Learning and Healing

The WTIG team officially concludes this year’s program in Ghana, and declares it a success. I thank the incredible leadership team of Elise Mott, Elizabeth Updike Cobblah and David Duane for the fantastic job they did. My gratitude also goes to Dela Awutey, Kwasi Agyei, Elizabeth Aikins and the team of learned instructors who taught with passion and optimism each time. Finally, to both Denkyem Mireku and Sankofa cohorts, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

As I write to close out the season, it occurs to me that, as we age, we break and mend in many ways. If we are mindful, we observe our healing and our scars. We come to understand the importance of adversity and challenges. The greatest lessons are grasped during this dance of awareness, learning and repairing. 

We have come to the end of two sessions of the Witness Tree Institute program of 2023. During these weeks 28 educators learned to hear differently, reflect differently, think differently and understand differently. During this period, it wasn’t the moments of familiarity, ease, comfort, certainty or assurance that created harmony, deeper learning or clarity. It was the toss and turn in meeting the unfamiliar that gave the most exposure and led to the most growth.

Each year as the WTIG program ends, I notice the following-the goodbyes are long, the conversations deepen and the richness of our experience grows as we think of our families, students, friends who await our stories. We notice the important lessons we learned through each other , and more importantly we begin to know ourselves better.

If experiential learning is to shape our lives, it has to be lived and examined further. It is because of the missteps, cultural and personal challenges, our fears and discomfort that we learned what we have learned. It is also because of our open-mindedness, determination, creativity, vulnerability and humility that we became better versions of ourselves as individuals and as a group.

Just like the art and process of Kintsugi, the Japanese art of piecing broken pottery shards back together with gold or silver, members of the WTIG cohorts embraced flaws, challenges, imperfections, and uncomfortable conversations. Like the potter, we worked with patience and awareness in order to  emerge as a cohesive group.

I  have learned that groups have a richer experience  when individuals  embrace differences and understand that when something breaks, if it is repaired with love and care, patience and understanding, like a Kintsugi vase, it is stronger at the broken places. And the process of repairing is also healing and satisfying.

We are leaving Ghana with cheerful hearts and curious minds. The work of engaging the questions you’ve wondered about will begin. Share your experiences with your communities, families and students. Let the underlying message include these-that we have more similarities as humans than not, that our individual and national histories are not the same, and if we learn from them and from each other we participate in a repair. 

You have been witnesses to the glorious and dark past of Ghana, its rich culture, wisdom and people. You have  shared yourself and received gracious space from strangers who  are now friends. 

Be a witness tree for good change, peace and understanding. 

The past still has something to say.

Tete Cobblah, Director Witness Tree Institute of Ghana, Maynard Massachusetts

Agya Koo Nimo: A Humble Genius.

Age is just a number, and 92 never looked this good on a man as it does on the veteran highlife musician, Agya Koo Nimo, who has demonstrated so much humility in his career as a musician.

The doyen, known in real life as Daniel Amponsah was born in a village called Foase, in the Ashanti Region in Ghana, West Africa. 

He worked in various science and medical related fields while maintaining his interest in music. 

In 1957, when the former British colony of the Gold Coast became the independent country of Ghana, Koo Nimo received national acclaim through the formation of the Addadem Ago(ro)mma ensemble and subsequent songs to boost the pride of Ghanaians.  

Many of his songs tell traditional stories and are mostly sung in the twi language. He is also popularly known for his Palm Wine ensemble which consists of traditional instruments of West Africa, including the apentemma and the donno, the frikyiwa (metal castanet), the ntorwa, etc. 

Agya Koo Nimo was the first Ghanaian musician to record on CD! He was President of MUSIGA, The Musicians Union of Ghana.  Agya Koo Nimo has received many awards including the prestigious Asanteman award from the Asantehene. He has received the Flagstar Award from Ghana’s Entertainment Critics, a gold medal awarded to distinguished citizens of the country, and also the Konkoma Award for his contribution to Ghanaian Highlife Music. He is also a recipient of an honorary doctorate degree from the Kwame Nkrumah university of science and technology. 

And here I was, a young teacher, who never dreamt of ever meeting this legend, sitting at his feet and listening to his wisdom .

The 2023 WTIG cohort Sankofa participated in a workshop with Agya Koo Nimo at his residence. The workshop, Proverbs, Music and the Royal Palace, stressed the importance of story-telling, music, dance and proverbs in social commentary. The traditions of the Akan royal courts formed the foundations for these elements of Akan culture. The Cohort learned how to dance and interpret dance movements and gestures. The highlight of the workshop was listening to Agya Koo Nimo and his group play the famous Palm Wine Music. Yes, and here I was in the presence of a bigger than life personality, and yet I felt at ease.

