It's the last week. Yes it is. I'm happy. I do love it here in Ghana but I miss home and the family and the friends and the stress of life and school. I probably won't feel that way when I get there though. It's crazy to imagine that in 5 days I'll be back in the states. Where did all the time go?
Anyway,
this past weekend was sort of busy. Friday we headed back to the Carvers village and of course I made some more purchases. After the village though we visited another village in Medina. They were expecting us and the some women had prepared dances and songs and games. It was a beautiful affair. They were dressed in very colorful and beautiful traditional attire and they had make up and paint on. They looked so pretty. They stole my heart and so did the children. They kept inviting us up to dance and sing with them and I went up numerous times. I even have the pictures to prove it.
We donated clothes and money to them before we left and they were so happy.
Saturday we headed to the Homowa festival in Jamestown/Ushertown. It means "hooting at hunger." A long time ago they started it to celebrate the end of the drought/famine. We walked around and saw a bunch of old buildings and then we followed different chiefs around. The actual king didn't come out because apparently there were death threats out for him.
Sunday was an early day. We left around 7:30 a.m. to head for the Volta River (the largest man-made lake in the world). We arrived and got on this huge boat and then sailed on the river till we arrived at this island. Once there...it was much of the same. Brown people like me asking/begging for anything....
pens...clothes...money...love. It breaks my heart every time.
This trip has definitely changed my world view and world plans. I need to leave this wretched/beautiful lace until I have a better plan.
It will get better though and we will continue to get by...
Monday, August 13, 2007
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
We As Americans...
The weekend that I visited the slave dungeons in Cape Coast I also went to Kakum National Park and walked through the woods and then through the only canopy in Africa. There were 7 total and it was very high and very exhilirating. A thrill...
which I love.
Since then we haven't had another weekend trip. The week following the Cape Coast weekend we kind of layed low. Went to class. Ate. Bullshitted with the fantastic four. Drank...the usual.
This past weekend we visited the Eastern region to somewhat no avail. The science center that we were supposed to be visiting was closed so we will be going back this upcoming Friday. However, we did get to go to the Carvers village. That wasn't too bad. It was basically like the Cultural Center or anywhere else where they sell stuff to tourists except that things were hella cheap. So, I bought some stuff (as usual) and it was alright.
Not much since then. We went to another beach that wasn't Labadi/La pleasure but I forget the name of it. It was quiet and desolate and the weather was horrid. I kind of hated it so I read. That was on Sunday. It's now Tuesday and I've been to Labadi twice since then. Kind of a lot...but we had to buy some things on Monday. And, today we went just to hang...
it was a good beach day. The sun was out in full blast for most of the afternoon. After my first Labadi experience I vowed not to enter the water in full force again. Mostly because of my locks. So, I got my feet wet and read. And, I played soccer with some cool guys and girls. And, I ran. I kept being stopped. It was funny. Apparently I'm "very fit/athletic and I can play football very well..."
I also got proposed to. It was funny. I think his name was Ebenezer. I laughed and he gave me his number. Another highlight of the day...
the cake. We met these random girls who were celebrating their friends birthday and they shared with us some of their wonderful cake. It was delicious. Then we ditched them because as usual they were trying to take advantage of us. I felt kind of bad. Then I didn't.
Something I will not miss about Ghana is how everyone acts all funny when they find out that we are Americans. I certainly will not miss that.
which I love.
Since then we haven't had another weekend trip. The week following the Cape Coast weekend we kind of layed low. Went to class. Ate. Bullshitted with the fantastic four. Drank...the usual.
This past weekend we visited the Eastern region to somewhat no avail. The science center that we were supposed to be visiting was closed so we will be going back this upcoming Friday. However, we did get to go to the Carvers village. That wasn't too bad. It was basically like the Cultural Center or anywhere else where they sell stuff to tourists except that things were hella cheap. So, I bought some stuff (as usual) and it was alright.
Not much since then. We went to another beach that wasn't Labadi/La pleasure but I forget the name of it. It was quiet and desolate and the weather was horrid. I kind of hated it so I read. That was on Sunday. It's now Tuesday and I've been to Labadi twice since then. Kind of a lot...but we had to buy some things on Monday. And, today we went just to hang...
it was a good beach day. The sun was out in full blast for most of the afternoon. After my first Labadi experience I vowed not to enter the water in full force again. Mostly because of my locks. So, I got my feet wet and read. And, I played soccer with some cool guys and girls. And, I ran. I kept being stopped. It was funny. Apparently I'm "very fit/athletic and I can play football very well..."
