Fes: Home of Jaouad and the Medina

I did not want to leave the desert, but all good things...you know the rest. So we got back in what Mama B described as our motorized camels and reunited with the bus. I have never been less excited to get on a bus before...but I did and though I'm not the type to get motion sick, the ride to Fes sent my stomach to a not so happy place. It took forever for us to get there. And when we did we were instructed to have dinner at the hotel then get back on the bus to see the city by night. I couldn't do it. Neither could my roomate. Instead we repacked for the millionth time, took long hot showers and watched B movies on TV. We would have one more day and night in Morocco before being on our way...so it seemed like a waste, but after such a gruelling pace, we both needed the rest.

The next morning I was still feeling ill, but I dragged myself out of bed anyway, determined to see the Medina. Fes is sometimes called the second Jerusalem because it has more mosques / religious buildings per capita than almost any other place in the world. Several people woke up and early and went with Hamid to watch the sunrise over the city, but I just didn't have it in me. I'm still in awe of our guides who have done ever thing we've done only with no food or water and even less sleep because they wake up before sunrise to eat before Ramadan begins anew.

Our first stop was to a place where tiles and pottery were made. There we met artisans, and saw the process from melting bricks into clay, to shaping objects on a wheel then sticking them in a kiln that burns so hot that even once you remove the pottery and set it aside for a day, it's still warm. Apparently olive pits are the secret to achieving such a hot fire. Then we watched the artist paint various designs, many of which have been passed on from generation to generation through whole lineages. The pottery was gorgeous. There were plate and cups and tiled fountains and tables that they were happy to ship for us, but I didn't buy a thing. After a while I just went to sit back on the dreaded bus because I still felt blah.

Once that portion of shopping was complete we made our way to the Medina which is a maze of narrow alleyways that weave their way into the center of the city. I've never seen anything quite like it. It quickly became clear to me why Jauoad and Hamid were so insistent upon us all staying together. After two turns I felt lost. Jaouad by comparison was very at home, smiling and waving to friends he passed, gesturing to places he spent his youth.

"This is the school where I first started studying the Koran at age 6," he said pointing up at this building with a bridge that cut over the alley way. We made our way single file though the narrow walk ways passing little shops with clothing, jewelry, spices, nut candies, fruit...anything and everything. But we didn't have time to shop at the moment. This really annoyed some people in the group, (Hamid renamed the theme of our trip Eat, Pray, Shop) but we all managed to stay together.

The Medina is one of the only places where there are no motorized vehicles allowed. I was curious as to how Mama B was going to manage. She walks with a cane and not only were we moving really fast, but the Medina isn't flat. There are steps and hills and twists and turns...of course our guides had already figured out a solution: they put her on a mule. Mama B is about the same age as my Grandma and I'm having a hard time picturing her on a mule roaming the streets of Fes, but she was committed. So we went through together, Mama B leading the way, stopping first at a place that used to be a mosque / university. There we marveled at the beautiful traditional architecture (the doorways and ceilings all over the country are especially gorgeous with the carved geometric designs each bearing the mark of the people or families of the area. Dr. Lissa led us in a prayer around the fountain.

From there we visited the rug store and had some lovely mint tea while a fleet of high pressure sales people sold some of the members of our group some very gorgeous (expensive) hand made rugs. This particular store is a coop of women weavers, though the sales people seemed to be all men. They laid out rug after rug explaining the differences in the weaves and the designs. Some were modern, some were traditional. Some took up to a month to make. They came in every color. Some were woven with symblos that came from Berber tattoos. I didn't buy a think, but I certainly enjoyed watching other people shop. Kathy got a gorgeous floor rug. It's safron with a design that looks like bowls and bowls of spices in every color lined up against one another.

Then it was time for lunch. Our guides took us to a lovely spot with an indoor courtyard where I had the best lentils I've had in my life...coupled with an ecclectic salad and some chicken with onions and rice...delicious. I could eat my way through Morocco with a smile. As I was finishing, Jaouad hand signaled to me that if I wanted to go to the Hammam he would take me. My friend DD had told me I couldn't leave Morocco without visiting a Hammam...a public bath...and being scrubbed with a kis (which is a loofa mit). So Kathy and I snuck away from the group. Jaouad led us down the alley to a small doorway where a very large light skinned woman with broken teeth greeted us in arabic. Jaouad negotiated the price and the length of time and left us to figure out the rest with a promise to return for us in an hour.

Inside up a few steps and to the left was a small room with some wooden benches and hooks to hang clothes on. The building itself looked like it was centuries old. The ceilings were high like a cathedral, and light came in from small windows from above. Of course my French is limited to ordering fish or chicken and my Arabic is even worse so I had no way of really asking questions, but somehow through a lot of gestures Kathy and I figured out that we were supposed to strip down to our panties. So we did and so (to my surprise) did the large lady. We followed her into the next room which was remniscent of a Japanese onsen (bath) except there was only one small pool and no one was in it. Instead there were two Asian women laying on the floor with a Moroccan woman pouring water on them and scrubbing them. In my head I had envisioned something simmilar to Olympus Spa...the one in Tacoma not in Lynnwood. While the Lynnwood version is all swanky and high end the Tacoma one is more no frills, however even in Tacoma they have massage tables. Still, when in Morocco...

So I asked to used the restroom which was little more than a squat toilet behind a wooden gate in the corner. There I met many large cockroaches which definitely gave me a sense of exactly how old the Medina and the building really were...old, old. I tried not to think about it, but it did kind of gross me out. Meanwhile Kathy was in bliss. When I came back she was seated on the floor grinning away. The Fat lady (I feel weird about calling her that, but I never could figure out her name) motioned for me to sit, so I sat and then she dumped a bucket of water on me and handed me a sticky handful of amber colored soap and motioned for me to soap up...which I did. Kathy followed suit. Then the lady grabbed my arm and started to scrub me. I don't think anyone has bathed me (other than me) since I was little kid, so it was a little awkward at first, especially since she was mostly naked too, but it did feel good to get some of the desert off me. The lady scrubbed and scrubbed me, panting the whole time and talking to me in incomprehensible streams of Arabic. After a while she gave up the chatter, but she continued to pant as if she were running a marathon. Afterwards she dumped more water on me, some hot some cold. She had this whole system of various buckets. The same process was repeated for Kathy. While I waited I sat crosslegged beneath a skylight and breathed in the steamy heat of the room. At one point I breathed out a long OM, just to hear it echo off the walls. The lady though this was very funny and laughed for a long time.

