Standing in the dark claustrophobic space, my heart breaks.
African men died in this tiny room in the Castle Elmina on the Coast of Ghana. Their struggle for freedom ended tragically. The
idea of such brutality inflicted by one group against another overwhelms me.
The Portuguese built Elmina Castle along the West African
Coast in 1482. Sao Jorge da Mina (Saint George’s of the Mine) began as a trade
settlement, specializing in gold and ivory.
Later, El Mina became an important stop in the Atlantic slave trade. The
Dutch seized the castle in 1637 and continued the lucrative slave trade. During
the 18th century, 30,000 men and woman walked through the Door of No
Return each year. Many died on the passage. The Dutch ended this practice in 1814
and the Gold Coast was transferred to the British Empire in 1872. In 1952, the
Gold Coast became independent and declared Elmina castle a historic world site
under UNESCO.
For centuries, African tribes enslaved captives from war,
often selling them to foreign slavers who treated them like bartered goods,
only caring whether they lived or died by the financial gain or loss they would
experience. The plaque next to the Door of Death reads, In Everlasting Memory of the Anguish of Our Ancestors. May those who
died rest in peace. May those who return find their roots. May Humanity never
again perpetrate such injustice against humanity. We, the living vow to uphold
this. Against the walls are wreaths left behind by family members who come
here to honor the dead and mourn their tragic loss. In forgetting, history will
repeat itself and as fellow humans, we must stand up to injustice wherever and
whenever we see it.
I walk down the long lightless corridor to the Door of No Return.
Sunlight streams through the narrow opening at the end of the tunnel. I image proud
African men and women pushed past the door, through the harbor and into the
slave ships waiting to transport them on the Middle Passage to the Americas.
As a part of our medical mission trip, we toured Elmina
Castle, a white washed three-story castle located at the end of a sandy point.
Our first full day in Ghana was spent traveling four hours to visit the
historical site. Some medical students from MUSC and College of Charleston
undergraduates joined my children and me in this pilgrimage. We came together to
offer health care to a poverty stricken area. Okurase was our final destination,
but to understand the history of slavery in West Africa and its ties to the Charleston
area, we visited this emotionally painful site.
The dungeons consisted of numerous cells, each of which housed
up to two hundred people at a time. A ship would come by every two months. With
the anticipation of its arrival, slaves were packed into the cells without room
to lie down. Illnesses, especially malaria and yellow fever were a common occurrence.
Hundreds of thousands of slaves shared these close quarters even before the appalling
accommodations on the ships bound for the Americas.
The topic of slavery is not new to my children or me. Stories
of planatations worked by slaves of West African descent are common here. For
me, touring the castle makes the cruelty and brutality of slavery palpable. When
asked, my fifteen-year-old daughter Annie says, “There is nothing as powerful
as standing in a place you studied in school and feel the emotion welling up.
You can’t get that in a book. It changes you.”
Near the birthplace of many of South Carolina slaves, in
dank places where the walls still echo with anguish and grief, families were
separated, never to be reunited. As I reflect on my time there, I am still uncomfortable
with the sadness that remains in those stones. In the presence of my children, I
am encouraged that a new generation will begin to feel the outrage and sadness.
My hope is that each of us continues to fight injustice in our lifetime. Only
by passing on these painful lessons will our world become a better place for us
all. 