I also got proposed to. It was funny. I think his name was Ebenezer. I laughed and he gave me his number. Another highlight of the day...
the cake. We met these random girls who were celebrating their friends birthday and they shared with us some of their wonderful cake. It was delicious. Then we ditched them because as usual they were trying to take advantage of us. I felt kind of bad. Then I didn't.
Something I will not miss about Ghana is how everyone acts all funny when they find out that we are Americans. I certainly will not miss that.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
In Everlasting Memory: Slave Dungeons
So,
if you ask me this is sort of late post. When I say late I mean that I returned from Cape Coast on Sunday and it is now Tuesday. Maybe it's not that late. I did sort of need to come down from the emotional high that was this past weekend.
So,
this past Friday like the Friday before we all got breakfast at the guest center and boarded the bus for our drive to the coastal city that is Cape Coast. The ride wasn't bad. It was shorter than the one to Kumasi and my thoughts and sleep were less heavy...
I didn't stay awake and cry both inwardly and outwardly. My mind did not take in every detail I saw and question what things would be like if it weren't for those damn Europeans. I closed my mind and my heart and just breathed. And, my heart was lighter if not less dense.
We arrived and settled into our guest house and then headed for Elmina castle. We drove through all these beautiful palm trees and you could almost reach out and touch the Atlantic Ocean. It was a surreal sight.
We arrived at the castle and it looked like just that...a castle. It was white and large and cold. It looked very old but I had no idea how old it really was. I guess it hadn't hit me that we were about to walk into where African slaves (my brothers and sisters, lovers, fathers, mothers, cousins, nephews and nieces) had be held before being shipped to the New World...
I was still happy-go-lucky. My smiles were still visible, my innocence still intact. It's pretty much shattered at this point.
The castle was built by the Portuguese in 1492 (it first trading post built on the Gulf of Guinea) and initially it was used to trade resources. It later became a slave castle and part of the Trans-Atlantic slave trade. It was seized by the Dutch in 1637 and the slave trade continued under the Dutch until 1872 when the castle became property of the British Empire. If I remember correctly the British didn't abolish slavery until 1833. Therefore, slavery officially continued there until that date. It unofficially continued after that...
Overall about 11 million slaves passed through the walls of Elmina castle into the New World (Europe and North and South America).
The experience was surreal. The cannons were all still there...rusted and real and burnt. I couldn't believe it. I was standing on the ground that my people had suffered and perished on. It didn't hit me. It didn't hit me as I walked through the male and female holding areas...
they were damp and dark and dirty. The slaves were expected to urinate and poop on the ground. Hundreds of them were packed into tiny underground dungeons of gore and grit. I cannot imagine how many of them died of disease, malnutrition, and overwork. So many. So fucking many.
It still didn't hit me though. I walked through it all and removed my mind from my eyes...I was not attached. I was not attached until we reached Cape Coast castle and that's when all my togetherness came crashing down...
it was as if someone inside of me was screaming. Like an old ancestral spirit that was forcing me to look into her eyes. She was forcing me to see what she saw, to feel what she felt. I tasted her blood in my mouth yet I felt the warmness of her touch. She was beautiful and black and her voice was hard yet melodic. She grasped my right hand walked me through her experiences. I was scared and cold and she warmed my hands. At times I was too afraid to look and I covered my eyes and she pulled them away and whispered in my ear "Eka Ema don't be afraid to look. Don't be afraid to confront the past. Don't be hesitant. It has already happened. Be more afraid of your apprehension towards the future." I shivered at her words yet I listened and nodded and trudged on.
Cape Coast castle was the second castle we visited on Friday evening. It was built in 1653 by the Swedish and since then it has been the property of the Swedes, Danes, British, and now Ghanaians. This castle was grander to me although less slaves were held there (approximately 4 million slaves). There was something about it's demeanor. You could just tell that it was built to hold people captive. Elmina castle was once used for goods. Cape Coast castle still wreaked of tortured souls.
My left eyelid twitched from the time we arrived at Elmina till we were through with Cape Coast. Remember what Mother said about twitching eyes...