Then she motioned for Kathy to lay down and proceeded to give her a full on massage. I kind of thought the scrub was the main event, but I was wrong. After Kathy thoroughly, and very vocally, enjoyed her massage I layed down (directly on the tile) and got one too. And then it was time for more soaping and scrubbing and having buckets of water dumped on me. Though it was strange, it was really cool to be in a place where so many women over the years must have come to refresh. And it was effective. After drying off on a robe (neither of us had towels) we got dressed and Jaouad's friend Halid came to pick us up and take us to rejoin to group. I did feel refreshed. In fact I felt better than I had since that terrible bus ride.

We rejoined the group at the tannery. Everyone was cranky and annoyed. There was a very strong smell, so people were holding verbena to their face and begging to leave. I had no intention of buying any leather goods. My mission was to get some earrings for my friends and maybe a lightweight tunic, but instead I spotted a gorgeous turquois bag...I knew I was a goner then. My own personal salesman was a young Moroccan man name Mauhsin. He was a cheeky, shameless flirt, who tried to overcharge me, but did eventually come down to a reasonable price.

"I like you," he told me.
"You like people who spend money," I told him.
"Let's go upstairs, there's some clothes I want to show you."
"Alright but I'm not buying another thing. I'm a teacher and we don't make much money."
"I really do like you, and you've got money, I can tell," he grinned.

I followed him past the walls filled with gorgeous handmade leather purses in every color from saffron to fuscia to lavender, up a narrow staircase to a whole other room filled with leather coats and dresses all of which said "I'm very expensive...buy me, buy me."

"You should try something on. Trying is free," Mauhsin encouraged me. So I did, thinking I don't have any money so I can't possibly spend any money. I tried on a short red leather coat which was gorgeous and then a long black leather coat. As I was sliding this on, Kathy came up the stairs and caught her breath...and exclaimed "Oh yes. That is so you."

Mauhsin was all over it.

"This doesn't even fit me right," I told him. It was a little tight in the bust to which he replied.

"This is nothing. I'll fix it for you. I'll take your measurements. Moroccan men love women like you," he said eyeing my boobs.

"Go eat," I told him. "You're breaking Ramadan." (Hamid says another part of Ramadan is fasting from sex and sexual thoughts so if you're fantasizing about a woman you might as well eat).

Mauhsin just laughed. "I'm only breaking a little. I am a man after all. You need this coat. Do you want it in red."

And then he worked on me for the next hour trying to get me to pay $600...I payed $200 (though he told me to tell everyone else I paid $300)...they take visa. And true to his word the coat fits me like a glove...a very soft Moroccan red leather glove. He dropped it off around 10:00pm ish at my hotel at which point Tiffany decided she wanted to buy some leather bags, so back to the Medina we went where she bought 4 gorgeous bags and set up a contact for her newest business, a Moroccan leather import store...coming soon to NYC.

Oasis, the River, the Desert Complete with Camels

A Night in the Desert

The last few days have been phenomenal. Crossing the mountains has been entering a whole different world that is both familiar and totally foreign. The people on the street are a mix, some with that light skinned Arab look and others with the brown skin of the people of the Sahara and Sub-Saharan areas of Africa. I would have never guessed I look Moroccan, but I do...that is when I don't speak. We left Ouarzazate for another long bus ride towards Erfoud stopping in Toudhra.

Here things became unreal. I saw my first real Oasis. Now I understand why the word literally means mini-Eden. After miles of mountains and dry red sand with only Goat trees and scrub brush suddenly we whipped around a bend and there was this lush green area filled with date palms and houses. It looked painted on, like some Hollywood backdrop. We stopped for a moment to take pictures, but pictures don't quite capture the miracle of it.

From there we traveled on into the Toudhra gorges which are like mini-grand canyons, so beautiful, down into the narrowest point in the valley where we stopped and had lunch at the Hotel Yasmina. Just outside the Yasmina was a shallow stream that seemed to be the happening spot on a hot day. There were people gathered from all over to swim or to nap on the rocks or on carpets they had brought. Though all of the adults seemed to be observing Ramadan, there were snacks set out for children. As I don't particularly appreciate people taking my picture if I don't know them, I chose not to take pictures of people I don't know, so if you've noticed all my pictures are of group members or friends. But there was quite a crowd. After lunch we cooled our feet in the water. I bought a red camel bone necklace from a man who called me Fatimah. I finally looked it up...it means Daughter of the Prophet.

Then we got back on the dreaded bus and drove and drove until we came to this hotel out in the middle of nowhere. Then the real fun began. There were five Land Rovers waiting for us. We grabbed our backpacks (left the rest of the luggage behind) and drove out into the desert. And when I say we drove out into the desert I mean we drove for a while on a road and then the road ended and we literally went off-roading over dirt and hills, bumping all the way until we reached this outpost miles from anywhere where there was a restaurant, a bathroom, a whole bunch of camels and an enclave of carpeted tents. Other than that there were just dunes and dunes of soft reddish brown sand stretched out towards the horizon.

First we dropped our stuff off at the tents which were arranged around an open air courtyard covered in colorful woven rugs laid end to end. Our little tent hotel rooms (they even had numbers posted on the outside) came complete with small pallats with blankets and sheets. Most of us just dragged them into the center of the courtyard and slept under the stars. Across from the rooms was an enclave with tables where we had dinner, but first we went to go meet the camels. For those of you who have never been on a camel, you should know two things: camels are hella tall and riding a camel is nothing like riding a horse.

Camels are cantankerous, noisy, expressive animals with long eye lashes and big bulgy human looking eyes. They remind me of a less friendly version of a llama and they come in a variety of different colors. I saw white camels and black camels and tan camels and kind of gray looking camels and they all looked very annoyed, like we were interrupting something very important by asking them to take us on a ride. Kathy and I were first in line to get on. (Barbara and Joel cracked another joke about me being on the Amazing Race) The camels had been saddled and were sitting on the ground with their legs curled under them for easy mounting, so I didn't really realize how tall my camel was until I was on it and Mohamed (our guide) told it to stand up. Then it started walking slowly in a very nonrhythmic way that made me feel seasick. I tried to focus on the beauty. The dunes are gorgeous, softly curved hills of sand...and quiet. When you live in a city you get used to everyday sounds...traffic, street lights, all of that, but in the desert there was nothing, but actual silence. Even the camel's footfalls didn't seem to really make much noise.

We walked until we couldn't see the tents anymore and then it was just sand and sky and sun. Then for no apparent reason, my camel let out a god awful groan and refused to go any further. Mohamed didn't seem too disturbed. He just yelled something in Arabic to which the camel groaned again and walked about 3 more steps before rolling his big eyes as if to say "this is the place". Then Mohamed gave the command for him to sit and I (gratefully) dismounted. Mohamed rolled out a rug big enough for 3 and told us we could sit down and take off our shoes, which we did. Then we walked a bit through the sand which felt soft and warm before returning to the rug where Mohamed gave us the hard sell on a desert souvenir. Then we got back on the camels and rode back to the tents where a huge meal with many course awaited us. But first Rev Michael summoned us for a prayer circle where we gave thanks for the blessings of the day then spoke our prayers for Penda on her 55th birthday (she looks like she's maybe at the beginning of her 40s) and Joel and Barbara on their 40th wedding anniversary.

