goods on sale appeared to be almost exclusively timber and related products.

Then, finally, through the swaying coconut trees, Faye saw a strip of blue.

‘Oh, look, it's the sea!' She turned to look at the flashes of seawater, visible between the trees and shrubs that separated the road from the beach.

They drove through a few more villages and rural hamlets that reminded Faye of the communities they had passed on the long drive to Kumasi the previous weekend. As they headed towards Cape Coast, they passed an ancient fort perched on top of a hill, its reddy-brown walls decaying in the salty breeze. The sparkling blue sea was now clearly visible, as were numerous signboards dotted along the road inviting visitors to any number of hostels, hotels and churches.

They drove through the small town of Anomabo before reaching Biriwa. Here, empty kiosks with rusted corrugated-iron roofs lined the streets. The town was silent and the streets almost empty, as though all the energy has been sucked out.

‘You see children and older people, but there hardly seem to be any young men or women walking around,' Faye observed, her gaze fixed on the passing scenery.

Edwin, whose mother had been born in Anomabo, explained that most of the younger generation had left for the larger towns and cities such as Cape Coast, Takoradi
and Accra in search of better opportunities.

‘There's so little to do in these small towns now that no one wants to stay,' he said. ‘They just send their children back for the grandparents to look after and go and look for jobs in the hotels or tourist areas in the bigger towns and cities.'

The state of the road suddenly improved dramatically and the potholed highway was transformed into a smooth dual carriageway along the side of which they could see food stalls manned by young girls selling the Fanti version of
kenkey
, the popular fermented maize, wrapped in dark leaves and stacked like bricks on the tables.

Rocky slowed the car down as they drove into Cape Coast. The road wound uphill past run-down buildings with peeling green and yellow walls. Kids called out to each other as they scampered along the edge of the road playing football, and took little notice of the vehicles driving past them on the narrow roads.

‘So what's special about Cape Coast – apart from the pineapples?' Faye asked, tapping Rocky's knee.

‘Well, Cape Coast does have an important history. It was once the capital of the Gold Coast – as Ghana was called before independence from the British – and it's now the capital city of the Central Region of Ghana.' He lowered his voice dramatically. ‘It's also the home of 99 little gods.'

She looked askance at him but before she could speak, he gestured to his right.

‘Cape Coast is also famous for its church spires and steeples. Just look over there.' Faye stared, astonished, at the sheer number of spires that appeared in quick succession as they drove along.

Then, as they drove further up the hill, Cape Coast Castle came into view. She gasped at the sight of the huge white edifice and the rusting black cannon visible from the road.

Rocky drove up to the castle and parked the car on the grass verge and clambered out onto the soft earth, still moist from the morning showers. He came round to open the passenger door and held out his hand. Faye automatically slipped hers inside his, looking upwards in awe at the Castle as they walked towards the entrance.

Rocky took care of the tickets and they passed through into a large paved courtyard in the centre of the Castle. Looking up, they could see roughly hewn stairs leading up to balconies with black railings and windows screened by blue wooden shutters. Black rusting metal lampposts converted to use electric light bulbs were planted around the courtyard.

Edwin had gone to make enquiries and came back shortly afterwards to join the others. ‘There's a tour starting soon, but the guide says we have time to take a look at the museum first.'

The four of them climbed up a stone staircase and entered through the door marked ‘Museum'. They moved past a darkened side room where a group of tourists stood engrossed as they watched a short video about Ghana, went through into the main hall, and walked slowly around the museum exhibits.

Faye paused beside the first display and read the information on the card with interest.

‘The Gold Coast was an important trading centre with
flourishing towns and city states and it existed long before the first Europeans ever arrived. Oh, and listen to this… “By the 1480s the Portuguese had reached the coast and started the gold rush. Ghana's subsequent history has been one of interaction between Africans and Europeans trading in gold, ivory, pepper and eventually, slaves.”'

She gave a hollow laugh. ‘No wonder they say we are such a welcoming people – we welcomed the traders for years, even after they started selling us!'

Rocky stood beside her, a brooding expression on his handsome face as he read the notes below the display. He shook his head in disgust at the more gory aspects of the castle's history. ‘Most of these fortresses and castles that the Europeans built have fallen into decay, although some of them were refurbished into schools and government offices. This castle and the one in Elmina are registered as World Heritage Monuments, which is just as well. They are a reminder to us to never forget what was done to our people – by others and by ourselves.'

They moved from one exhibit to the next, fascinated by the unfolding story of the continent and the slave trade, described there as one of the most tragic chapters in the history of Africa and the Americas. In one exhibit, beautiful photography highlighted the story of gold, and how raw gold starred in abundance in Ghana's history; being used over the centuries for sculpture, for currency, for regalia, jewellery and ornaments.

‘Edwin, do you realise where the word
cedi
comes from?' Amma asked, pulling Edwin away from the metal gold weights he'd been scrutinising. Without waiting for
an answer, she gestured towards the exhibit she had been examining.

‘It says that when the European traders arrived in 1470, they came in search of gold. But, as trade developed into more than bartering, gold dust was used as currency along with iron bars and cowrie shells. The name of our currency today, the
cedi
, comes from
sedee
, the Akan word for cowrie shell.' She smiled affectionately at him. ‘You see? You learn something new every day.'

Edwin was still reading the information below the exhibit. ‘Well, we were certainly popular,' he remarked. ‘First came the Portuguese, then the Dutch, before we were handed over to the British in 1872 to be part of their empire. I wonder how much the “notional sum” the British paid for Elmina Castle was,' he added speculatively.