Cape Coast castle was whiter and blacker at the same time. The dungeons were deeper. The male and female quarters were more emotional. I felt something. I felt them. They had so little sunlight, so little breathing room, so little space. They drank disgusting rain water. I'm sure it was infested. They were fed in the morning and in the evening...slop I suppose. Slop that contained lots and lots of carbohydrates. You've got to keep the black niggers strong so that they can work you know...
then there was that condemned room. That was the worst. And, when the tour guide shut out the lights I thought I was going to die. I clutched Jelan and she held me. I held my breath. It was this little cell that slaves that were deemed to be rowdy and stubborn and difficult were sent. It had no outlet for sunlight and little if any air. They were not fed. They were left there to die and then rot. It was meant to serve as a lesson for the other slaves. If they did not behave they would be sent to the condemned room to suffer the fate of their brave brothers and sisters...
there was nowhere for the slaves to get rid of their bowels in the condemned room. For some reason that thought bothered me a lot.
At that point I had to literally fight to hold back the tears. This was not because I was afraid to cry. I couldn't care less what other people thought of my tears. I just knew...I knew that if I started then it would never end. I would still be crying right now. Maybe I still am...
My strong willed brothers and sisters. The British called them stubborn. I call them brave. They were the rebel leaders. They were the freedom fighters. They were the leaders of that civil rights movement. They refused to be any body's slave. They would rather die that be reduced to men and women without souls...
that's what they were trying to do...rid us of our humanity. Rid us of our souls.
On average slaves stayed in the castles for about 3 months. You know...it took a while for those ships to sail back and forth. Before they were sent most of the male slaves were branded. They had to be easily identifiable once in the new world. Some of them died due to the branding. They were weak from overwork and bad nourishment. Some would say that they were lucky...
then it was the door of no return...this was the location where men and woman (families) were reunited. Ha...reunited. The men and women were never allowed to interact with one another. Then, they crawled on their hands and knees into the ships/canoes...
those were their last moments on African soil.
They weren't even allowed to walk off mother Africa. They were reduced to crawling.
They were heroes. They were me. They are heroes. They are me.
"IN EVERLASTING MEMORY
OF THE ANGUISH OF OUR ANCESTORS
MAY THOSE WHO DIES REST IN PEACE
MAY THOSE WHO RETURN FIND THEIR ROOTS
MAY HUMANITY NEVER AGAIN PERPETUATE
SUCH INJUSTICE AGAINST HUMANITY
WE THE LIVING VOW TO UPHOLD THIS"
if you ask me this is sort of late post. When I say late I mean that I returned from Cape Coast on Sunday and it is now Tuesday. Maybe it's not that late. I did sort of need to come down from the emotional high that was this past weekend.
So,
this past Friday like the Friday before we all got breakfast at the guest center and boarded the bus for our drive to the coastal city that is Cape Coast. The ride wasn't bad. It was shorter than the one to Kumasi and my thoughts and sleep were less heavy...
I didn't stay awake and cry both inwardly and outwardly. My mind did not take in every detail I saw and question what things would be like if it weren't for those damn Europeans. I closed my mind and my heart and just breathed. And, my heart was lighter if not less dense.
We arrived and settled into our guest house and then headed for Elmina castle. We drove through all these beautiful palm trees and you could almost reach out and touch the Atlantic Ocean. It was a surreal sight.
We arrived at the castle and it looked like just that...a castle. It was white and large and cold. It looked very old but I had no idea how old it really was. I guess it hadn't hit me that we were about to walk into where African slaves (my brothers and sisters, lovers, fathers, mothers, cousins, nephews and nieces) had be held before being shipped to the New World...
I was still happy-go-lucky. My smiles were still visible, my innocence still intact. It's pretty much shattered at this point.
The castle was built by the Portuguese in 1492 (it first trading post built on the Gulf of Guinea) and initially it was used to trade resources. It later became a slave castle and part of the Trans-Atlantic slave trade. It was seized by the Dutch in 1637 and the slave trade continued under the Dutch until 1872 when the castle became property of the British Empire. If I remember correctly the British didn't abolish slavery until 1833. Therefore, slavery officially continued there until that date. It unofficially continued after that...
Overall about 11 million slaves passed through the walls of Elmina castle into the New World (Europe and North and South America).