Then we had dinner. There was barley soup, fresh dates with lemon, assorted olives, bread, chicken kebabs, saffron rice studded with green peas, and lamb couscous and veggies followed by fruit, Moroccan mint tea and lemon cookies. Yum. We were stuffed.

Just as our servers were bringing out the fruit, the Sufi mystics arrived in the form of some beautiful dark skinned gentleman all dressed in white from their turbans to their pointy shoes. Hamid introduced them as the Gnaoua (both their musical group and their people). Apparently the Gnaoua have been hanging out in the desert for centuries and the music they sing has been passed down from generation to generation...love songs to God, healing songs designed to open every chakra. The Gnaoua had a seat on the rugs and arranged themselves in a line. There was a drummer with the Moroccan version of a jun jun, a barrel drum with skin on both ends, played with a stick. Then there were several men who had large metal castanets. And the guy in the middle played a cross between a guitar and a mandolin...something clearly homemade with a twangy sound. Hamid encouraged us to ground ourselves in it, to breath deeply and do whatever the music moved us to do. He explained that through dancing or singing or even simply swaying we could receive a healing. As the music began, I felt my third eye open right up. It was hypnotic and repetitive, entrancing, and beautiful. I didn't want it to end. I closed my eyes and danced and danced. Some of the Gnaoua got up and danced too. Their dance was subtle, remniscent of the Native American dances I've seen that are kind of like choreographed walking, though then they did a little jumping all while playing the castanets and singing.

Hamid says some of the songs they were singing came from as far back in time as the 14th century...preserved by families of griots. When the musicians took a short break, Rickie started to sing and we all joined in. We sang a few songs for them, then they sang for us. Turns out they each speak several languages so we were able to talk to them. They also have 2 cds out.

It's such a blending of lifetimes, century old music made by people who literally live out in the desert, mixed with modern technology. They had only brought 2 copies with them, so at one point a few people left and when they returned they sold a lot of music and autographed every copy...it's the only thing I didn't barter or try to bargain for.

I must confess, despite the obvious reservations any feminist would have, I find myself once again really taken by the beauty of Islam. There is something so sacred about being in Morocco during Ramadan on a trip led by guides who fast and pray not only during the five mandated times a day, but also with us and for us as a part of our group. Hamid and Jaouad especially have been amazing ambassadors of Islam, explaining in detail why they fast and what it means to be sufi, a part of the most radical branch of Islam, solely concerned with finding and walking the path to God. Whenever Hamid talks about Islam, I am reminded of Bishop Shelby Spong who once described his role in the Episcopal Church as being the catalyst for shifting. He never wanted to be the center, he was happy to always be on the furthest boundaries ever expanding the concepts of what it means to be Christian. There in the desert with the Gnaoua as my guide I felt myself really internalize the truth of one deity...call it God, Allah, El Huc, Yahweh, Jehovah, Universe, Spirit, Creator, call it what you will, go to it as you will, but there is only one source that runs through us all...I felt a greater understanding of unity than I have ever experienced in my life.

We danced until 3 am, then said goodbye to Rev Michael and Rickie who had to make the 8 hour drive back to Casablanca to fly back to LA for church at Agape on Choir Sunday. Then we pulled our pallets out into the rug courtyard and slept beneath the quiet of the desert stars...for an hour. Then it was up again to watch the sunrise over the dunes. With Hamid leading the way a handful of us hiked out a ways into the desert, then settled in for morning mediation. I let the stillness of pre-dawn wash over me. Somewhere very faintly we could hear roosters crowing and the call to prayer, but for the life of me, despite being able to see for miles in every direction, I couldn't see where it was coming from. Then it was just silent and beautiful except for the clicking of this guy's camera taking pictures and trying to video tape anything. I felt myself getting pissed. I wanted to take him aside and just tell him, you can video tape every second and it still won't matter. There are some things that don't translate. Just like I can write everything down and tell you as best I can how I felt or what I thought, but at the end of the day there are no words, no pictures, nothing that won't fade or break or betray the truth of the moment except God. As the Ghanaians would say gye nyame (everything in life is temporary, except God).

I was sorry to have to go, but for the first time in several days I actually felt awake and renewed despite the perpetual sleeplessness.

Marrakech, The Kasbah, The Road to Ouarzazate

Leaving Ghana was hard on multiple levels. I said goodbye to Benjamin (again...always saying goodbye) and then I hopped on the bus to have a late dinner with Tetteh and the Ethereans before heading to the airport for our 3am flight. Well apparently the traffic in Accra was going to make us late for dinner so suddenly a motorcade appeared complete with motorcycle cops with flashing lights. We made it across town in less than a half an hour because everyone on the roads just pulled off to the side. I had it in my head that we would be dining at the church, but as it turned out there was some wealthy Etherean who donated the use of their luxurious mansion, so had a nice outdoor dinner with lots of sweet wine, dance music, and touchy feeling church goers trying to hug and welcome me. Why do people always want to hug me when I'm cranky? Tetteh is especially guilty of this. He made sure to touch me every time he saw me. Maybe he was trying to heal me. I don't know, but I didn't like it and I didn't ask for it, so as the evening progressed every time I saw him coming my way I changed course.

By around midnight the days of minimal sleep were really catching up to me. I had to dance just to keep myself awake and after that stopped working, I found a corner where I could write and scribbled some of the most incomprehensible junk in my notebook. Finally we were loaded back onto the bus to go to the airport, which was one line after another...security, customs, check in, more security, duty free, more security and eventually I got on one of the most uncomfortable planes in existence where I was alternately squished by the seat in front of me and unable to lean back because the man behind me was over 6 feet tall. The German girls sitting next to me took turns waking me up so that they could use the bathroom. By the time we arrived in Casablanca, I wanted to die or kill someone or both. The airplane breakfast was disgusting...completely inedible and I'm not that picky.

So we got off the plane in Casablanca, got our luggage and then discovered that one of our group mates was being detained. She has a passport from Belize which means she needed to have purchased an entry visa to Morocco...which she had, but unfortunately the person who entered it only gave her a one way visa, so she was going to be unable to enter the country. This meant that we all spent several hours longer than anticipated at the airport before she was finally free to go and even then they didn't return her passport, so our guide, Hamid, stayed an additional few hours while we bought some croissants and got on the bus to go to Marrakech.

