Ghana (Accra and Winneba)

I remember feeling like God was sending me clues that I should visit Ghana or the “Gold Coast” as it is called. Clues in my never-ending curiosity about the shipment of African bodies from their home to a land not their own, clues in my marvel of the first African nation to obtain independence, and clues in the unspoken connection that I share with Ghanaian people. Not by design, but the majority of my friends in U.S. are of Ghanaian descent… and I have subsisted on living Ghana through their stories, traditions, and cultural ways of being. I could actually feel Ghana through their experiences.

My recent trip to The Gold Coast was beyond me. One of my closest friends met me in Ghana, gave me her family, and let me share one of her most valued life moments.. her return home to Ghana after nearly 10 years. My friend is the Ghanaian-American daughter of Ghanaian Fante-speaking parents who sacrificed to come to the U.S. to create better lives for their daughters. In her words “This is OUR Homecoming”.

I didn’t take many photos of my experience in Ghana as my time there was filled with intimate moments that I felt were so precious, that I only wanted to hold them in memory and feeling. Just know that I was surrounded by the glorious inner strength of women.  Etched in their souls are memories of the Ghana they knew while coming of age, their present adoration for Ghana, and their unconditional love for one another. Twins. Aunties. Mothers. Cousins. My friend Effie.

I will try as best as I can to piece together my journey with the few photos that I have. During my stay, I divided my time between the capital city Accra, and a neighboring city called Winneba. My journey will reflect my love for food, wild adventures, and history.

Food and Fun

I arrived to Ghana as hungry as ever given South African Airways failed to have my pre-requested vegetarian meal option for a 5 hour flight from Jo’burg to Accra (Yes, South African Airways.. I’m calling you out!). In Zambia, I struggle as a vegetarian due to the seasonality of certain vegetables and load shedding. So I decided months ago that I’d add fish to my diet but never actually had the desire to do so… I haven’t had fish in 6 years. I’m also hung up on the fact that Zambia is a landlocked country (where is your fresh fish coming from??). So my trip to Ghana was my point of encouragement for adding fish.. even it was for a small point in time.

The seasonings, level of spice, and taste of being cooked at home was all and more that I received from indulging in local Ghanaian cuisines. Not to mention, I took a couple of pounds back to Zambia with me.  ‘Red Red’ was one of my favorite dishes. Prepared by Auntie herself, ‘Red Red’ is a staple Ghanaian dish made from cow peas (or black-eyed peas as we’d call them in the South), fried plantains stewed in red palm oil and spices. Auntie mixed in pieces of fish to replace the meat that would have been served with the meal.

Another local cuisine that tickled my taste buds was banku, a side dish made from fermented corn. I was immediately attracted to banku because of its similarity to the Zambian nshima, but noted the stark differences upon first taste. However it wasn’t the banku that would be the shining star of this dish, not even the fish itself. The deep burgundy sauce accompanying the meal became my food seasoning for the trip. Meet shito, a blend of spicy peppers, dried fish, oils, ginger, tomatoes, and garlic. Just as hot sauce is the condiment of the South, shito is the condiment of Ghana. Shito means pepper in Ga, one of the native languages. It’s usually served with kenkey and other dishes but I found myself requesting it with everything. I mixed shito with rice, vegetables, and even had it alone.

I tried many other foods during my stay and was even taken to the home of another Auntie who reigned as the “Queen of Waakye Making” in Winneba. That day I passed on a traditional breakfast and decided to have waakye (pronounced watchee) instead, which I’m certain would be better suited as a dinner dish. I was so in love with the food in Ghana that I broke my number 1 food rule as an Epidemiologist. Street food! Yes, my name is Kenya and I ate street food. During my time in the US, I lived in the street food capital, New York City. Thus, I’m jaded by the number of foodborne illnesses that occur due to improper handling of food prepared on the streets. Later, while over telling my Ghanaian food escapades to a friend who was born and raised in Ghana.. I shared with her my first dig at Ghanaian street food. Her response was confirmation that it would be my last time trying street food in Ghana.

When I wasn’t preoccupied with eating as much food as possible, I enjoyed past times with friends. Every Saturday morning, people meet up to play football (soccer) on this plot in Accra. Many of the players were local residents, Ghanaians who were home for the holidays, and some were even on the national football team for Ghana. But I couldn’t stay away from food too long. In the spirit of feeding my face, I opted for 2 street food items, one was a boiled egg with pepper stew and the other was a dark beverage that no one knew the name of. All they knew was that they had it a lot during childhood. It was really refreshing, a light mix between tea and coffee.. I think.