The experience was surreal. The cannons were all still there...rusted and real and burnt. I couldn't believe it. I was standing on the ground that my people had suffered and perished on. It didn't hit me. It didn't hit me as I walked through the male and female holding areas...
they were damp and dark and dirty. The slaves were expected to urinate and poop on the ground. Hundreds of them were packed into tiny underground dungeons of gore and grit. I cannot imagine how many of them died of disease, malnutrition, and overwork. So many. So fucking many.
It still didn't hit me though. I walked through it all and removed my mind from my eyes...I was not attached. I was not attached until we reached Cape Coast castle and that's when all my togetherness came crashing down...
it was as if someone inside of me was screaming. Like an old ancestral spirit that was forcing me to look into her eyes. She was forcing me to see what she saw, to feel what she felt. I tasted her blood in my mouth yet I felt the warmness of her touch. She was beautiful and black and her voice was hard yet melodic. She grasped my right hand walked me through her experiences. I was scared and cold and she warmed my hands. At times I was too afraid to look and I covered my eyes and she pulled them away and whispered in my ear "Eka Ema don't be afraid to look. Don't be afraid to confront the past. Don't be hesitant. It has already happened. Be more afraid of your apprehension towards the future." I shivered at her words yet I listened and nodded and trudged on.
Cape Coast castle was the second castle we visited on Friday evening. It was built in 1653 by the Swedish and since then it has been the property of the Swedes, Danes, British, and now Ghanaians. This castle was grander to me although less slaves were held there (approximately 4 million slaves). There was something about it's demeanor. You could just tell that it was built to hold people captive. Elmina castle was once used for goods. Cape Coast castle still wreaked of tortured souls.
My left eyelid twitched from the time we arrived at Elmina till we were through with Cape Coast. Remember what Mother said about twitching eyes...
Cape Coast castle was whiter and blacker at the same time. The dungeons were deeper. The male and female quarters were more emotional. I felt something. I felt them. They had so little sunlight, so little breathing room, so little space. They drank disgusting rain water. I'm sure it was infested. They were fed in the morning and in the evening...slop I suppose. Slop that contained lots and lots of carbohydrates. You've got to keep the black niggers strong so that they can work you know...
then there was that condemned room. That was the worst. And, when the tour guide shut out the lights I thought I was going to die. I clutched Jelan and she held me. I held my breath. It was this little cell that slaves that were deemed to be rowdy and stubborn and difficult were sent. It had no outlet for sunlight and little if any air. They were not fed. They were left there to die and then rot. It was meant to serve as a lesson for the other slaves. If they did not behave they would be sent to the condemned room to suffer the fate of their brave brothers and sisters...
there was nowhere for the slaves to get rid of their bowels in the condemned room. For some reason that thought bothered me a lot.
At that point I had to literally fight to hold back the tears. This was not because I was afraid to cry. I couldn't care less what other people thought of my tears. I just knew...I knew that if I started then it would never end. I would still be crying right now. Maybe I still am...
My strong willed brothers and sisters. The British called them stubborn. I call them brave. They were the rebel leaders. They were the freedom fighters. They were the leaders of that civil rights movement. They refused to be any body's slave. They would rather die that be reduced to men and women without souls...
that's what they were trying to do...rid us of our humanity. Rid us of our souls.
On average slaves stayed in the castles for about 3 months. You know...it took a while for those ships to sail back and forth. Before they were sent most of the male slaves were branded. They had to be easily identifiable once in the new world. Some of them died due to the branding. They were weak from overwork and bad nourishment. Some would say that they were lucky...
then it was the door of no return...this was the location where men and woman (families) were reunited. Ha...reunited. The men and women were never allowed to interact with one another. Then, they crawled on their hands and knees into the ships/canoes...
those were their last moments on African soil.
They weren't even allowed to walk off mother Africa. They were reduced to crawling.
They were heroes. They were me. They are heroes. They are me.
"IN EVERLASTING MEMORY
OF THE ANGUISH OF OUR ANCESTORS
MAY THOSE WHO DIES REST IN PEACE
MAY THOSE WHO RETURN FIND THEIR ROOTS
MAY HUMANITY NEVER AGAIN PERPETUATE
SUCH INJUSTICE AGAINST HUMANITY
WE THE LIVING VOW TO UPHOLD THIS"
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Yet another Obruni Spot: Tequila Finally
I should really write more. I should. I should. I should. I guess it's like when I'm "really" writing. I write few and far in between, no rushing, just pure and true emotion. I'll discard of my desire to write more frequently and only request that I write more honestly.