While this was probably one of the worst introductions to a city I can think of given our state of mental and physical exhaustion, I have to say that this country is truly magnificently beautiful and intriguing. We traded in the Ghana gold and lush green rain forests and balmy days at the beach for the "ovenly" arid heat of a country steeped in silver and silk. The iron rich earth here is red too, but dry. We're in the desert now. I tried to stay awake to watching the scenery, but I fell asleep and when I awoke there were these stark rocky mountains littered with goats and ruins or half constructed buildings. Hamid says there are 3 colors central to Morocco, red, green, and blue. Red for the buildings, green for the courtyard, the date palms, the olive trees, and blue for the vast open sky. And he is right, as we got closer to the city all the buildings coming into view were a rich salmon color with a deep maroon trim and sometimes green roofs and window trims. Some houses literally looked like they had been built into the sides of mountains with deliberate camouflage.

The city itself is beautiful: a perfect blend of modern and traditional. There are horse drawn carriages to take you around the square, and camels seated on street corners with traffic whizzing by. We stopped by our hotel to drop off our bags before immediately going back out for a short orientation tour and visit to the main Square. Even the hotel is elegant from the beautiful geometric tiled floors to the intricate moldings on the ceiling of the restaurant. We rode past high-end retail stores and mom and pops shops. At the Square there were actually real live snake charmers with real live snakes like something out of Aladdin and monkeys...neither of which I was particularly excited to see, but there were also gorgeous silk scarves and silver jewelry. I'm still trying to figure out the Dirham (that's the currency here...8.5 Dirham to 1 USD)

After a perfect night of sleep, I awoke this time to really dig into the city. We went to the Mille to the Jewish Quarter where we walked through the market and saw the spices stacked in huge cones, then to the House of Sahid, which is a museum, to see the leather work and learn more about Moroccan Culture. There were pictures and jewelry, gorgeous artifacts from all over. And in the center of the building their was a courtyard with a gazebo, a fountain, and some bitter orange trees with fruit that looked like limes. The whole thing gave me dejavou. Having lived in Spain, I feel like coming to Morocco is seeing the other half of a puzzle. I understand now where the tiles and the architecture come from. Especially when we saw the tower. It's called Koutoubia Minaret. I saw it's identical twin 10 years ago in Sevilla. There they call it La Giralda.

While I was marinating on this familiarity, Rev Michael summoned me over. He said that Ricki had found me on the walls. I didn't know what he meant, but I followed anyway. Turns out, there was a picture in one of the exhibits with a lady who had my face. She was hooded and adorned with some serious metal and beaded bling and with her eyes down cast...we could have been the same person. Who knows maybe I was her in a previous lifetime. I tried to find out her name, but the caption only said woman of the Sahara. She was a nomad too. I'll post the pic when I can, but my camera died so I had to rely on others. It was very creepy and very cool.

Today when we were at the Kasbah, the vendors were calling me Fatimah and it gave me pause. Since the start of this trip I've been called many names. American Sister, Jamaica, Rasta, Madame, but Fatimah is the first one that really sounded like me. I have taken to greeting everyone in Arabic as I pass...mostly because I think it's beautiful to greet someone with peace, but then they look at me curiously and ask if I'm Moroccan. Sometimes they ask before I say anything. Most of the people in Marrakech are very light skinned and Arab looking, but as we crossed the mountains towards Ouarzazate the people began to shift. They are darker here, maybe not quite my shade, but there is something familiar about them to me as well. On the bus trip Hamid made a comment about the word nomad...he broke it down to its syllables no mad...and joked that nomads aren't crazy (they're not mad). They moved around because it was the smart thing to do. Now that I am on this trip, I am feeling less crazy, like this leap of faith was really just like answering a call to prayer, and act of sanity, a chance to expand.

I digress, I was still in Marrakech visiting the Menara, a reflecting pool surrounded by gardens, rows of olive trees, and old men selling woven hats and light weight tunics in every color imaginable. Then we went to a pharmacy where we learned more about the different spices and different herbal remedies. There is tea to lower your blood pressure, oil to remove eczema, scented oils that act as aphrodisiacs and whole ginseng, or as Mohamed called it "Moroccan Viagra". I spent entirely too much money on creams and oils and various teas (no ginseng)and then I even got my hands decorated with henna tattoos. I spent the rest of my time in Marrakech wandering around and meditating. Even in the city, there is a stillness that centers me. And of course five times a day, I reminded to pray when the call to pray sings out to wherever we are. Although it is inconvenient that this is Ramadan in terms of finding food during the day, I'm glad we're here now during this holy time.

This morning we left Marrakesh. I could have stayed another week. We drove over the mountains. I have recently had several dreams about flying and I think they must have been trying to prepare for the winding roads of the Atlas mountains. We climbed higher and higher on these one lane roads, the bus switch backing across the mountainous desert. With the city behind us, there were few dwellings, small groves of poplar trees silver leaves glinting in the wind and prickly pear cacti waving from the roadside. It looks actually like how I envision Afghanistan, beautiful, barren and red mostly, with some golden rock facades reflecting deposits of copper and other different minerals, and patches of green, the occasional oasis of a well plotted farm surrounded by dwellings built into the rock. I kept wondering who are these people and how did they come to live here?

We stopped several times along the way meeting vendor and camels and stray cats. I had a lovely omelet and some vegetables cooked with cumin for lunch before Marissa lead us in a short tai-chi sesson on the back terrace overlooking the gorges. Then we made it to the Kasbah, which is the word for Fortress. There are several Kasbahs around Morocco, but Hamid wanted us to see this one because it is one of the few where you can go inside and look down on it from above. The Kasbahs look like life size sand castles made of red mud. We hike down a rocky valley, across a stream, and then up these crumbling steps to see a sweeping view of the valley. Along the way there were vendors selling everything and anything, necklaces, purses, magnets, belts, scarves, and beautiful paintings very different from the art we saw in Ghana. This was desert art with camels and sunsets and silhouettes. Though none of us were dressed for the hike, it felt good to walk and even to be in the heat. It felt good to move. So now I am in Ouarzazate (pronounced Orz a zat) about to have dinner and explore the public bath. Tomorrow we are riding camels into the desert and possibly meeting some sufi mystics. Can't wait.

Dark and Lovely

Sitting on the bus with my Agape sisters, one of the first conversations we fell into was all about hair. On this trip, no two people have the same hair style, there are sister locks, dreadlocks, close cropped shaves, afros, braids, weaves, and pressed hair...and everyone is rockin it their own way. One lady has a salon in LA solely dedicated to doing natural hair. So of course everyone has been fascinated by the hair and clothing in Ghana.