They moved on to an exhibit about the castles at Elmina and Cape Coast, which as the two largest outposts had been the regional headquarters for the development of trade in the region. Manned by soldiers, merchants, doctors and other officials, they had served also to protect the local population in times of war.

Edwin grinned and pointed to a line in the text. ‘It looks like Christopher Columbus “discovered” Ghana before America. It says here that he visited one of the forts – Sao Jorge de Mina – ten years before he set off on his famous voyages to the Americas.'

On hearing Edwin say the word ‘America', Rocky quickly dragged Faye off to the next exhibit, which was a pictorial history of Cape Coast Castle.

‘Rocky, you were right about Cape Coast once being
the capital. According to this, it was the seat of English administration in the Gold Coast until 1877 when the capital was relocated to Accra.'

They walked slowly through the exhibition hall, looking at black and white pictures of colonial Ghana and reading out titbits from the historical accounts accompanying the pictures. Standing in front of a series of pictures depicting scenes from a nineteenth century Fanti market, Faye and Amma gave voice to the same thought.

‘It looks pretty similar to the market I went to last week! It doesn't seem like we've made much progress in almost two hundred years.'

‘I know what you mean,' Amma replied, peering at the cooking utensils in another picture. ‘Look at that black grinding bowl. It looks just like the ones you'll see in Ghanaian homes today.'

The next exhibit stopped them cold; it told the story of slavery. Torn between horror and fascination, they silently read the account of the beginnings of the Atlantic slave trade in the 1500s and how, by the 1600s, the slave trade had become firmly established.

Amma was the first to speak. ‘It's hard to believe that the slave trade lasted for four centuries – that's
four hundred years!
It says that between twelve and twenty-five million Africans were forced into the trade during that time.'

Faye shook her head slowly in amazement. ‘One third of the slaves went to Brazil, one third to the Caribbean and one third were scattered throughout North and South America.' She turned to look for Rocky, who had moved onto the next exhibit, and walked over to him.

‘Do you know what that is?' he asked her softly, gesturing to the glass case in front of him. She looked at the metal artefacts in the case and shook her head.

‘It's a branding iron,' he said slowly. ‘They would heat it in an open fire and use it to brand the slaves.'

Faye's eyes welled with tears as she looked at the short metal stick with a flattened wedge and imagined it heated to a hot red temperature before being pressed against human flesh.

He pointed to the circular metal objects on the shelf below. ‘Those are the shackles they used. They would chain the captured slaves at the neck and wrists and ankle.'

‘Ladies and gentleman, the tour of the Castle is about to begin downstairs!' The announcement rang out loudly in the quiet hall. Reluctantly, they broke away from the exhibits and headed down the stone steps to join the small group that had gathered at the far end of the courtyard.

The tour guide, a tall, very dark man with a loud booming voice, waited for them to take their place before he started speaking. The passion in his voice was undimmed by years of repetition as he took his riveted audience through the voyage of the Africans torn from the bosom of their homes and transported as slave labour to a foreign land from which they would never return.

In lyrical accented English, he explained that as the home of the British Governors, the Castle served as the seat of government in colonial times.

‘The British traded in gold, ivory and in slaves,' he said. ‘Captured from neighbouring countries and from the deep recesses of the Gold Coast – tragically, often with
the connivance of their own chiefs – they were exchanged for iron rods and jewellery.' He paused and began to walk. ‘Follow me, please.'

The group walked along the courtyard and stopped outside a door marked ‘Palaver Hall'. The guide entered the room and waited until the group had assembled inside the long bare hall.

‘This is Palaver Hall, where the exchange of slaves took place,' he announced, gesturing grandly around the room.

Amma shivered. ‘You can almost picture what it must have been like,' she whispered.

Faye nodded and turned to follow the guide who was striding out of the room. They walked across the uneven paving stones of the courtyard, stopping in front of a wooden door with a plaque identifying it as the Male Slave Dungeon.

‘When the slaves were brought to the Castle,' the guide went on, ‘the men were separated from the women and both groups were locked into slave dungeons,' he said. ‘Follow me.'

Faye instinctively reached out for Rocky's hand and he held onto hers tightly as their guide led the way down a slope into the darkened dungeons. The male dungeons were made up of four interconnecting underground rooms with a few tiny windows carved out of the rough stone walls providing the only light and ventilation.

The guide pointed to a large gap near the top of one wall. ‘That window up there was designed, not to give the slaves air, but to provide an avenue for eavesdroppers to listen to the slaves and report anything seditious to their masters,' he explained.

They stooped to pass between the interconnecting rooms in the wake of their guide. Suddenly he stopped and waited for them to surround him again. Neither his voice nor his face betrayed emotion as he spoke.

‘If you feel that our small group has almost filled this room, you should know that one thousand men were kept in here at any one time.' He nodded to emphasise his point. ‘When they were captured, the Africans were forced to walk barefoot for days from the Northern villages, from the east, the west and across borders. Many died during those long walks, while some were eaten by wild animals.'

He paused for a moment as an elderly woman at the front of the group removed a handkerchief from her bag and dabbed at her eyes.

‘Unfortunately, trapped as they were in these dungeons, many did not survive the overcrowded, unhygienic conditions and the tropical diseases. And, although they were all black men and all sons of Africa, they were mostly unable to communicate with each other as they had no common language.'