Day 6 - Elmina Castle and the Edina Bakatue Festival

Today was a much anticipated day. We are traveling down the coast to the village of Elmina to see another colonial castle that was part of the slave trade as well as the commencement of the Edina Bakatue Festival, which was highly recommended by our caretaker Phillip. Phillip was born and raised in Elmina and he was very excited to take us around his village.

We arrived at Elmina Castle greeted by many kids persistent to sell us trinkets and simply ask us for money. The castle is quite a site to see. The Portuguese initially built the structure in 1482 as it was known then as Castle Sao Jorge D’Mina (St. George being the patron saint of Portugal). It was later taken by the Dutch in 1637 and by the Brits in 1872. During World War II it was used as a training ground for Ghanaian troops readying for enlistment in the British army. Remember that Ghana didn’t gain its independence from Britain until 1957.

View of the entrance to Elmina Castle.

The first part of the tour is navigating through the Portuguese church, which lies in the center of the castle in the courtyard. Our tour guide took us to a number of jail and housing cells as well as male and female dungeons. Much of the bodily excrement and other discarded waste has since been cleaned out, but some of the smell still lingered, especially in the female dungeon, which some of the castle’s curators didn’t want to clean up so that people would understand how terrible it must have been to be crammed in these dungeons tortured and on top of other people lying in your own feces. Some of the holding cells were used before sending slaves to the dungeon but others were made to house insubordinate slaves that never got out alive. The female dungeon had a courtyard of sorts that the governor of the castle could overlook and the soldiers would remove females from the dungeon that the governor might be interested in having sex with.

The courtyard and catwalk adjacent to the female slave dungeon.

Those Europeans chosen to be governor of slave fortifications did not bring their wives and raping local women was conducted in their quarters on a consistent basis and taking them as concubines. A trapdoor linking the courtyard with the catwalk to the governor’s quarters demonstrated how this practice was carried out.

The trapdoor in the catwalk leading to the governor’s quarters.

We toured the rest of the castle, eventually exited and I left it with a somber, disgusted feeling. We saw Phillip as we exited and I expressed this. The general tone I get from Ghanaians is that the slave trade is a part of their history, whether they like it or not, and it seems that they have forgiven but certainly not forgotten. Some individuals might think to destroy these slave trade castles and forts as they are just gaudy representations of such heinous crimes against humanity. However, these forts attract tourists, both foreigners and native Ghanaians and Africans alike, and bring money into the country and the villages. Ghanaians recognize that these forts are important for their countrymen and women to see as a part of their heritage and trying to ignore it and casting it aside is not the proper thing to do. More so the right thing to do is talk about it and see these ghastly sites so that it is remembered and racism and prejudice is prevented in the future. Ghanaians also discuss important things that resulted from European occupation such as the implementation of Western education, health and human services, administrative and government infrastructure as well as religion. I’m not condoning slavery whatsoever, but if this is the general tone of many Ghanaians, then I think some of the gap between black and white relations is bridged here.

Next we toured the town of Elmina with Phillip’s guidance. Elmina is the name of the town resulting from a corrupted form of Portuguese meaning “the mine.” This name was given because precious metals were found here and the rest of the coast (why it is known as the Gold Coast), yet the true treasures of this town on the Gulf of Guinea is fishing and salt production.

The Edina are the tribe indigenous to the area and fishing for them, as well as other local Ghanaians living in Elmina and elsewhere, is an important part of subsistence (especially for protein), occupation, and way of life. The Benya River runs through the village and fishing can be done even here instead of venturing out along the gulf.

View facing west overlooking the Benya River in Elmina lined with fishing vessels.

Today is Tuesday, locally known as the day of rest for fisherman. Traditionally fishermen recognize Tuesday as the day the gods are restocking the waters and thus it should not be fished (though some still throw down a net or two). An annual celebration dedicated to the beginning of the fishing season (and on a Tuesday I might add) is the Edina Bakatue Festival. Around the late afternoon, locals in dugout canoes and other vessels parade the Benya River, doing tricks, dancing on their boats, clapping their hands or clapping with small wooden planks and singing local songs.

One of the vessels in the festival with locals singing and clapping while navigating the Benya River.

Man doing balancing act on a bicycle on a boat.

Thousands of people line the riverside to watch the spectacle and the river festivities end with elders placing leaves and other materials in the water as a sacrifice to the fishing gods followed by a youth casting a net out three times and attempting to catch a fish. We stood on a local fishing vessel and watched the progression of the events from afar. News and media coverage of the event is widespread. I was too far away to see, but I was told that some fish had been caught; a sign of a good fishing season!

The next phase of the opening of the festival was a parade through the village streets by the important members of the Edina tribe. People lined the streets to get as close to the action as possible. Our driver Peter recommended we sit on the bridge to see the procession, but Phillip, the native of Elmina, in seeing how many pictures we were taking thought we should be closer to the action and line the street with the locals. The first procession was the sons and daughters of the chiefs and high council elders as well as head fishermen. They walked through the street with the chairs of their elders on their heads.

The children of the chiefs and council members of the Edina tribe bearing their elders’s chairs.

Next were the head fisherman and the high council members. Most were in dugout wooden seats held up by men. The leaders were dressed in traditional garb and wearing ceremonial jewelry with some holding decorative machetes. Drummers followed each of the chiefs, council members and their wives. They would wave and make postures to the crowd, and if the procession was halted for a moment, the men holding the Edina member in the air would move around in circles as the chief or wife danced in their seat riling up the crowd and many of the locals witnessing would cut a rug themselves.

One of the head fishermen.

One of the Edina chiefs/council members.

The grand finale of the parade was the procession of the top chief. The onlookers became more enthralled by his presence and the crowd pretty much turned into a mob with very little room to move. People of all ages were crammed together to get the best view of the high chief and so many kids were around me and all I tried to do was hold onto my camera and my camera bag.

The top chief appealing to the crowd.

After the high chief passed through, the density of the crowd died down. I noticed that a kid was somewhat attached to my backside and I swiftly pushed him away. I moved a few paces and Phillip introduced me to one of his old classmates. After shaking the man’s hand and bidding him farewell, I began walking towards our car. It is then that I noticed my right front pant pocket had been slashed and the cheap Nokia phone that I had purchased in Ghana was gone (Ah, my cheesy little soccer game is gone!). I quickly checked my left front pocket: not slashed and my American networked phone was still there. I reached around to my wallet back pocket: thank goodness it was still there; but, that pocket had been slashed too. That crummy little kid had stolen my phone and was trying to grab my wallet at the very end as well! Not to worry, I wasn’t cut by the pocket slashing and so I wasn’t injured, but quite a damper on the evening. I will just have to be more aware of my surroundings in the future. Also, I didn’t expect to be in this type of crowd and I certainly wasn’t prepared for it, otherwise I would have put all my belongings in the false bottom of my camera bag.

So my pictures of the high chief cost about $30 US. Oh well, hope everyone enjoys the pics.