On the Upbeat
Welcome to My World ...
Africa
I first set foot on the soil of the African continent years ago, as a 25-day tour of Spain and Portugal climaxed with a ferryboat ride past Gibraltar and on to Tangier, Morocco in North Africa.
I kid you not, it was a Fellini fantasy full of casbah- browsing, souvenir haggling and responding to the exotic rhythms of North Africa. Coupled with apprehension at the intrigue among our boyish guides and alarm as we were herded into a closed area of the archaic airfield and prohibited from leaving cramped quarters crammed with carry-on.
Most of our tour group sat chatting about the trip and their waiting families. Some paced the floor. Others dealt cards. The appointed hour for departure came and went. With no word by lunchtime bread and cheese appeared from satchels. A few downed Moroccan beer, bad as it was. By two o'clock intoxication crept up. By three a riot brewed as alcohol drove libido into lust and incited irritation to rage. At four armed guards double-timed into the area, automatic weapons primed. Everybody sobered up in a hurry.
I kid you not, it was a Fellini fantasy full of casbah- browsing, souvenir haggling and responding to the exotic rhythms of North Africa. Coupled with apprehension at the intrigue among our boyish guides and alarm as we were herded into a closed area of the archaic airfield and prohibited from leaving cramped quarters crammed with carry-on.
Most of our tour group sat chatting about the trip and their waiting families. Some paced the floor. Others dealt cards. The appointed hour for departure came and went. With no word by lunchtime bread and cheese appeared from satchels. A few downed Moroccan beer, bad as it was. By two o'clock intoxication crept up. By three a riot brewed as alcohol drove libido into lust and incited irritation to rage. At four armed guards double-timed into the area, automatic weapons primed. Everybody sobered up in a hurry.
At long last, some 10 hours late, the well-worn charter plane winged us up and away.
But soon the food ran out, then the liquor. Well ... out came caches of personal bottles --scotch, vodka, rye whisky, Portuguese brandy passed up, down and across the aisles. Whooee!
Oh & then yours truly disagreed with a Boston Customs official over my found treasure -- amber beads discovered on the wall in the back of a small shop. He deemed them jewelry; I hefted the 26 large beads and declared maybe for Bedouin women in a prior century. Guess who won?
My treasured amber beads.
But soon the food ran out, then the liquor. Well ... out came caches of personal bottles --scotch, vodka, rye whisky, Portuguese brandy passed up, down and across the aisles. Whooee!
Oh & then yours truly disagreed with a Boston Customs official over my found treasure -- amber beads discovered on the wall in the back of a small shop. He deemed them jewelry; I hefted the 26 large beads and declared maybe for Bedouin women in a prior century. Guess who won?
My treasured amber beads.
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Now race ahead to 2004 to a BET Jazz & Heritage Festival in and around Accra, Ghama in West Africa.
After that it was on to bus tours that introduced our little group to the capital city, to museums and parks, to the hand carvers, to flea markets and as guests at an amazing celebration.
Drummers, dancers and Chiefs from a wide area came in a wondrous array of silks to honor their King.
Soon after we were bused down the Atlantic to the Slave Castles of Elmina and Cape Coast.
The panoramic ocean view is spectacular from the roof with a row of ancient cannons still in place. However, the literally millions of African men and women who had been marched in chains 80 miles from Kumasi never saw it. What they saw as they sweated and thirsted for water, was a gleaming white castle on the horizon.
No, these unsuspecting souls had no idea of the truth, could not imagine their fate, until they were herded straight into dark, dank dungeons: one labeled "Male," one "Female."On a bright hot afternoon I walked with the group down a steep ramp into the bowels of this dungeon. As I stepped onto the floor it felt soft, squishy and we were told it was that way from the long-ago accumulation of human epidermis. I couldn't help it, tears began to well up. And then I could barely see, especially as only a sliver of light -- or air -- could penetrate from a small barred opening high up one wall. And as I stood with my back against the brick it felt ice cold.
And then we were told that the soon-to-be-slaves never again saw the light of day as they were forced through underground tunnels straight below decks on ships ready for the horrendous middle passage. (The slave trade was an evil part of a three-way economic system: 1. Goods brought from Europe and traded in Africa. 2. African humans taken to the Caribbean, to South American (particularly Brazil as it was the Portugeuese who began major slave trading and colonized Brazil) and eventually in smaller numbers to North America, where they were traded for cash or goods. 3. Goods from the Americas and the Caribbean traded in Europe.) And imagine, round and round the triangle it went from 1540 well into the 1800's!