To be honest Accra is treating me quite well. I feel at ease here. There's something about the stillness of the night that comforts me in a way that nowhere in the States does. Maybe it's the silent but painful understanding of the state of things. Maybe it's the blackness of it all. Maybe it's the fact that I don't have any real responsibilities except to be real, real, and real again.
Today was a good day, random, yet good. I went to class and actually stayed awake. I actually knew what Dr. Abarry was talking about because I started reading "Things Fall Apart" the night before. Good book...by Chinua Achebe...an Ibo Nigerian author...pretty well renowned. You know how us Nigerians be. After African Aesthetics I went to lunch as usual with the fantastic four (Jelan, Deanna, myself, and Amber) minus Jelan and we ate and cut up and ate and cut up. We blend well amongst one another. You'd think we knew each other before the trip. The reason I referred to us as the fantastic four is because my roommate (Rudy) who is quite annoying and irritating and childish referred to us as that one night when we went out without her,
like we had to. Anyway, the name stuck and I kind of like it. I don't remember too much of the movie but I think I'd be that fire guy. He was kind of wild and hype and crazy. Yeah, that's me.
After lunch I visited the computer lab to catch up on some e-mails then headed back to African Civilization. Luckily for us our guest Professor didn't show up and Dr. Abarry had to take one of the students to the hospital so we didn't have class. You know what that meant...nap time!
After the nap Deanna and I set out on an adventure to Makola market and we failed before we even left campus (due to the fact that it closed at 5). So, we went back to get Amber and headed to Osu (very young and vibrant town with tons of tourists and foreigners).
Great times in Osu...though shopping to no avail...
then dinner at Papaya...then the highlight of the day. We were on a mission to find me a margarita (tequila). I haven't had any since I've been here. In fact, it's pretty hard to find a bar that that makes mixed drinks. Usually there's just liquor and juice and beer and malt drinks. So, we searched and searched and finally settled on the Obruni spot Ryan's Irish Pub. Yo, we walked through some shady areas but finally arrived at our destination...
it was well worth it, though no colored folk except for the workers. And it was kind of pricey but there was margarita's and tequila shots and MTV. They were doing an Usher marathon. Mind you, we don't have cable or television where we are staying. It was heaven. Throw in the ice cream, apple pie, and calamari and it was a perfect night.
The taxi driver tried to screw us over but I straighted that out really fast. Damn you not wanting to drive us to Volta hall...
shout out to the army man who escorted us.
Live young. Live wise. Live free. Only 16 nights to go...
To be honest Accra is treating me quite well. I feel at ease here. There's something about the stillness of the night that comforts me in a way that nowhere in the States does. Maybe it's the silent but painful understanding of the state of things. Maybe it's the blackness of it all. Maybe it's the fact that I don't have any real responsibilities except to be real, real, and real again.
Today was a good day, random, yet good. I went to class and actually stayed awake. I actually knew what Dr. Abarry was talking about because I started reading "Things Fall Apart" the night before. Good book...by Chinua Achebe...an Ibo Nigerian author...pretty well renowned. You know how us Nigerians be. After African Aesthetics I went to lunch as usual with the fantastic four (Jelan, Deanna, myself, and Amber) minus Jelan and we ate and cut up and ate and cut up. We blend well amongst one another. You'd think we knew each other before the trip. The reason I referred to us as the fantastic four is because my roommate (Rudy) who is quite annoying and irritating and childish referred to us as that one night when we went out without her,
like we had to. Anyway, the name stuck and I kind of like it. I don't remember too much of the movie but I think I'd be that fire guy. He was kind of wild and hype and crazy. Yeah, that's me.
After lunch I visited the computer lab to catch up on some e-mails then headed back to African Civilization. Luckily for us our guest Professor didn't show up and Dr. Abarry had to take one of the students to the hospital so we didn't have class. You know what that meant...nap time!
After the nap Deanna and I set out on an adventure to Makola market and we failed before we even left campus (due to the fact that it closed at 5). So, we went back to get Amber and headed to Osu (very young and vibrant town with tons of tourists and foreigners).
