Tamale Part 2

I woke up the next morning at 6:30 and immediately dragged my body under the showerhead in the bathroom for an early morning wake-up call. I had no towel with which to dry myself, so I was forced to use one of the t-shirts I brought. We had a repeat of our breakfast from the day before - french toast, grits, and mixed fruit bowl. This morning, the french toast was just too much for me my body to handle, so when we got on the bus, I went right back to sleep. I woke up after a few hours. We were driving forther north, closer and closer to the border Ghana shares with Burkina Faso. The farther north we went, the more sparse settlements and the more the landscape felt like we were in the middle of nowhere. The trees were very small and spread out pretty far apart with nothing but grass in between them. It seemed that that landscape would just go on forever, that no matter how far out into the distance I could see, I would have this exact same view and small spread-out trees and grasslands.

We finally reached our destination of Paga around 10:30 in the morning. Paga is in the Upper Eastern Region of Ghana and is less than 20 km from the border. Paga is famous for its crocodile ponds, although unfortunately, we did not get to see one. Instead, we went to the site of a former slave camp, Nania Slave Camp, also called "Pinkworo" meaning "rocks of fear," that has now been turned into an historical site museum-like place. It makes sense that the place is called rocks of fear because the whole place is filled with rocks, and those rocks directly related to the misery of the slaves. We walked out to this one rock outcropping where slaves used to take their meals in little holes that they carved out of the rocks. It became immediately clear to me that this would not be the best place to take meals because in the mid-day sun, the rocks felt like they were on fire. I should probably mention that it was even hotter here than it was the day before at Dr. Abdulai's clinic. I seriously didn't know what I was going to do with myself, not having been so hot in so long. So I can imagine, for a slave, sitting on these rocks probably in limited clothing was not a pleasant experience.

We walked a little further up on the rocks where six men and about as many children stood around this one rock. I got the impression that the men were probably drunk because the whole time they kept arguing and just acting silly. The rock they were surrounding was actually used as a drum. This rock was unique in that you could hit it at all sorts of different points and it would make different noises. The slaves used to entertain the British slave traders by playing music on this rock. The men played a few songs for us, the first of which they told us was about finding a young virgin girl to have sex with which I'm sure made the NYU staff thrilled. Christa laughed uncomfortably and then asked them to play a song that maybe the slaves would have played. The whole time they played this one man who seemed the drunkest of all just sort of danced around, but in a very spastic way. The children found them all very delightful, and I was shocked to see that a few of the children were barefooted on the rocks. I took my foot out of my sandal and placed it on the rocks and discovered that I couldn't keep it there for more than a few seconds before my foot felt like I had just dipped my foot in a nice pot of molten lava.

After that, we went to see another important rock. This rock was perched high on top of another rock so that when you got on top of it, you could see everything for miles. This rock was used as a lookout spot to make sure no slaves escaped the camp. If a slave did try to escape, the person on the rock could easily make some sort of signal and then point to whichever direction the slave was so that the soldiers could go round him up. Like I said, the trees in the savanna are very short and spread out, so there's not much to block one's view. It's sad that most of the British's power came from their weapons. Even if people in the nearby villages tried to help the slaves escape, their bow-and-arrow's and other weapons couldn't compete with the British's guns. If you think about European invasion and settlement of the Americas, one of the main reasons it was so successful was because the natives could not combat the European diseases, and so they either died or mixed with the Europeans. Instruments of death are a powerful thing; be careful you don't use them for evil.

At this juncture, I think I should also point out how this slave camp fit into the larger picture of the slave trade. I actually just read a book on the slave trade, so I feel I can provide some quick insight into the story. Slaves were rounded up all over West Africa by various means. Sometimes vulnerable peasant villages were raided and the people were taken as slaves. Often prisoners of war were taken as slaves. Communities would give up people as slaves if that person was somehow disruptive to the social fabric of the community. Then the slaves would be taken to local slaves camps like this one in Paga for some amount of time, but eventually, they would have to make a journey by foot to the coast where they would be placed in holding cells like the one at Elmina Castle that I visited earlier in the semster. Here, the slaves could be kept for very long amounts of time. In fact, European slave traders taking slaves to the Americas took anywhere between one and six months to get enough slaves to make a trip across the Atlantic. Then, of course, the trip across the Atlantic took anywhere from one to two months depending on what part of the Americas the slaves were being shipped to (about one month for South America, more like two for North America). So, you see, the slave trade was very survival-of-the-fittest, with only the strongest and most resiliant slaves actually ending up in the Americas.