As I watched the legend play his guitar and sing, I felt a surge of wonder. I wanted to celebrate him even more. I found out why I was at ease in his presence. It was his gentle ways, his warm manners , his respect, his authenticity and above all, his humility.

My group of foreign and local teachers soaked in Koo Nimo’s words of wisdom and some even asked him to bless them. In Ghana you may ask an older person like Agya (father) Koo Nimo to bless you before you leave their presence.  I knew that is simple act like that would inspire many young teachers and give them confidence to influence the future. In his speech to us, the father of palmwine music ( Koo Nimo doesn’t drink alcohol) encouraged us to use education to change the world and spread the good virtues of Ghanaian traditions and culture.

Through his music, proverbs and life example, Agya Koo Nimo has contributed to Ghanaian society, and more importantly, to educators all over the world.

In his interactions with the cohort of North American and Ghanaian teachers, Agya Koo Nimo demonstrated not only mastery, knowledge but also humility. You felt you were the only one he spoke to; the only one he paid attention to, and the only one he saw. 

I left the workshop with my head held up high! Koo Nimo continues to  inspire young people like me to become lifelong learners and leaders even in his later years, and I am one of the beneficiaries!

Agya koo Nimo is the solution to what seems to me to be the deterioration of focus by the average Ghanaian youth. Young people find foreign cultures and traditions outside theirs more attractive, and seem to be corrupting our culture and values in the process. 

I consider myself lucky and privileged to have sat under Agya Koo Nimo's feet and to receive not only his inspiring wisdom, but also his blessings.

I figured it out. It is this man’s humility that allowed him to be filled with such wisdom.

Like the spider once did, Koo Nimo seems to have gathered as much wisdom in the world but continues to listen and search for more, even from the youth and unexpected places.

AYEKOO Agya Koo Nimo! Mo Mo Mo!

By Samuel Delali Awutey, Computing and Creative Arts Teacher for Grades 7-9, The Doryumu Methodist Basic School, Shai Osudoku District, Greater Accra, and The Witness Tree Institute of Ghana.

homecoming

After touring Elmina Slave Castle and Cape Coast, we went to Donkor Nsuo (The Slave River) in Assin Manso. According to Kofi, the prophet who educated us about the history of Donkor Nsuo, the Slave River is the last place that our ancestors were brought to before the final trek to the slave dungeons in preparation to be shipped out like cattle. The strong captives, men and women somehow managed to endure the 600 mile, six month journey in shackles, barefoot, and scantily clad through dense forest terrain and its many creatures before finally arriving at Assin Manso. Kofi also informed us that Donkor Nsuo is where the weak and sick would be killed and buried or thrown into the river to drown because they were unsellable or simply could not continue the journey. The other surviving prisoners were given food, not for humane reasons, but because they were extremely frail and were not aesthetically pleasing. It was necessary for them to be fattened up for the marketplace. Broken glass pieces were the razors that were used to shave their matted hair. They were then given their last bath in the river to remove some of the stench from six months of urination, defecation, menses, caked on dirt, blood from injury, sweat and tears.

After telling us about our ancestors' history at Assin Manso, Kofi switched gears and told a fictitious story that caused me to form an even deeper connection with this continent. Kofi shared a short parable with us that had two different outcomes. We were tasked with the challenge of determining which story ending we preferred. In summary, the story was about a young man who wanted to go out and explore the world against his mother's wishes. In the first scenario, the young man left  home, but shortly after leaving the mother was informed that her son was killed. In the second scenario the son also left home, but was never heard from again.  Once Kofi told both versions of the story, he then asked which story we, the listeners preferred. With the exception of one individual, everyone favored the first scenario, because it gave the mother closure. Although heartbroken, she knew the whereabouts of her beloved son and could properly grieve his loss. In the second scenario, the mother spent the rest of her days looking for her lost son, longing for him, wondering where he was, hoping and praying that he was alive and doing well. She had no closure, no physical body to bury and mourn.  I imagined she died with unquenchable sorrow that filled her days. As a mother, I sympathized and grieved for this woman. I had never thought about the ancestors that were left behind to lament the loss of their stolen children, stolen spouses, stolen parents, stolen friends, stolen dreams, stolen history and stolen futures. This single horrendous act forever changed us as a people and as a nation. The ancestors spent their days hoping, praying, and grieving the loss of these people. These people once had names, families and traditions. They had their own identity. These people were once happy. Warm, salty tears swelled in my eyes and slowly dripped uncontained down my cheeks, lips and my chin before finally falling from my face. I, although embarrassed because there were many people standing nearby, allowed my emotions to flow freely. My tears communicated my anguish, not only for the stolen ones, but for the ones that were left behind as well. I can only imagine the many never to be answered questions our ancestors had.  Ancestors who were taken abroad or left behind were forced to suffer the impact that colonization imposed upon them. The stolen ones were off to a brutal new life in the Americas and the ones left behind also had to endure awful atrocities. These horrible crimes against humanity are unfortunately still widespread and systematic today. 