One night I turned on the TV and caught the tail end of a show about the Miss Ghana Pageant. In true pageant form there were contestants from every region in Ghana, beautiful women of all colors, but surprisingly also of all shapes. There were slender ladies of course, but also thick beauties and the one who won was actually very shapely. I don't know why I'm surprised. Everywhere I've been in Ghana there have been beautiful black women doing their thing. When I went to have my outfit tailor made, the tailor handed me sheets printed on magazine paper filled with models wearing different styles and even the models came in what Americans would consider plus size. It's an unexpected relieve to be in a place where size isn't a detractor from beauty, where hair is wildly creative and expressive, just as clothing is gorgeous and colorful.

And when I went to get my hair braided at Marge's Hair and Beauty Clinic, I had to smile. Despite the different languages and cultures, the shop was almost identical to what you might find in the states from the smell of sweet champoos and that bitter scent of hair relaxer to the sinks and dryers lined against the walls. There was the gossip and the drama, all the beauty school girls in their blue tops with white logos and their black slacks. They took me inside and showed me more pages upon pages of hairstyles. I chose what I wanted. Benji negotiated the price, and then the sat me in a chair and combed through my hair which was still damp from being washed. Then they pulled out a plastic chair and walked me to a little outside patio where two other women were getting their hair done. One woman had her hair braided around her head in circles like concentric crowns, then the wove in tracks with tiny tiny braids, so that the final result was kind of like a bob. The other lady had orangish red hair and was getting it braided with extensions in a matching color.

Seven ladies surrounded me. And the braiding began from all angles. It took about four hours to complete, and cost 29 Ghana Cedis...the equivalent of about $22 USD. And worth every penny. To see it, scroll down to Accra pics.

The Longest Church Service Ever

Though I missed the Derber and our big welcome ceremony at the Etherean Mission, I did make it to church on Sunday. I dressed in my new Ghanaian dress. It's off white with golden embroidery, long and flowy (a little big...but I can get that tailored) and perfect for church. We were told that the service would begin at 7am with meditation, but that as a group we would catch a bus around 9am and arrive at 10am. The night before Benjamin and his cousin Nicolas and friend Edmond had taken a group of us out for drinks at some local spot. So in turn we invited them to come to church with us the next day. They met us at the hotel and drove separately. We arrived to a pretty standard looking church. There were hard wooden pews, a choir section and a balcony. Up front behind Brother Tetteh was a large movie screen that projected song lyrics and when not being used pictures of Michael Beckwith and Brother Tetteh smiling and shaking hands. The Etherean mission has it's own fabric. It's blue with yellow and white designs featuring Brother Tetteh's smiling face.

Benjamin and I squeezed into a pew with a family of 5 with the cutest children, none of whom had any space boundaries and at various times laid their heads on my knees or climb on top of me to reach their mother. Nicolas and Edmond sat behind us. Though the service had already been underway for three hours (which should have been a clue to me for how long church would actually last) there hadn't been a sermon yet. But first we needed to sing, so we sang When the Saints Go Marching In (many many verses) then Tetteh gave a short sermon and an intro for Michael Beckwith who then gave a short talk about the unity among all religions and really being a participant, not an anticipant in your life. Then Tetteh started telling these stories about these people, but he kept switching pronouns "This sister came to us from blah blah blah and he has served the mission faithfully in the capacity of blah blah". It reminded me of the guess who game that I played with my students when we were studying adjectives. They had to write sentences to describe people and then the class took turns guessing. Well at the end of guess who some body was called to the center of the church and honored by becoming a Knight of the order of Lions. There were men and women knights and you got the sense that in addition to volunteering or serving the church in some way that there was also a financial component to becoming a knight.

This was a long process. Many people were called and there was a laying on of hands for each one. Finally near the end Michael Beckwith was called, but instead of just knighting him, he was actually made a king and wrapped in Kente and crowned. Around this time I glanced behind me and noticed Nicolas and Edmond had gone. They were gone for about 2 hours and best believe we were still there when they got back. During that time, in the grand tradition of black churches everywhere, there were no less than three collections taken. And then there was more singing and some terrible organ music and then Tetteh decided to recognize all the guest by parish. So Agape Members were asked to stand up and so were the people from the church in Oakland and another that I didn't recognize...and randomly (I say this because I am literally the only person from CSL on this trip) he called out Center for Spiritual Living Seattle. I leapt up and let out a Woohoo to represent myself properly.

Then Ricki was honored for being the amazing songstress that she is and we sang an impromptu rendition of I Release and I Let Go. Then both Ricki and Michael's mothers were asked to come down as well as his daughter. Actually I think I'm a little out of order in terms of the sequence of events, but as it just kept going and going it got a little confusing. There was more singing. A duwop group that reminded me a bit of the Ghanaian version of New Edition performed. They were actually really good. And there was more singing from the choir, some in Twi, some in English and a lot of Amens and Yes Lord, Allelujah. Then there was some prayers and after a while I tuned out for a bit to chat with Benji. We talked about his religious beliefs and spiritual practices. He was raised Presbyterian (hence the Christian name), but also with a mix of some spiritual traditions passed on through the Ga. He says his church never lasts much longer than 2 hours.

After yet another song, prayer and member recognition sequence, the doors were closed and we were invited to take some incense, make a wish for the health of the mission and toss it into the fire. As I walked up to the front to receive my incense I kept trying to think of what to wish for. While the service was certainly interesting, it was not at all what I thought it would be like. It didn't move me the way CSL does and if anything it felt much more evangelical than new thought. So I wished for clarity and the highest good for both myself and the mission. As I was walking back towards my seat Rev Michael motioned me over to where he and Ricki were seated. He looked so serious (so kingly in his robes and crown) that I thought surely he was about to bless me with some spiritual information, but instead he said "I love your hair. Did you get that done here? How much did it cost? How long did it take?" I had to laugh. Shortly after this I ran into Alice B making an escape. I followed her out and found the restrooms, then discovered that in a room across the way there were refreshments. Benji and I sat down in the obligatory plastic chairs that always seem to be everywhere, and the Ethereans served us the Ghanaian version of tuna empanadas and pear soda. He called him cousin (there were several people talking on the phone throughout the service) to let him know where we had gone, but when they tried to go into the room, they were denied access. As Ghanaians they were expected to stay in the sanctuary. This was not the first time I had witnessed the seperate standard of treatment reserved for foreigners, but I was a little surprised to have it happen at a place of worship. It was nearly 3pm by then and it looked like church wasn't ending anytime soon, so I caught a ride back to La Palm with Benji and we watched Manchester United VS Fulham on the big screen before heading off to dinner at Peter's.

It was a strange experience, definitely not the one I had prepared myself for. I had come to think of the Etherean Mission as kind of a sister church to Agape and after spending this time praying with the Agape folks, I feel very kindred and connected to their spiritual community, but I did not feel that way at all at the Mission. In fact the more I looked around the crowd at Brother Tetteh's face smiling back at me from all directions, the more it felt cheap and gimicky. It just goes to show, you can't just someone on assumptions you have to figure it out for yourself.