Great times in Osu...though shopping to no avail...
then dinner at Papaya...then the highlight of the day. We were on a mission to find me a margarita (tequila). I haven't had any since I've been here. In fact, it's pretty hard to find a bar that that makes mixed drinks. Usually there's just liquor and juice and beer and malt drinks. So, we searched and searched and finally settled on the Obruni spot Ryan's Irish Pub. Yo, we walked through some shady areas but finally arrived at our destination...
it was well worth it, though no colored folk except for the workers. And it was kind of pricey but there was margarita's and tequila shots and MTV. They were doing an Usher marathon. Mind you, we don't have cable or television where we are staying. It was heaven. Throw in the ice cream, apple pie, and calamari and it was a perfect night.
The taxi driver tried to screw us over but I straighted that out really fast. Damn you not wanting to drive us to Volta hall...
shout out to the army man who escorted us.
Live young. Live wise. Live free. Only 16 nights to go...
A Day in Ghana
So, So, So. I've pretty much reached the half-way point of my study abroad experience. I was thinking today about this whole blog thingy. I really really really regret not bringing Mahogany [my macintosh computer]. Like, I know for sure that if she was here then my fun level would be upgraded by like a million. For one, I'd be able to play my music out loud and upload my pictures quickly. Also, there's the dvd thing and I'd be writing more. Ugh, such a bad decision to leave it.
And to think, I let them get me on the whole it's unsafe thing. Never again.
Hmm...so, yeah. I was thinking about this whole blog thingy when I realized that I haven't really documented my routine. This is what a typical week here in Ghana consists of:
Friday: Leave University of Ghana campus early for weekend trip. Get to destination, eat, go on a tour. Head back to guest center. Chillax w/ the crew. Drink. Sleep.
Friday: Leave University of Ghana campus early for weekend trip. Get to destination, eat, go on a tour. Head back to guest center. Chillax w/ the crew. Drink. Sleep.
Saturday: Wake up relatively early to start the day in the new city. Tour. Memorial. Eat. Eat. Eat. Walk. Walk. Walk. Drink. Drink. Drink. Sleep.
Sunday: Head back to Accra. Find something to do for the rest of the day...[usually ends up being us at Bounjour eating/drinking].
Tuesday: Class 10-12. Lunch 12-2. Class 2-4. Then, usually I rest then run then eat then hang out/drink.
Wednesday: Same as Tuesday.
Thursday: Class 10-12 then free for the rest of the day. Usually, I go to the market or shopping or something. Thursday night there's usually a number of clubs that are visited and much drinking.
Disclaimer: On weekends when we don't go out of town there is also much clubbing/drinking.
So, that is what a typical week looks like here in Ghana. Obviously nothing is set in stone and things change on like an hourly basis. But, for the most part things are pretty laid back and fun.
Power.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Aya: I gave what I could
"Aya refers to the 'fern.' It is a hardy plant with thin evergreen leaves, which has the ability to withstand almost all weather conditions and soil types.
This symbol points out the ups and downs of life. The survival of mankind requires strong-will to face challenges and vicissitudes of life. Lack of strong will and endurance in difficult situations exposes a person's vulnerability, which could be capitalized on by their opponents. Knowing the meaning of this symbol, gives one the power to overcome challenges. The symbol signifies endurance and defiance of difficulties in all aspects of human endeavors.
The symbol teaches that life is full of uncertainties. However, one must persevere. It teaches the sense of adaptability in any condition. It also encourages individuals and nations to be independent, self reliant and resourceful. This is a symbol of defiance and endurance."
The Adinkra symbol for defiance: aya. I fell in love with it. It characterizes so many aspects of my personality and mindset. I will not let go. I will not back down. I will not budge. I may falter but I will persevere.
I bought this neat little book filled with Adinkra and Agama symbols this past weekend. I bought it in the city of Kumasi. This was our first weekend excursion and as already stated we visited Kumasi (the former royal city for the ancient kingdom of Asante). It was wonderful and unforgettable. Such an old town. Such a rich history. Such a forgotten people.
We visited the Manhyia Palace Museum where they gave us a tour and explained to us the current and ancient royal situations. The museum used to be the residence of Nana Agyeman Prempeh I and Nana Sir Osei Agyeman Prempeh II, the 13th and 14th kings of the Asante Nation. "The building was put up in 1925 by the British Government for Nana Agymean Prempeh I who returned from exile in the Seychelles Islands in 1924, as compensation for the Asantehene's Palace at Adum which was destroyed during the Yaa Asantewaa war."
There was pretty rich stuff in the museum/former palace and I felt like the African royalty that all dark people of the world should feel like. Such a shame though...the kingdom raped and replaced with a palace...
