Lasting Impressions...

I won’t forget the music—
The songs that fell upon my ears
Or those I absorbed with my eyes
The sound of the drum
Even the silence
The hums

The smoothing,

clay-covered fingers

of a potter’s hands
The rhythmic march

of a torch-led band
The majestic weaving

of dark brown hands

The Agony—
Of white-stone slave castles
Of muggy dungeon enclaves where the souls of slaves still dwell
Of the libation poured in dim-lit darkness
In this once living hell

Of standing at the edge of the sea
Where slave ships

once set sail
Of the agony
Pride
And history
As our hearts swelled

The Beauty—
In their faces
Of a people coal to brown

Of the winds

and sounds
Of freedom
So apparent all around
The infectious pride
Of being black
Of being African
Of dwelling in this land
Indigenous to the first man

The Poise—
As they carry their burden
In the heat of the day—
Head erect
Iron-board back straight

With the elegance

of a runway model
whether in slow prideful stride
Or glorious gait

Under sun
Sweat
Wind
Weight

Strong backs don't break

The Pride—
The glide
The joy inside
The ride to that distant land
Indigenous to the first man
A black man
An African




Where

beautiful black folks stand
like golden sands
For as far as the eyes can see

And a clear blue sky

is a canopy for the ocean

Where the wind tickles

mint-green leaves

on coconut trees

End Tour

On our last full day in Ghana, we toured the W.E. B. Du Bois Center and visted President John Kufuor, who lives in Ghana Castle. The seat of government, and akin to the White House in the United States, the castle is a former slave castle once used as a holding pen for Africans before they were shipped into slavery.

Rev. Jesse L. Jackson and President John Kufuor

Inside Ghana castle, bars and a modern lock lead to a cell that once held African slaves and a view of the ocean from the castle.

We also visited the Osu Children's Home, an orphanage here where we met the children of Osu, volunteer student Lila Yuen, 20, who is a sophomore at New York University and is in Ghana on a study abroad program.

A young child, one of about 300 who live at the orphanage, according to a worker at Osu.

Lila Yuen and one of her young charges

We also met with former U.N. Secretary-General Kofi Annan at his home in Ghana.

Ghana is Forever!

Imagine...

Imagine

If the Ocean could cry

If Walls did cry

If the Sands could speak

If the Cells here in Cape Coast would try

To tell the tale of blood lost, of tears shed

Of souls dead

Imagine...

Imagine

If I stood where my fathers cried,

Where my people died

Where slavery tried to steal their souls

And Mother pride

Imagine what I'd feel inside

Imagine...

Imagine

The huddled masses

Sardined and wearied soul

Sweat, blood and urine flow

Like rivers of tears swollen

And the children of Africa knowin'

That the ship's a comin'

That that old ship's a comin'

And the children of Africa know

It soon will be time to go

Imagine ...

Imagine a musty cell--

Disease infested, hatred ingested--

Salt-air from the sea sifting

through slits for vents

where sunlight barely shows

Like dim-lit rainbows,

though in these holes,

the reflections in the dark

show no reflections of the dark ones here

who huddle in fear

as the end draws near.

Imagine...

Imagine the terror

The shameful error

of those who

knowingly sold their brothers and sisters

into a slavery so cruel

So brutal

So lewd

So without human rules

Imagine...

Imagine the door

The Point of No Return

The wail from hell

Where the Children of Africa fell

Oh, the hell!

I can smell the hell

Sense the hell

Feel the hell:

Seagulls crying

Buzzards flying

Sharks lying await

White men filled up with hate

Black folks beat down by hate

Black folks in shackles of hate

That old slave ship sealed up with hate

That old slave ship setting sail in winds of hate

And this old slave castle the birthplace of my fate.

Imagine...

Imagine

If I stood where my fathers cried

Where my people died

Where slavery tried to steal our souls

And Mother pride

Imagine what I'd feel inside.

Imagine.

(I visited Cape Coast Castle today where our tour guide said an average of 10,000 Africans a year were transported by slave ships in the transatlantic slave trade from this depot. Ghana's Cape Coast Castle was run by the British, and many slaves perished at this location where they were bound in shackles and dwelled in horrible conditions.)

Cape Coast Castle

A rare ray of light inside the men's slave pen.

He is the pourer of libation inside the men's slave pen, where many souls perished.

The Door of No Return