Accra Pics

The Native Tour of Accra

In four hours I’ll be on a plane to Morocco. The dance music is blaring. Outside on the back lawn of someone’s fabulous mansion, there is a full on Agape/Etherean Mission dance party, but I am exhausted. I can’t believe I’m actually leaving. This has been such a strange and beautiful trip.

Backing up to where I left off, after saying goodbye to the gorgeous beach at the Coconut Grove Resort, we piled back on the bus and Redeemer (our driver) drove us to the Kakum National Park. There we actually got to walk through the rainforest. Now, for those of you who might not know it, I am not an animal person…not even a little bit, so things like going to the zoo or to the aviary or even on Safari don’t really appeal to me. Needless to say when they started talking about the monkeys and what not that live in the rainforest, I was questioning whether or not I even wanted to go on the hike…but I figured when in Ghana, do what the Ghanaians say you should…so I joined the large group of people hiking up the path to walk on the Canopy Bridges. There are 7 Canopy Bridges made of wood and ropes that hang between the treetops 11 stories above the forest. I didn’t see any monkeys. In fact as I walked very carefully across the creaky bridges, the only thing I could see was green for miles and the horizon in the distance. It was absolutely breathtaking. After I finished, I hiked back down the path, stopping to buy palm wine and to admire the butterflies.
Then it was on to Accra where my native guide tour really began.

While I spent the first part of my trip going to cultural heritage sites, hanging out at nice hotels, praying, and shopping, the second part was spent mostly wandering around the back streets of Accra with Benjamin. Just as before Benji proved himself to be a fun, patient, and fascinating travel companion. On my first day he took me to get my hair done (will blog on that separately) and then to this Fufu bar called the Zion Hut. I never had fufu before and it is Benji’s favorite food. We were joined by his two cousins Nicolas and the one whose name I always forget, but who everyone calls Rasta because of his twists. Rasta has a car so Benji commandeered him to chauffer us around after getting price gouged on cab fair from La Palm (the hotel). Simply traveling with an American made the ride more than doubly expensive.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite so American as I did wandering around with Benji. When we got to the Zion hut, I chatted a bit with Nick and Rasta. Both of them have two really long fingernails…just two, the rest are normal. I finally asked them what was up with that and they just laughed and said that it was useful for opening things. Then they kind of went back to talking amongst themselves in Ga or being eerily quiet. I just sat and looked around trying to figure out what was going on…I think that is my new hobby. I mean the people watching alone was fascinating. All you ladies in Seattle wondering where all the good looking black men are…the answer is definitely Africa. Everyone is simply gorgeous…dark skin, white teeth, and nothing but muscle. Mensah (our guide) kind of broke down Ghana into several regions and explained that different groups of people have different characteristics. Benji is Ga and Ga are on the shorter side of the spectrum, coal black, and with chiseled faces. During our walks we would often run into his relatives, mostly men, brothers, cousins, and the occasional uncle and they all had that same look.

Fufu is made from cassava and something else. Whatever it is gets pounded in a big wooden bowl until it becomes a white dough. The dough is placed in a soup and then you dig out balls of it, dip it in the soup and swallow it whole. I’m not into the whole swallowing food whole thing. I tend to chew by default, so when I was trying my first bite, I of course did it all wrong. I didn’t take enough. I didn’t pick it up the right way (you eat with your right hand…after everyone washes their hand in a bowl with soap). And then I chewed, which they found hilarious. Fufu doesn’t really taste like anything and the sauce is hot, slow burn hot so you don’t realize it until halfway through, but the goat was delicious.

Since I seemed to like the goat so much, Benji invited me to a home cooked meal the next evening…cooked by his friend Peter. But first we had to find a deck of cards for Marisa, so we ended up walking all around the hood. Benji lives in an area not far from La Palm. To me it seemed an incomprehensible catacomb of alleyways, some paved, some dirt, but all rocky and lined with people selling stuff, walking around, bathing their children, getting their hair done, taking a nap…you name it, I saw it. There were chickens and roosters wandering around, some with strings attached to one foot for easier capture. I passed by goats and lots of tiny homeless kittens just chilling. It was a huge difference from the luxury of the hotel with its Chinese restaurant, icecream parlor, pools, and Casino, not to mention the flush toilets. Once again I encountered a whole different system for relieving one’s self. At one point I was walked to a stall with a drain and given a bucket of water…saves on paper I guess. I don’t know. I really wish people would tell you the rules in advance. I’m sure there is an easy and logical way to pee without a toilet or a bush and more importantly without pissing on your shoes.

In the hood the alleys were narrow and damp in some places from where water had dripped from someone’s bath or laundry. The walls were faded shades of yellow, pink, blue, green, and what might have been white at one point in time. Some had phone number chalked on the side. A lot of times we’d be walking and we’d turn the corner and it would feel like we were literally inside someone’s house. There are no lawns, no gardens, just concrete and dirt and doorways into courtyards. It was hard for me to tell what was public space and what was private space. After visiting two stores in an attempt to find decent playing cards, we ventured into an open plaza where people were playing soccer. Benji met up with one of his friends who is a card shark and he went and found some quality cards while we people watched. Finally we were able to resume our journey to Peter’s place. Peter is a character, by far Benji’s most boisterous friend. He is a salsa dancer who took me out dancing last year to introduce me to Accra’s salsa scene (then he got drunk and got busted by his girlfriend for hitting on some other woman) True to form he was doing the same thing again only now he has another girlfriend, a big boned friendly German girl whose been volunteering at a local NGO for the last 11 months. She joined us after a while, but first we had to go back out and pick up Benji’s friend Michael. Michael got drunk last week and fell and hit his head. He has to wear a bandaid and there was a lot of good natured teasing about him being cut off from alcohol. Finally he borrowed a hat from this guy Edmond (who is another friend who drove us to church…more on that experience later) to keep everyone from teasing him.