We also visited this well...there's a tale about this famous man who was born with locks on his head. Apparently he had special powers so he was always performing feats to show his power. He planted this sword in the ground and swore that the day that sword was pulled out of the ground was the day that would mark the demise of the Asante people. To this day no one has ever been able to pull out that sword (not even Mohammad Ali, and he surely tried).
We also visited this famous lake (the name slips my mind right now) and a Kente village. At the village they weaved the famous Kente cloth. I bought some strips as they were pretty expensive. What I'll remember most from the village though is the children. They swarmed us and although this happens pretty much everywhere we go it touched me a little bit more here...
they gave us all these notes asking us to send them school supplies. Mere pencils and pens and erasers and paper...They begged for money or clothes or jewelry. Anything. Something. This also happened at the village by the lake. I gave what I could. I met some beautiful children: Sheila and Isaac and Benjamin. They want to be doctors and judges and presidents. They were optimistic and beautiful and I fell in love over and over again...
man, someday, someday soon. I gave what I could. But, I couldn't help thinking that even if I gave each and every one of their families a thousand dollars each I still wouldn't be helping them. I wouldn't be changing their lifestyles or predicaments or mindsets. I wouldn't be able to go back before colonization and the wars and place their dignity and pride and power back into their hearts (where it rightfully belongs). I wouldn't be able to remove the pain from their hearts and the blood from their tears. They are there. They were put there by white men with guns and mirrors and sharp objects. They have stayed there and continue to stay there...
I bear the same scars...across my chest and heart. I cry tears of glory. I bleed when I cry. I hurt just as much. We may live on different continents and bear different shades of mahogany and molasses and live in different sized houses and wear different clothes but we fight the same fight and struggle the same struggle. We are shit to the white man regardless of whether we live in Kumasi or Accra or Maryland or Pittsburgh or Haiti or Holland.
Little does the white man (and woman) know that they are shit to us also...
disgusting pieces of pale and lazy shit.
To my people: We are the same. We are one. We are love and civilization and earth. I gave what I could but I know that I can do more. And, I will. Trust, one day I will change the world.
"I remember Marvin Gaye used to sing to me,
He had me feeling like black was the thing to be,
And suddenly the ghetto didn't seem so tough,
And though we had it rough we always had enough..."
This symbol points out the ups and downs of life. The survival of mankind requires strong-will to face challenges and vicissitudes of life. Lack of strong will and endurance in difficult situations exposes a person's vulnerability, which could be capitalized on by their opponents. Knowing the meaning of this symbol, gives one the power to overcome challenges. The symbol signifies endurance and defiance of difficulties in all aspects of human endeavors.
The symbol teaches that life is full of uncertainties. However, one must persevere. It teaches the sense of adaptability in any condition. It also encourages individuals and nations to be independent, self reliant and resourceful. This is a symbol of defiance and endurance."
The Adinkra symbol for defiance: aya. I fell in love with it. It characterizes so many aspects of my personality and mindset. I will not let go. I will not back down. I will not budge. I may falter but I will persevere.
I bought this neat little book filled with Adinkra and Agama symbols this past weekend. I bought it in the city of Kumasi. This was our first weekend excursion and as already stated we visited Kumasi (the former royal city for the ancient kingdom of Asante). It was wonderful and unforgettable. Such an old town. Such a rich history. Such a forgotten people.
We visited the Manhyia Palace Museum where they gave us a tour and explained to us the current and ancient royal situations. The museum used to be the residence of Nana Agyeman Prempeh I and Nana Sir Osei Agyeman Prempeh II, the 13th and 14th kings of the Asante Nation. "The building was put up in 1925 by the British Government for Nana Agymean Prempeh I who returned from exile in the Seychelles Islands in 1924, as compensation for the Asantehene's Palace at Adum which was destroyed during the Yaa Asantewaa war."
There was pretty rich stuff in the museum/former palace and I felt like the African royalty that all dark people of the world should feel like. Such a shame though...the kingdom raped and replaced with a palace...
We also visited this well...there's a tale about this famous man who was born with locks on his head. Apparently he had special powers so he was always performing feats to show his power. He planted this sword in the ground and swore that the day that sword was pulled out of the ground was the day that would mark the demise of the Asante people. To this day no one has ever been able to pull out that sword (not even Mohammad Ali, and he surely tried).
