A woman's first trip to Africa opens her eyes and fans her interest in her heritage.
By RACHEL JONES
Published October 5, 2003
[Photos: Eric Don Arthur]
The Makola Market is Accra’s shopping center — everything from avocados to tires is sold.
Elmina Castle, one of the “slave factories” that long ago dotted the Atlantic coast of Africa, is on the Cape Coast. Carved wood items are for sale at a market in Accra.
A bust of American scholar and activist W.E.B. Du Bois stands in front of his home in Accra.
“DOOR OF NO RETURN” African-Americans tracing their past are drawn to Goree Island in Senegal, where slaves were herded onto ships headed to the New World.
[Photo: Tom Tracy]
The best advice I received before my first trip to Africa was to leave my expectations at home.
My friend Brenda is a seasoned Africa traveler. She has made many trips to report on HIV and AIDS issues in the southern part of the continent.
"Don't go expecting something to happen," Brenda said. "It sets you up for absolutely nothing. Just experience it."
That cryptic advice couldn't dull my excitement about spending 11 days in the capital of Ghana, Accra. I had made venturing to Africa one of my 2003 New Year's resolutions. And then I was surprised when I was invited by the U.S. Embassy in Accra to lead a weeklong journalism workshop.
There were more coincidences about the trip that I considered significant: Noted African-American scholar W.E.B. Du Bois is buried in Accra, and this year marks the 100th anniversary of the publication of his The Souls of Black Folk, arguably the seminal text of 20th century African-American intellectual discourse.
Though seeing Africa's beauty and the diversity of its people appealed to me, I was concerned about civil unrest in many of the countries I was eager to explore. For example, Ghana is one nation away from Liberia, where crisis escalated as I prepared for my trip.
I also worried about malaria, which kills tens of thousands of Africans each year. And there were the basic challenges of traveling in developing nations: bad roads, limited public transportation, poor sanitation. Phone and e-mail access would be sporadic.
Nonetheless, I accepted the invitation.
Hard life, soft cash
Flying over the Sahara Desert was incredible. With my nose pressed against the window, I recalled the opening scenes of The English Patient, the panorama of sand dunes and shadows. When the terrain changed, I marveled at how vegetation in Africa looked somehow greener and lusher.
Accra is an amazing blend of modern urban center and stereotypical developing nation. Smartly dressed locals steer Mercedeses past modern architecture as ragged urchins hawk shoes and carvings, underwear and sealed plastic bags of what they say is ice water. The bags held some lure in the summer heat, but travelers would be wise to avoid the contents, which have an uncertain origin.
Even without the obvious contrasts of have and have-not - and Ghana has one of the more stable economies on the continent - the poverty in some neighborhoods was more than just disturbing.
That made my accommodations in the four-star La Palm Royal Beach Hotel striking. The hotel is on 30 manicured acres near the Atlantic Ocean. However, if you're planning on swimming, you're better off at the hotel's large pool; the beaches are littered and unsafe.
Each day during my first week in Accra, I gave a silent prayer of thanks for the State Department Jeep and driver that ferried me through the clogged streets. The most common form of transportation is a large retrofitted van called a "tro-tro," or "mammy wagon."
The vans clatter along the roads, jerking to a stop whenever would-be passengers make elaborate hand gestures to hail them. The average tro-tro can seat 12 to 16 people, but most have 20 or more crammed onto narrow benches, and often young men stand on the rear bumper.
It's easy to get giddy about purchasing power in Accra, but make sure you pack a calculator. During my summer trip, the exchange rate was about 8,600 Ghanaian cedis to the dollar; now it is more than 8,700.
Most cab rides cost a little more than a dollar. The downside is that because in most places the largest denomination bill is the 10,000 note, you have to carry a wad of notes several inches thick just to pay for basics.
Off to see the sights
Once my five-day seminar was finished, I set off to see major sights: Makola Market, the slave castle at Elmina and the Du Bois Memorial Centre for Pan-African Culture.
When my cab pulled in front of Makola's main entrance, I was underwhelmed. As with most market areas I'd seen, the vendors were packed tightly into an uncovered space. The tables strained under the weight of bolts of cloth, leather goods, beads and carved wood.
It hardly seemed worth the hype. Then my guide, Stella, led me around the corner.
I gasped: It was every flea market multiplied by 1,000.
Stella grabbed my parcels and commanded me to keep my purse under my arm; then she began threading our way through the crowd. She deftly bargained for everything we wanted, often switching from English to the Ghanaian Twi dialect if negotiations stalled.
Most people shop Makola for fresh vegetables and fruit, but they can get pretty much anything they need: auto parts, bras, fresh fish, wigs, pots, pans.
Another day I hired a rental car and driver through the hotel's concierge desk, paying $130 for the day. The price seemed exorbitant after the bargains at Makola, but the car was air-conditioned and new - none of the taxis are - and I was not confident enough to drive myself for two hours to the Cape Coast Region.
An engaging young man named Nana Yawa was my driver, and he assured me that we could stop any time for photos or to poke around anything we saw along the way.