So finally after a long bout of walking in circles, Peter pulled out some plastic chairs and a table and we set up camp out on the street corner. Drink orders were placed. Everyone seemed very upset about me not drinking Ghanaian beer. They seemed to think it was very strange, so finally they asked if I just didn’t drink. I explained that I drink, but I just hate beer and that the alcohol I’ve most enjoyed in Ghana was palm wine. So just like that Michael, Benji, and I were on a magical mystery tour to find some palm wine. Turns out there is a lady who makes it and keeps it in big barrels outside of her house, all bootleg. There we sat on a bench. Some women down the alley were arguing with one another. It looked like it was about to come to blows. When I asked what the problem was, Benji just answered, they are fighting…I think it’s a man thing. Any woman would have told me “oh she’s pissed because blah blah blah” but guys just don’t think that way. A man turned to me and started speaking to me in Ga. I had become so used to people speaking Ga around me and not to me, that I didn’t even think it was me. Benji laughed and explained to the guy that I wasn’t Ghanaian. Apparently he was asking me why women had to be so quarrelsome. Then the woman with palm wine showed up with a wooden bowl for us to sample. We each took a sip. It wasn’t as sweet as the wine I’d gotten from the Canopy trail, but it was good so we purchased a liter which she poured into a recycled water bottle, then we went back and hung out with the boys. It was Nicolas, Edmond, Peter, Michael, Benji and I plus some guy who never introduced himself…a friend of a friend I think.

As Benji poured me my first glass of palm wine he just poured in a bit then dumped the rest on the ground. I asked if he was donating to the ancestors to which he replied no he was just making sure the glass was clean. I laughed. Silly me. Not everything is a ritual. Then he did something really special. He said he’d like to bless me. He poured some palm wine in the glass and then began to pray for me in Ga, splashing a bit of wine at my feet after every sentence. His friends and cousins joined in by signifying “Hiyoa” (sounds like Yow) which is similar to the amen or tell it…and one of the few words I recognized from the prayer. I don’t know exactly what he said. In retrospect I guess I should have asked, but in the moment, it was the one thing that didn’t need translation. He had truly blessed me. Then the evening began anew and there was music playing. People began to dance. There were peanuts served on a plate. Then Benji procured a sample of the goat so I could taste it before we actually ate, then when everything was ready, we went into the back and sat on wooden crates and plastic chairs in an open courtyard. I was asked to say grace, which I did, when then (in English) adding amens and yeses. Then we ate.
This part of the trip was a lot of eating, a lot of waiting, a lot of walking around and meeting people and just getting a glimpse of everyday life. I don’t have a lot of pictures from our walks because I felt like it was more important to just be there, but I don’t think I’ll ever really forget it either.

The day I left, Benji himself cooked for me. I teased for outsourcing the first meal to which he responded well I wanted it to be good. But this time we went to market ourselves, accompanied by Michael. I watched him carefully select all the ingredients for jollof rice including the beef which was super fresh and literally hacked off the side of a cow in some little room off the main market. It was really special.

Busy Everyday...Kumasi and Cape Coast

As I woke up after my first full night’s sleep, a light misty rain enveloped Kumasi. Between the gray sky and the lush green forest surrounding the hotel, I had a moment of nostalgia for Seattle, though the cities are quite different. Kumasi is the second largest city in Ghana with a population of about 1,500,000. Like Accra there is still this reddish colored earth and lots of palm trees, but Kumasi is a lot more compact and more colorful. After a nice breakfast, I joined a few friends for morning tai-chi by the pool. It felt really good even though it did start to rain again and the hotel was blaring cheesy 80s music.

At 9am, everyone was on the bus and ready to go except this one guy. We couldn’t find him anywhere. Turns out he overslept. That set us back a whole hour. This meant we didn’t have time to go to the Cultural Arts Center. I wasn’t particularly surprised, since we have yet to actually follow the schedule all the way through even one entire day, but I was bummed because that was the place I was most looking forward to seeing again. We did go to a crafts village I hadn't been to where they make cloth and stamp it with Adinkra symbols…you can make your own stole or whatever. It was fun and there were lots of chickens running around. I know this probably shouldn't be novel, but I find them very interesting. There were also lots of children so I was able to give away those pens that my school donated for just such an occassion. It felt good to be able to give them something. Everyday I see kids out walking around and many of them ask me for money, but I feel uncomfortable giving because if you give to one you have to give to everyone and they swarm you...it's overwhelming and energetically exhausting.

After the symbol stamping place, we went to the woodcarving village which was also cool, but also overwhelming. Everywhere we go we have our own entourage of high pressure sales people. “Sister, come to my shop.” “Sister, I give you best price.” After a few times of navigating the gauntlet, it’s hard to feel sisterly. I bought two super cute purses and a few gifts for friends and family, then I got back on the bus and watched the show from comfort of being on the other side of a glass barrier. It definitely brings new meaning to the term window shopping. If you even glance at a shirt or a dress, the vendor starts showing you their entire collection. Then if they run out of good they call their cousin and he undoubtedly has a whole other bag of goods. I am spending too much money, but everything is so beautiful. After shopping and wandering around, we got back in the bus and headed to Assin Manso to begin our journey towards Elmina and Cape Coast.

We arrived shortly before sunset. Though I visited the Castles last year, I didn’t stop in Assin Manso. It’s about 65 miles away from the Castles and that’s where captives were marched and bathed at the fork of two rivers. One is called the River Ochi…or the Drowning River and the other is called the Slave River. We got off the bus and filed into an open courtyard bordered by thick yellow walls. Along the entry way there were several large portraits of various people generally believed to be important in the liberation of the Diaspora: Fredrick Douglas, Sojourner Truth, WEB Du Bois, Toussaint L’Ouverture, Martin Luther King, Marcus Garvey, Malcolm X, Kwame Nkruma, and etc. On the other wall was a long mural depicting the story of the slave trade as well as a doorway leading to a narrow path through the forest. On either side there were small rooms that served as a kind of museum/ ceremonial station and in the center of the grass were two graves…they were apparently the bodies of people who were sold into slavery and later died in the US and Jamaica respectively. Years later they were returned to be buried on Ghanaian soil. After praying in…which means saying a grounding prayer to help us fully be present in the moment, and present with spirit, we walked through the doorway and down the narrow path our ancestors had traveled. Our guide, Mensah, recounted the story of the captives who would be making this trek. He showed us the shackles, the ball and chain. He explained that many of these people had been caught in the interior of Africa and made to walk literally hundreds of miles chained together before arriving at the rivers.

As we walked down the path, to the left was a small kind of neighborhood. People actually live right by the river. Children were playing. A lady was sitting outside of her house and waving us over to come talk to her. Once at the clearing you could see quickly which river was which. The Ochi is quick moving. Even though it wasn’t that high, you could imagine with more rain that it could quickly become dangerous. The Slave River was almost stagnant and brown. I began wondering if we were going to see any snakes. It looked like the kind of place they would hang out. Mensah explained how many people after making that trek had lost hope that they would be able to escape and sought refuge by intentionally throwing themselves into the fast moving currents of the other river. The thing is, since captives were often shackled together, a suicide attempt could also lead to an accidental homicide. It’s definitely haunted ground.