You should also realize that the Transatlantic slave trade was not the only market for slaves at the time. In fact, there was an internal market for slaves in Africa, as well as markets to the northern in northern Africa and the Mediterranean and markets to the east as well. Also, it should be noted that, while the atrocities committed against slaves in the Americas are by far the worst outcome of any of these slave trades, the rounding up of slaves for sale was not just performed by Europeans. In fact, the rounding up of slaves was primarily done by Africans for economic purposes. Europeans did not penetrate far into the African interior, mostly because for a long time there was no cure for malaria which Africans have a natural defense against because of their sickle cells. Therefore, for most of the slave trade, it was Africans who performed raids on peasant villages and took prisoners of war as slaves and outcast certain members of the community to a life of slavery. (This particular slave camp that we visited was most active during the mid-1800s, after quinine, an antimalarial drug, was invented allowing the Europeans to take a more active role in the African interior, and ultimately making it possible for Europeans to colonize Africa). So, while I am not trying to defend any European actions in relation to slave trading in Africa, you should realize that slave trading was just that, a trade. It was seen in economic terms and both Africans (well, some Africans, not the slaves, of course) and Europeans benefitted from the trade. Of course, the people who benefitted most from the slave trade were Americans who were able to use a large and extremely cheap labor supply to build up the riches of the Americas. It may seem crazy when you think about it, but it's true. Without African slave labor, the United States of America never would have been the superpower that it is today. Of course, there's much more to the slave trade that the little I've mentioned, so I encourage whoever has the time to find a credible source and read up on it as it is a major part of world history and one of the biggest factors in the inequality of wealth between certain regions of the world today.

To end our visit to the slave camp, we went to the cemetery for the slaves, not really a proper burial place for slaves, but instead a place where the British dug a large hole and threw lots of dead bodies in. Right by the cemetery was a little rock known as punishment rock. Some slaves, probably those who tried to escape, were strapped to this rock and flogged to death. There was a heavy air and an intense heat about the spot, not just because it was so hot, but because I came to that point in the day when I actually began to really think about what went on at that slave camp. It's one thing to acknowledge the history of it all, but it's another to try to put yourself inside of it and really imagine what it was like. We all shared a moment of silence for all those who have suffered because of this deep scar cut into humanity.

Our next stop was to be Bolgatanga, a little south of Paga, where we were planning on visiting this village inhabited by widows and orphans from the area. Widows are heavily stigmatized in northern Ghana. For some reason (I'm not sure what the reason is), it is believed that if a man dies, it is most likely because of his wife. So in that sense, the wife is seen as a murderer in some ways, so society outcasts her. She cannot marry again, and her family does not want to take her back. Her husband's property does not go to her, so she is left with nothing, and she is expected to live the rest of her life as a beggar. The Widows and Orphans Ministry of Northern Ghana is an organization dedicated to helping these widows, their children, and orphans find a livelihood that will support them and help end the stigmatization against widows. We visited one of these villages where the women make baskets that they can sell at the market. It's a strange setting because there's all these women, probably 50 or so, as well as three times as many children, if not more, and there are almost no men around. What men are around are people who work for the organization since these women have no husbands. Our visit to the village was a little awkward in some ways. It's just strange that this little village of outcasts in the middle of nowhere is visited by this village of white people from the other side of the globe, and we just sit there, sort of staring (not such a new thing by now) because the none of the widows really know English. They explained, through a translator, how they made baskets and how much they sold them for and so on and so on. We donated a bunch of stuff to them and then they danced for us. They pulled me into their dance circle at one point. I was somewhat reluctant, but sommetimes you just gotta ignore any awkwardness that may seem present and just have a good time. The women seemed very appreciative of our visit and our donations, and a million thank you's were exchanged on both sides.

