Feb 11 - Ghana

Despite the infernal heat, the drive to Cape Coast in Ghana was my gift from the gods. And my companionship: god’s angels. How lovely the people, how cordial, how thriving, how inspiring. My friend BG was right. The coast is natural, ages old with fishing villages by its shores and hunters on the road selling rodents (some smoked, some still breathing). Gospel on the radio and Nana, my group leader, telling stories about religion, traditions, politics.

We stopped at the University of Cape Coast to talk to students. Impressive. The sculpture of mother wisdom feeding her child caught my eye. I also found bright smiles that tell you stories, colourful fashion, elegant talk. I was treated very well. I was told that is how officials treat foreigners... often better than locals. I used my “foreign-ness” as a charming way to grab their attention… and to invite them to come to Canada with me. We then visited boarding schools, for girls, for boys, private, public, wealthier and not so, uniformed, organized, old enough to be soon celebrating their first century.

On the way back, we visited one of the various fortresses or castles used to gather slaves before shipping them away. Most of them were Portuguese but this one was Dutch. A bit dilapidated, although recently renovated, it sits as a silent reminder at the top of a hill in the midst of a crowded neighbourhood. A tired-looking man in his forties is the key holder. As we walked into the small dark rooms where people from the region were ‘herded’, I felt my pores jump and my eyes pour. And there was that “door of no return” through which stolen generations of men and women walked off their land and disappeared onto the ocean… under the supervision of greedy traders and the ambitious colonizers of the Americas.

I come from Africa too. I felt at home in Ghana. Colombia is also a multicultural society where races have mixed again and again. It is difficult to trace one’s heritage. We are an amalgamation of Europe (with all its combinations and permutations), Africa (mostly from this region of the West Coast) and from the local sedentary inhabitants of the land, rich Aboriginal families (Muiscas, Chibschas, Quimbayas) who lived on “Pacha Mama” for centuries before Columbus. I’m sure African blood runs through my veins… I felt it in the beat of my heart drumming as I saw the boat makers make boats and followed the waves that bathe their bare toes…
Back in Accra the bi-colour cabs buzzed. There were ads welcoming Obama in full smile along John Atta Mills, the Ghanaian president. From North Ridge where I stayed (at the Alisa Hotel) to the steaming streets of a city with a large football stadium, I melted with the inclement sun but suffered no pain. For the first time on my trip I saw traffic police. I noticed that my driver uses the emergency break instead of the pedal break to stop and the highways are divided by fence-like barricades adorned with chicken wire to ‘encourage’ street-crossers to use pedestrian bridges. Along the road I saw big markets, informal vendors. They sell wedding dresses, iron bars, stereo speakers, fridges, evangelical churches, remedies for tumors and other malformations, food.

As we listened to the radio there was a catchy tune that I started to whistle. Nana, Collins and Cynthia laughed. What do the lyrics say? I asked. “Give me a quarter, I'll forget all my sorrows and I'll pay you tomorrow”. It refers to getting a shot glass of ‘akpeteshie’, the 40% alcohol local gin… that helps one forget about the daily burdens so that tomorrow never comes…

I missed the akpeteshie. If there is a tomorrow, I must return to Ghana for my quarter. Share