Ok! So, I have my computer back, and it is working great! I almost started singing as I walked out of the computer repair store. It was a bit of a hassle to get it fixed, though. First, I brought it to the USAC office. I had absolutely no idea where I could take it. Computer repair in Africa? Not exactly something that seems intuitive (and I'm terrible for buying into the stereotype, but I was a little bit frantic...). Abigail, the program coordinator took it off to the little repair shop on campus while I was in class. The guy there kept it for five days. Five days without a computer! Tragedy! But then I went to see him on Monday, and he told me that he couldn't fix it. But he did tell me where I could get it fixed. This involved getting Abigail to get the name and address of the shop from him because I forgot the name almost as soon as he said it. Then I had to arrange for someone to go with me because there was no way that Abigail was going to let me wander around on my own (she is so wonderful!). So, a week from the day that my computer died, Peter and I set off for an unknown--to me, at least--destination off campus. Getting there involved taking a trotro to the mall, walking two blocks to another stop and taking another trotro. The computer repair shop was on a fairly upscale street, for Accra, actually. That means that there were two banks, a car dealership (Toyota, I think) and several boutiques in the area. The shop itself was set back from the road, in a compound with other buildings that looked like warehouses. There were piles computer boxes, laptops, monitors, and other miscellaneous parts littering the store; it was a bit of a mess. I'm very glad that Peter went with me. There were a bunch of guys hanging around in the back of the shop, and it took me a bit to figure out exactly what the manager said that I should do. But it was surprisingly easy to get it fixed. I sat down while the took a look at it. They told me how much it would cost. I went to an ATM two blocks away. And, presto! My computer would turn on again! Happy, happy day.
So, now I have to make up for a week and a half of not posting. A lot has happened. I never got to write about the Cape Coast trip, and classes have officially started. I think I'll have to break everything into parts and catch up as I can manage it.
The logical place to start would, of course, be Cape Coast. Cape Coast was last weekend, the 2nd and the 3rd of February. Cape Coast is a coastal city, maybe a two hour drive west of Accra. It is probably most well-known for its role in the Transatlantic slave trade, but it also has a university with an excellent teaching college and a flourishing harbor. Cape Coast has two of the best preserved European castles on the West African coast, Cape Coast Castle and Elmina Castle. Cape Coast Castle was built and run by the British. It was both the seat of the early colonial presence in Ghana (then the Gold Coast) and one of the hubs of the slave trade. Slaves were held in the castle until a ship came to take them to the Americas. Some slaves were held in the dungeon-like holding cells for six weeks.
On the outside, Cape Coast Castle is a beautiful building. It exemplifies everything that is aesthetically pleasing about colonial architecture. The walls of the castle are painted white. Sunlight reflects off of the water, making the whole structure seem to shine. Despite, the weather wear on the paint, the castle give the impression of being fresh and clean and bright. The whole building seems to be open to the sea--which is maybe fifty yards from the castle. I walked on the rocks between the castle and the ocean. They seem volcanic, with pockets of air that have been revealed by waves, and crabs scuttling from rock to rock.When I was standing on the ocean-facing wall of the castle, I could taste salt in the air, feel the wind in my hair and the bright heat of sunshine on my arms. It was a lovely moment. There are cannons lined up along all of the ocean-facing walls of the fort, on multiple levels, and there are piles of cannonballs behind them. The castle itself has parts, a main building and two wings surrounding a courtyard and the wall that overlooks the ocean. There are external stairs and walkways for most parts of the interior of the building, all leading back to the interior courtyard. It really is a bit like a castle, with surprise pocket rooms and beautiful views from balconies. There are fleets of fishing boats in the harbor next to the castle, wooden boats, painted, and flying colorful flags and banners. It was surprising to see so much color so near the ocean.
But underneath the castle is another story entirely. There is a steep passage that leads down from the interior courtyard to the holding cells. It is difficult to describe the cells adequately. The only ways that I can think of that seem accurate would be to say that they really were like dungeons and that I felt like I did when I visited Dachau seven years ago. It was so dark down there. And there would have been so many people. They would have been so afraid.
Obama visited Cape Coast Castle when he visited Ghana a few years ago. There is a plaque on the wall that memorializes his visit. It was a place that was symbolic of so much more. The entirety of modern issues with race can, at one point or another, be traced back to that spot on which I stood, looking out over the ocean. It is amazing what human greed can accomplish.
Later:
I remembered the day after I published this post that there was a Natasha Trethewey (I am a little bit obsessed with her...) poem that I kept trying to remember while I was walking around Cape Coast Castle. I got separated from the group at one point, and ended up all the way at one end of one of the wings, looking out over the ocean and the harbor. This poem just fits to me, somehow, despite it being about a place thousands of miles away from Ghana--in time and space.
THEORIES IN TIME AND SPACE
You can get there from here, though
there's no going home.
Everywhere you go will be somewhere
you've never been. Try this:
head south on Mississippi 49,one-
by-one mile markers ticking off
another minute of your life. Follow this
to its natural conclusion--dead end
at the coast, the pier at Gulfport where
riggings of shrimp boats are loose stiches
in a sky threatening rain. Cross over
the man-made beach, 26 miles of sand
dumped on a mangrove swamp--burried
terrain of the past. Bring only
what you must carry--tome of memory,
its random blank pages. On the dock
where you board the boat for Ship Island,
someone will take your picture:
the photograph--who you were--
will be waiting when you return.
From Native Guard: Poems by Natasha Trethewey
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