Our next stop was the Bolgatanga craft market which consisted of a bunch of stalls that sold all sorts of things from leather goods to baskets to clothing to brasswork. of course, I only looked and did not buy anything. I don't remember when I decided it, but at some point in my life, I just decided to stop buying stuff out of novelty. Of course, I will buy something if I judge that it will have some important practical purpose in my life, but in general, I just don't like to buy "stuff." It seems like an empty hobby because eventually you're just going to want more stuff, and so not amount of stuff will ever satisfy. So the easy solution is to stop buying stuff. Anyway, the market was nice, and afterwards we headed back to Tamale.

Back in Tamale, we had dinner at a restaurant called Swad. The cuisine was a mix of West African and Indian, so we got dishes like chicken curry and samasos as well as fufu. The restaurant was inside of a very basic building with a tin roof, sort of like an old church was emptied out and turned into a restaurant. It kind of reminded me of a barbeque restaurant in a small town in the Deep South, plain, spacious, and friendly. It began to downpour while we were there, so we had to scream at each other the whole time to beat out the sound of the rain pounding down on the tin roof. Afterwards, I went back to GNAT to hang out with a few of my friends. The power was out again, but the power was also out at TICCS, so it didn't really matter. We had candles now, though, so we could at least see a little. We mostly hung out on the balcony watching the most amazing lightning in the distance. I am not lying when I say that this was the brightest lighting I've ever seen in my life. These thick electric veins just filled up the sky at random moments and just added to the feeling that I was somewhere isolated from the rest of the world in a sense. Space is funny like that. I'm become so used to Accra and living here that it's somehow become very much a place in my mental map of space, but northern Ghana is still in some ways only a part of my imagination, just as Accra, and on a much larger scale, Africa used to be only a part of my imagination. Taking this trip reminded me that I was in Africa and that being in Africa was not a normal thing for me or even something that I would have considered even a year ago.

After a few hours of chatting about Ghana and the craziness of being here, it was time for bed. I lied down in the bed, and before long, sweat began to thoroughly coat my body and soak the sheets. Not only that, but the noises inside this place were instense. Everything sounded like it was right on top of you. There a man snoring in the next room, and I swear it was like he was sleeping right next to me. (I couldn't help but think how similar this trying to fall asleep experience was to camping with my dad). Whenever someone opened a door, even if it was on the next floor up, it was so loud and creaky. People would start talking in the hallway randomly, sometimes arguing quite vehemently with one another. There was some strange electronic sound that would sporadically go off every now and then, which was ironic considering that the power was out. I couldn't take it for more than an hour, so I eventually had to lather my body in bug cream and go sleep on the dirty little balcony outside. The dirt on the balcony kind of stuck to my skin because of the bug cream, but I didn't care as long as I wasn't sleeping in a pool of my own sweat.

I woke up about four hours later to board the bus for breakfast and home. On the way back, I was in my usual "I just had a tiring traveling experience and now I'm going home" state of mind, which is basically similar to the term braindead. I read a little, but I mostly just slepth and when I wasn't sleeping, I sat and stared out the window. As I looked out the window at life in action, whether in a small village or as we passed through Kumasi, I couldn't help but think about how despite whatever difference I might imagine to be present between all these people and everything I've known my whole life, people is just people. There's a woman carrying around a tray of bananas on her head all day, trying to make a few bucks. There's a man sitting on the side of the road eating his lunch in peace. A group of teenagers walk by laughing it up and teasing each other about who knows what. A shoe repair man walks around banging his big box full of repair tools. An old woman sits in the shade staring off into space. Another woman in the same shade is taking a nap on a little bench. A man crosses the street as part of his journey to whatever destination he's going to. And all this goes on, just goes on, no matter where you go. People need to eat, make money, take naps, escape the shade, and joke around with each other about all this craziness just to keep life going, and in that sense, people is just people, and we all people, whether we live in northern Ghana, south Georgia, New York, or even if you live on stilts in a lake.