The road to Cape Coast is barely paved most of the way - Nana Yawa kept apologizing - but the drive has wonderful views of rural Ghana. Village life seemed much slower than life in Accra, with the small towns organized around a central circle filled by vendors or folks who chatted with passers-by.
After about 90 minutes we arrived at Kakum National Park. Its central attraction is the Canopy Walkway: seven bridges hanging high in a tree. The bridges are barely more than a foot wide and have waist-high ropes as handholds. Every step makes the bridges jiggle and sway. There are stunning views of a lush rain forest.
By the time Nana Yawa pulled in front of the imposing Elmina Castle an hour later, I was bracing myself for another reason: It was the first of 42 "slave factories" built along Africa's western coast.
Typically, slaves were captured inland, then taken to coastal outposts. It is estimated that half of all captives did not survive to reach the coast.
At the castle, I walked across a drawbridge over an empty moat toward the crumbling, whitewashed facade.
My guide, Alex Afful, was a fount of information, yet he knew when to stop spouting anecdotes and factoids and let visitors soak up the atmosphere.
I marveled at the construction of Elmina Castle, also known as Fort St. Jago. Built in the late 1400s, it was the first permanent structure Europeans built south of the Sahara.
The castle had several owners during the slave trade: the Portuguese, Dutch and English. By the 18th century, an estimated 30,000 slaves on their way to the Americas passed through Elmina each year.
It wasn't a swift process: Once the captured arrived, they waited to be traded to slave-ship captains for cowrie shells, iron bars, guns, woven cloth and other manufactured items.
Deportation through outposts such as Elmina continued for nearly 300 years.
I passed through Elmina's dark, dank cells. An open courtyard in the area for female captives allowed a ship's captain to take his pick of chained, naked women. If his pick refused to go with him, she was chained to a heavy cannonball and made to stand in the center of the courtyard.
Rebellious males were locked in a dark, windowless room, no more than 10 by 12 feet, until they either relented or suffocated.
Most captives passed their time at Elmina packed in filthy pens, often waiting days for someone to unchain the rotting corpse next to them.
Finally the horror of it all hit me, and I fled one of the cells, gasping.
Outside I paused to stare over the crashing waves of the Atlantic. I had new insight into Du Bois' intellectual journey, his unceasing demand for justice for "black folks."
William Edward Burghardt Du Bois died on Aug. 27, 1963, in Accra, one day before the historic March on Washington. At age 95, the scholar and civil rights champion was too frail to return to the United States for the event.
Grieving family and colleagues suggested that Du Bois chose that moment to die because it was the quickest way for his spirit to cross the ocean to join the hundreds of thousands of marchers.
Accra commemorates Du Bois at the Du Bois Centre. It's a modest white frame house, surrounded by a high, white brick wall. Near the entrance, a bust of Du Bois sits atop a cylindrical pedestal. Immediately to the right, in the area where he received visitors under a canopy of thatch, Du Bois is entombed.
Inside, the house is mundane, save for his book-lined library, in which visitors can imagine him working on the Encyclopedia Africana, his obsession before he died. In his bedroom are artifacts including the gown Du Bois wore when he received his doctorate from Harvard.
Among other mementos is a beautiful red wall hanging, symbolic of his connection to China. Du Bois lived in China briefly during 1936 and advised leaders about regaining control of the country's resources. Chinese leaders celebrated his 91st birthday in 1959 and presented him with this wall hanging, which reads:
"A credit to colored races, you are a shining example, winning universal admiration, committed to world peace. You are riding the East Wind, enjoying happy longevity."
As I headed to Kotoka Airport for my departure, I realized that my journey of insight into my history, and Africa, was just beginning.
- Former St. Petersburg Times staff writer Rachel Jones is a reporter for National Public Radio.
If you go
Many travelers told me that Ghana is the most accessible and friendliest entry point to western Africa for Americans. Because most Ghanians speak at least some English, communication isn't a big hurdle.
It's imperative that travelers get a vaccination against yellow fever; proof of it is needed to enter Ghana. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention also suggest vaccines for hepatitis A and B, typhoid, measles/mumps/rubella and meningitis.
In Washington bookstores I found only one authoritative guide to Ghana, The Bradt Travel Guide to Ghana. It covers demographics, history, climate, customs and safety issues.
GETTING THERE: There are no direct flights to Accra from Tampa International Airport. Direct flights are available from New York's JFK Airport and Baltimore-Washington International on Ghana Airways. STAYING THERE: The 4-year-old La Palm Royal Beach Hotel is a series of large, chalet-type structures that have up to eight guest rooms, each facing a courtyard. The sleekly appointed lobby and common spaces were filled with vivid local art.
Among the restaurants is an open-air, thatched-roof facility called the Ghanaian Village. The hotel's Web site is www.gbhghana.com/lapalm.html Booking is available there.
SHOPPING SENSE: Be alert for pickpockets. Never use your credit cards. Theft of cards and card numbers is common. It's best to do purchasing with cash. Bargaining is common. Be aware that if a vendor knows that a customer is American, prices go up dramatically.
At Makola Market, bolts of gorgeous cloth cost about $7 for 4 yards. Get a recommendation for a reliable tailor and have an outfit made for another $5 or $10.
“DOOR OF NO RETURN”
