Ghana, and Cape Coast Castle

Oct 17th 2024

Takoradi to Cape Coast

As soon as the MV World Odyssey docked at Takoradi port, I threw on my backpack and set off with my frien d Joey to explore. I brought up the idea of hitchhiking to Cape Coast. Joey was down. We walked around for a bit then to the main road, thumbs out, laughing at the confused looks we got. Eventually, a kind woman pulled over—not to give us a ride, but advice. She said there are many stops on the road and hitch hiking will not get you there until tomorrow. I asked how locals get there. She pointed us to a bus station in town, a setup I imagined would be like the battered minibuses I'd seen crawling through rural Egypt.
We hitchhiked on a mini truck to the middle of the town, and sure enough, t he station was exactly as expected— running on an unspoken system only locals truly can understand. $1 cross-city ride. Joey and I live for these kinds of authentic things, but four hours in a sweltering small bus will humble anyone. By the time we arrived, all we could think about was food, sleep, and the plan for the next day: Cape Coast Castle.

Walking Through Cape Coast Castle

The next morning, I was standing by the entrance of Cape Coast Castle. I had read about the transatlantic slave trade. Seen the documentaries. Studied The Door of No Return in class. But nothing prepares you for standing there, for walking the same corridors where thousands of enslaved Africans were held in suffocating darkness, stripped of everything, waiting to be shipped across an ocean that would erase their pasts. The air felt thick. I don't mean metaphorically—it was as if something was still breathing in that space. Not ghosts, but memory. Trauma, maybe woven into the walls.

The Weight of the Past

I kept thinking: How does a place hold so much grief and still stand? How do people walk these streets today, knowing what happened here?
The Door of No Return is exactly what it sounds like—a threshold that, once crossed, meant exile, suffering, and for most, death. I tried to imagine the last thoughts of those who stepped through, looking back at a land they would never see again. How does a world justify something like this? Joey and I talked about it for a bit—the sheer madness that humans once considered normal.
And yet, I wondered… How much of that madness still lingers, just in different forms?

Shadows of Colonialism

After the castle, we spent time wandering Cape Coast, observing, listening. Ghana is independent, yet colonization has a way of staying behind, long after the colonizers have physically left. I had heard about colorism before, but seeing it firsthand was different. Lighter skin is still seen as "better," more desirable. I, for the first time, was considered "white." It was a strange feeling—how identity shifts based on geography, how privilege moves with you in ways you don't always expect. And then there was language. Schools still prioritize European history. English fluency is a major key to success. And so many young people dream of leaving, convinced that life is better elsewhere. The British left. The French left. The Europeans left. But did they really? The systems they built, the ways they shaped identity, the idea that the "West is best"—those stayed. Colonization didn't just take resources. It rewired an entire continent's self-perception. And that kind of damage is far harder to undo.

One thing that also surprised me was how everyone in Ghana seemed to know about our ship before we even arrived. Everywhere we went, people mentioned it—market vendors, taxi drivers, even kids on the street. News of it had spread fast, and before we had even stepped foot onshore, local artists had sketched it, preparing to sell us their drawings. It was a strange feeling, they saw us as walking dollars. In a way, it made sense—poverty forces people to always think ahead, to anticipate the next chance to make a living.

Maybe globalization?

It made me wonder and hope for a more globalized economy, which could create more opportunities and level the playing field. If talent and raw intelligence like theirs had real access to the world market, would they still be waiting on the shore, hoping a passing tourist would spare a few dollars? Or would they already have what they deserved—recognition, stability, and dignity beyond just survival?