The Ritz Report: June 2018

That is a really weighty title, i know. But not a fraction as weighty as experiencing the tour of the castle where prisoners were held captive, until the next ship had returned from delivering the last human cargo across the Atlantic sea. Standing in the same exact place as where so much human suffering took place, so many unspeakable crimes towards humanity...man's inhumanity to his fellow man is one of the biggest mysteries in this lifetime for me. What drives us to commit such atrocities? Is it greed? Or something far more sinister than that i have yet to put my finger on...perhaps i never will.

I have been back from Ghana for a month now, and it has taken me this long to put pen to paper on this blog. I knew this blog was going to be a difficult one to write, perhaps the most difficult blog i have written. But i also know its one of the most important blogs i have written, if i can translate my own experiences in a way that touches another human being, in the direction of more compassion. Which is really what we are missing in human relationships these days...just more compassion. More kindness. More empathy. More pure love.

It would be my wish that everyone get to experience what i did in Ghana, West Africa, a country where a substantial number of Black America's ancestors hail from, situated as it is on the coast of the Atlantic ocean. It is here now that i visit, walking within the walls of a structure where hundreds upon thousands upon millions of enslaved people BEGAN their slow journey into the depths of "hell on earth".

I no longer have anything to complain about. Ever. E.V.E.R.


Cape Coast Castle

But i will. Complain again, whine again, worry again. Because l have been perfecting these mentally destabilizing iterations inside my own head for so long that the grooves are deep, and the process of de-programming myself from these forms of "extreme thinking" (that's a lovely euphemism for depression and anxiety, isn't it?!?) is just that: a process. But perhaps this time when i am in mid-whine, i will have built up enough stabilizing mindfulness to bring a fresh perspective to my thoughts, to my ruminations, to my negative thought patterns: and that is this: I really do have it within my own personal power to make any of my grandest dreams come true.

I am free.

Holy shit, right?!? Sweet freedom.

Cape Coast Castle

The tour of Cape Coast Castle, which is the name of the massive white structure sitting at the edge of the Atlantic Ocean, began with our tour guide, a slight, older man with a thick Ghanaian accent atop his firm English grip, suggesting to us that anything we have previously been "taught" about slavery, or "learned" about the transatlantic slave trade will stand meek and pale against the experience of being in the place itself. A place where, over a period spanning several hundred years, human beings held other human beings captive in underground dungeons for weeks upon months, waiting for the ship to return and transfer this human cargo across the Atlantic ocean to various destinations in the west (with island stops along the way). While held in captivity, these human beings were treated with such disdain and reckless disregard for their shared humanity, it's as if the captors really did not see these human beings as human at all; worse than the way in which farm animals are abused by us: branded first, then chained together and shoved into small rooms that held 300 bodies each, eating, peeing, bleeding, shitting, all in the same dark place.

The tour guide pointed out the shallow canals that ran through the middle of each floor and then to the outer edges of each room; the human waste drainage system, where, until the waste eventually drained out, it stood there, festering smelling, rotting. There was very little light or fresh air in these dungeons, some people were rendered blind by this experience, while others perished from all form of malady from the unsanitary conditions in which they were kept. And of course, from all manner of brutality that happened here: torture, rape, murder.

The men and women were kept kept in separate dungeons, and you can *see* how dark it was - only a small square of light carved out at the very top of the tall dungeon walls.

I couldn't help but to imagine how any human being could survive the levels of mental anguish which the captives were subject to, levels that just kept going deeper and deeper: first, the original capture, then the branding, then the dungeon, spending unknown weeks underground without natural light, eating, pissing, shitting and bleeding all in the same place, not knowing what would happen NEXT, but thinking to oneself: surely things cannot get any worse than this...and then - the middle passage. And, having endured the dungeons and the horrific trip across the Atlantic, not having any idea what was going to happen next (remember there was also a language barrier), but thinking to oneself, surely things cannot get any worse than THIS, and then, being *sold* into a life of servitude at the hands of a cruel and sadistic slave owner. One cannot help but to think that the captives who were brave enough to jump overboard during the middle passage fared better than those who *survived*. I certainly cannot see myself being so brave...no, not this nervous nellie. Had i been "lucky" enough to have survived the dungeons, i would have convinced myself that "surely things cannot get any worse than this" to only later wish i had made the wiser choice and jumped while i had the chance.

Governor's Quarters

Governor's quarters

Once the prisoners were captured, the men and women were separated, branded, and placed in separate dungeons. Each dungeon had several (3 - 4) adjoining rooms, and in each room, no larger than say 40' x 40', 300 prisoners were kept, shacked together with no light. These conditions stood in stark contrast to the conditions in which the captors were housed, just above the dungeons. Pictured to the left is the room that the "Governor" (top brass) stayed; large, open and airy with plentiful windows for the the light to get in. Another interesting juxtaposition the tour guide pointed out was that of the church. Just outside the doors of the church was a door in the ground. Open the doors and just below were the prisoners. So, after praising the lord, one could walk outside his house of worship and check on his property. Just to make sure it was *safe*. Where were the prisoners going to go? There was no escape, and the unlucky prisoner who *acted up* or presented difficulty in any way was separated out and kept in a smaller dungeon, where they were eventually meant to perish, and then be thrown out to sea.

Towards the end of the tour, we were shown "The Door of No Return" which was just that: once the prisoners were led out that door and onto the slave ships, they would NEVER return home again. The guide told us of an effort to "re-name" this door as "The Door of Return", as relatives of these people taken from their homeland start to return and repatriate Mother Africa.

"DOOR OF RETURN"

The final part of the tour took us to a lovely light-filled room, where on display were clay casts, busts representing faces of the men and women who were enslaved, mistreated, tortured and murdered. The anguish on these faces is palpable.