The Canopy Walk

What’s a trip to Ghana without completing the Canopy Walk? I traveled 127 kilometers outside of Accra to visit the Kakum National Park. This park is covered with tropical rainforest and is home to several endangered species. It is counted as one of the two places in Africa with a canopy walkway. The walkway itself consists of 7 wood plank bridges, 40 m (130 ft.) above ground and 330 m (1,080 ft.) in length. In search of massive views, I completed the first 6 bridges with no problem. I even stopped to snap a few photos while everyone else screamed for Jesus to save them. Bridge 7 let me know that there was still a bit of fear left in me. It was narrow, it creaked, it leaned, and it shook.. and I literally stopped and entertained the idea that I would take my last breath as human on a bridge when all I wanted to do was see the trees. But I had come too far to turn around, so to further lean into discomfort.. I lifted my hands and kept walking. I figured, if this would be my last breath at least let me lift my hands and give Him some praise. Some things you just know you will not do twice in life.

Markets and Museums

Makola Market

Markets. I seek them. They love me. I love them back. I spent a half-day at what I deem a ‘Rite of Passage’ of Ghana, the Makola Market. It is the epicenter of wholesale trade of goods such as household items, traditional fabrics, food, clothing and everything else one desires. I found myself in the midst of organized chaos as I navigated main and side streets filled with vendors. This is probably the largest market I’ve ever visited. I was most inspired by the sight and power of women at this market. We (women) ran this market as traders, sellers, and consumers. I only recall seeing one man with a vendor stall. By the time I left the market, I realized that everything I had in my hands were gifts for other people and not much for myself. I guess that means I will have to return.

Cape Coast Castle

The main event of my time in Ghana was my visit to the Cape Coast Castle. Not only was I retracing the steps of those who came before me, but I was also retracing the steps of the current U.S. President Barack Obama, as he and his family visited the castle back in 2009. This ‘castle’ was where slaves were held before forcibly being shipped off to the Americas and Caribbean as part of the trans-Atlantic slave trade. The castle was initially built for trade of timber and gold but was later used to house slaves who would be used as human labor for the up building of the Americas. I’m a strong believer in calling them what they were, slaves. But I also have to acknowledge that I am because they were.. so respectfully I will call them what they are to me. Thus.. my ANCESTORS were stolen from Central and West Africa and brought to this coastal castle before enduring the Middle Passage.

My spirit was haunted and my mouth was robbed of words being in this ‘castle’. I stood on the grounds where remnants of my ancestors’ flesh still remained, where their souls were taken from them, and where the structures of their family was crushed. The ‘crash course’ history lesson received while in school of how slaves made their way to the Americas and the Caribbean didn’t even scratch the surface of truth.

As I entered the dungeon, the tour guide detailed how my ancestors were trapped here, naked with only standing room and no toilet facilities. It’s been estimated that they stayed here for 6-12 weeks before boarding the ship to the Americas and the Caribbean. For many of those who were stolen, the moments spent in captivity would be the last memory they had of their homeland.

Men and women were placed in separate dungeons. The women were raped, beaten and sometimes impregnated by their captures during their time in the castle. Those found to be pregnant before being shipped off were tossed overboard into the waters like unwanted cargo

For slaves who were caught trying to escape or who were view as ‘troublemakers’, they were placed in this small cell, with little to no ventilation. They were never released and were left to die.

After about 3 months of being held in the ‘castle’, my ancestors exited the Door of No Return.. where they were forced to endure the Middle Passage experience similar to that of the dungeon. In my view they had a 100% chance of dying before reaching the final destination, death through the violent castle conditions or death through the inhumane ship environment.

The dock behind me was on the other side of the Door of No Return.  I remember when the movie “Titanic” was first released. Per usual, I was late to see the movie, but remember everyone saying they cried a lot throughout. Midway through the movie as a 13 year old, I thought something was wrong with me because I had no feeling or emotion of crying. But then I reached the end of the movie and tears flowed. That memory reminds me of my experience at Cape Castle. I didn’t cry initially but felt an eerie feeling as words and thoughts escaped my body. A woman who was on the tour with me uttered:

“…. I wish my African-American brothers and sisters could see this, then they would stop treating us Africans so poorly when we come to America… they think we are the ones who sold them into slavery.. they think we didn’t want them”

The Journey Into 2016

And this was my Journey into 2016.  Final stop was the sunset and my horse friend at Labadi beach.