There were so many of us we couldn’t form one circle, so we formed circles around circles (which incidentally resembles the shape of the adinkra symbol for leadership) and held hands. Somehow I ended up in the center with the elders of the Agape church. There is one woman, Ricki BB’s mother, who talked about knowing the story of her ancestors. She says her family made this exact trek and that she was coming back to bring them peace. She gave a ground shaking prayer. Then someone started to sing “While I run this race”. And then we were all singing…there is a lot of singing and prayer on this trip, which is awesome. To be a part of this kind of collective consciousness is really a very powerful and healing experience.

We made our way back onto the bus and rode the last hour into the Cape Coast area. While our hotel in Kumasi was probably the most banging in terms of the actual rooms, the hotel we’re staying at for the next two nights here is right on the ocean and absolutely heavenly. We had dinner in a gazebo overlooking the ocean. It was balmy and the night air was refreshing. Afterwards I ended up hanging out with Kathy and Tiffany until late into the evening. We laughed and got to know one another. Turns out Tiff and I have a mutual friend living in the Bay Area. I guess it’s a small world. The conversation was so good, I forgot to be tired.

When I woke up this morning, the sun was finally shining. No drizzle, no gray skies, just spectacular blue. I had breakfast with my roomy. There are no vendor allowed on the hotel grounds, but apparently the beach is free game so before I’d even gotten my juice this guy Quincy was unloading his wares and giving me a fashion show. I didn’t buy anything, but it was fun to look. After breakfast we did tai chi on the beach. It was so gorgeous. I don’t think many Ghanaians are into tai chi though, the ones walking past us on their way to work kept looking at us like we were crazy. Again, I can’t stress enough how gorgeous this beach is. The sand is like brown sugar and the water is clear and warm. After tai chi Kathy and I ran around in circles kicking up wave. I soaked the bottom of my wrap skirt, but it was cool because as soon as I got on the bus wearing blue Penda was digging in her bag for some extra white clothing. Jo (the trip organizer) made the request that we wear all white, but I didn’t have anything. I’m just traveling with the backpack for now, my suitcase is in Accra.

So Penda found a dress for me and I changed on the bus before any of the men got on. Some of my Agape sisters formed a circle around me and Alice B. helped me get my arms through the straps. It sounds like a simple thing…it is a simple thing…but it felt like an acceptance. Even though I’ve never set foot in the Agape Church, it’s like I’m already a member. If the elders need something… a soup spoon, help bargaining…they ask me. Yesterday some lady (whose name I didn’t even know at the time) asked me if she could borrow 10 cedis (Ghana’s currency). I gave it to her and when she got her money changed she joked about me being her loan officer…but then afterwards she kissed my cheek and told me I was pretty special because why else would she have felt comfortable enough to ask. Then earlier today one of the younger Agape sisters pulled me aside and asked me to sing with her.

Around 9am, we all piled on the bus. No one was late this time. We drove through the city, which is pretty gorgeous…lots of palm trees, white buildings, miles of pure coast line, and in contrast every color imaginable on the little stands and on the women. I can’t get enough of people watching. Everyone is so gorgeous and they totally set the bar in terms of Fashion. Paris ain’t got nothing on Ghana when it comes to colors, patterns and variety of styles.

We entered Cape Coast Castle and it was the same as I remembered, white walls and black iron cannons, stairs going up and down. Of the two castles, I prefer Elmina, partly because it is smaller, but also because all the shops are outside. In Cape Coast there is a little shopping pavilion, as well as a very glossy museum. It feels sacrilegious to me that people are selling trinkets and capitalizing off of the tragedy that took place…welcome back sister…buy some kente. Jo argues that this is the heart of the local economy and that the castle is a good place to find tourist with money, but it still pisses me off. Mensah seemed to agree with me…side note: after dinner, a group of women and I hung out with Mensah for a while. He is seriously dope. In addition to really knowing the history, he is one of the few tour guides I’ve met who actually talks about his feelings and his perspective…most guides seem to try to keep it neutral…though actually on this trip everyone has been a lot more honest. I think it’s that Agape mind meld happening.

We all crowded into the front room of the museum to watch a movie about the slave trade. It was a very abbreviated roots, that ended up with a interesting segment comparing Africans to African Americans. The tape itself (and I do mean tape…like VHS) was hella old and kind of flickered, but the film was interesting. Afterwards many people went through the museum. I didn’t go a second time. Instead I climbed to the top of the Castle and sat on the wall facing the sea to ground myself and to meditate. I gave thanks for my life and for the freedom I’ve been able to experience and I gave thanks especially to all the people who helped me to make this journey, financially, spiritually, and emotionally. It is such a blessing to be here. From the wall I could see the fishing boats. Cape Coast is fishing community and apparently (according to Mensah) men love the women from this area because they fish as well and are usually very wealthy.

After it hurt to much to sit still any longer, I wandered back down to chat with Alice B, Jo, and Mensah. We waited for people to get out of the museum, then as a full group we did the tour. I debated not doing it, having the ready excuse of having done it before, but I went and I’m glad I did.

Ishmael Tete of the Etherian Mission joined us, as well as Rev Michael, back from his convo with the VP. We crowded inside the dank dark cells. The floors were uneven so we all had to help each other in. I began to cry almost as soon as I entered the dungeon. I can’t explain to you the deep sorrow that exist there…the restless souls I guess, still crying, still mourning the tragedy that has never full been repared. Then we prayed and sang. Rev Michael spoke to us about how we are the answered prayers of our ancestors, how the freedom we live in every day honors them, how they are returned through us and can now rest. At one point I ended up next to Brother Tete. When he held my hand and began to pray, I could literally feel the energy of his words surge through me. It was the most palpable healing I’ve ever experienced…and it kind of freaked me out. But it was also an amazing moment. We breathed OM and the entire vibration of the room change. Something was released and though I cried my way through the rest of the cells and out through the Door of No Return, I felt lighter. It was a completely different experience than the last time. I also got up the courage to approach one of the elders about energy. Her name is Caroline and she says she would like to work with me.

After Cape Coast, we decided not to go to Elmina…the healing that needed to happen had already taken place. We went into the city, stopping to exchange more money, then came back to the hotel for some rest. After lunch Rev Michael and Brother Tete held a circle dialogue, but I didn’t end up staying for the whole thing. What threw me off was that the first person to speak about their experience was a white man…I guess I realized that there are still several more healings that need to take place for me in order for that slight of privilege not to sting so much. It is interesting being in a mixed group and being in the majority. You can tell some of the white people, all hippy and liberal and woo woo as they are, just aren’t super comfortable. And I’m sure they would discuss it at length (and probably did), but I am totally uninterested and unavailable for that. Several times Ricki has made comments meant to unify us as a group, which have been on point and very evolved, but my gut reactions have let me know that I still have work to do. For now though, I’m headed to the bar by the beach to have a night cap. We leave for Accra in the morning.