We also visited this famous lake (the name slips my mind right now) and a Kente village. At the village they weaved the famous Kente cloth. I bought some strips as they were pretty expensive. What I'll remember most from the village though is the children. They swarmed us and although this happens pretty much everywhere we go it touched me a little bit more here...
they gave us all these notes asking us to send them school supplies. Mere pencils and pens and erasers and paper...They begged for money or clothes or jewelry. Anything. Something. This also happened at the village by the lake. I gave what I could. I met some beautiful children: Sheila and Isaac and Benjamin. They want to be doctors and judges and presidents. They were optimistic and beautiful and I fell in love over and over again...
man, someday, someday soon. I gave what I could. But, I couldn't help thinking that even if I gave each and every one of their families a thousand dollars each I still wouldn't be helping them. I wouldn't be changing their lifestyles or predicaments or mindsets. I wouldn't be able to go back before colonization and the wars and place their dignity and pride and power back into their hearts (where it rightfully belongs). I wouldn't be able to remove the pain from their hearts and the blood from their tears. They are there. They were put there by white men with guns and mirrors and sharp objects. They have stayed there and continue to stay there...
I bear the same scars...across my chest and heart. I cry tears of glory. I bleed when I cry. I hurt just as much. We may live on different continents and bear different shades of mahogany and molasses and live in different sized houses and wear different clothes but we fight the same fight and struggle the same struggle. We are shit to the white man regardless of whether we live in Kumasi or Accra or Maryland or Pittsburgh or Haiti or Holland.
Little does the white man (and woman) know that they are shit to us also...
disgusting pieces of pale and lazy shit.
To my people: We are the same. We are one. We are love and civilization and earth. I gave what I could but I know that I can do more. And, I will. Trust, one day I will change the world.
"I remember Marvin Gaye used to sing to me,
He had me feeling like black was the thing to be,
And suddenly the ghetto didn't seem so tough,
And though we had it rough we always had enough..."
La Pleasure Beach: I want to go to Africa
The beach...
we went to this beach a little while ago. It was called "La Pleasure" beach. And, it sure was that. I haven't been in the water in a beach in years. Like, maybe almost a decade, but, something about being at the beach in Ghana gave me the motivation I needed to plunge in...
and that I did. It was interesting and cold. There were so many brown people there. It was like this beautiful sea of brown...literally. Of course there were the usual tourist Obruni's (Ghanaian term for white people) but it was okay. Actually, no it wasn't. It's like I wanted to go to Africa to get away from that white/elitist mess and it's still here. Like, damn. Can we get anywhere on this planet? Shit, I still want to go to Africa...
someone help me find it...
you know what I mean, real Africa, without the white folks and capitalism and materialism and permed hairs and pain,
no more pain and suffering and poverty and disease. Just well-to-do people who are looking to love and grow. I want to go to Africa. I want to go right now.
Oh yeah, back to the beach...it was fun that is until the men starting acting up. People were getting groped and roped in the water. I guess something about the water makes people think that they can get away with sexual assault. I don't know...
I smoked with some people and there were horses. Just like I remember in Nigeria...craziness. I didn't ride any. I didn't feel like being completely transformed back there, I'm not ready for those memories yet...
nope, not yet.
we went to this beach a little while ago. It was called "La Pleasure" beach. And, it sure was that. I haven't been in the water in a beach in years. Like, maybe almost a decade, but, something about being at the beach in Ghana gave me the motivation I needed to plunge in...
and that I did. It was interesting and cold. There were so many brown people there. It was like this beautiful sea of brown...literally. Of course there were the usual tourist Obruni's (Ghanaian term for white people) but it was okay. Actually, no it wasn't. It's like I wanted to go to Africa to get away from that white/elitist mess and it's still here. Like, damn. Can we get anywhere on this planet? Shit, I still want to go to Africa...
someone help me find it...
you know what I mean, real Africa, without the white folks and capitalism and materialism and permed hairs and pain,
no more pain and suffering and poverty and disease. Just well-to-do people who are looking to love and grow. I want to go to Africa. I want to go right now.
Oh yeah, back to the beach...it was fun that is until the men starting acting up. People were getting groped and roped in the water. I guess something about the water makes people think that they can get away with sexual assault. I don't know...
I smoked with some people and there were horses. Just like I remember in Nigeria...craziness. I didn't ride any. I didn't feel like being completely transformed back there, I'm not ready for those memories yet...
nope, not yet.
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