I came home to Africa not knowing that I was going to grieve the loss of my ancestors. I came home because the Motherland was calling me and I had to obey. I was aware that I was bringing my ancestors back home with me, but I could not fathom the healing that would take place as a result of my obedience. I have done what I came to do. 

This trip has certainly been a journey. It has been a physical journey, a spiritual journey, and a journey of self awareness. I am consumed with so many emotions. I am overjoyed and I am sad. I see the resilience in the people and I feel their love.

Now that I have completed the task of returning home, I can freely move forward.  I desire to leave a legacy for my children’s children. This legacy will be one they can be proud of, a heritage they can look back on and know from whence they came and to foresee their promising future.

To my enslaved ancestors               

Those who did not know freedom-

I am sorry that you had to experience all that you endured. 

I am sorry that you did not know what freedom was. 

I am sorry that you did not have a place to call home. 

I am sorry that you were raped and tortured. 

I am sorry that your children were taken from you. 

I am sorry that you did not know your native tongue. 

I am sorry that your personal story wasn't recorded in history, but it is recorded in my heart and runs through my veins. 

I am sorry they did not recognize your value, but I do, and I proudly tell your story everyday. 

I proudly tell your story everyday through my tight curls. 

I proudly tell your story through the fullness of my lips. 

I proudly tell your story through my beautiful brown eyes, the color of African soil. 

I proudly tell your story everyday through my vernacular.

I proudly tell your story when I bounce to the beat of the music.

I proudly tell your story through my full hips and thick thighs. 

I proudly tell your story when I worship the omniscient, omnipotent and omnipresent one.

I will proudly tell your story everyday until my days are fulfilled and I too am an ancestor.

Tausha Frison, ELA teacher

Colin Powell Middle School, Matteson, Illinois

A Visit to The Mother of Schools

On July 31, 2023,
Cohort Sankofa of The Witness Tree Institute of Ghana traveled to the Eastern Region of Ghana to recall history on the campus of the Presbyterian College of Education (PCE) at Akropong-Akuapem.
It was on this campus that the founder and director of the Witness Tree Institute of Ghana was born. It was also here that the seeds of western education and Christianity were sowed.
The principal and some administrators of the Presbyterian College of Education had already heard about the Witness Tree Institute of Ghana, and some students of the College had applied to participate in the institute’s programs over the years, but have never met the director himself, and so this was both a homecoming of sorts for the director and his WTIG team, and an official introduction of the WTIG to the Presbyterian College of Education.

The Presbyterian College of Education is also the college I, and my fellow presenter Joseph, attend. We had applied for participation in the educational program of the WTIG and had been accepted. Part of our learning involved doing a presentation on the history of our college, and we were excited to share this history with our cohort of esteemed North American and Ghanaian educators.

Joseph Koranteng, my colleague and I were to do a presentation at the conference room of the college. Our presentation was about the role of the Basel Mission Society Christian in introducing Western and Christian education in the Gold Coast. This is a summary of what I shared in our presentation.

The Basel Mission Society began its work in the Gold Cost in 1828; however, the serious challenges of living and propagating Christianity in a foreign and sometimes hostile environment almost ended the mission of the missionaries. Thrice the Basel Mission Committee considered ending its attempts to convert Africans in the Gold Coast area. It felt to them that they and Christianity were not yet ripe for mission work on the Gold Coast for various reasons.

The first batch of four missionaries arrived on the Gold Cost on December 18, 1828, under the leadership of Johannes Philip Henke, a German. They were accompanied on the ship by Noi Dowuna. He was the son of the chief of Osu, Accra, and was returning home after a Danish government-sponsored year’s study (1827 - 28) in Denmark.
These missionaries were given the following instructions and mandates:
Firstly, they were to learn to adapt to the climate. Secondly, they were to take time to select a site for a permanent mission station. Thirdly, they were to master the local language at their settlement at all costs, and finally, they were to preach and spread the Gospel with love and patience. In this way, the instructions explained, they would be able to heal ‘the bleeding wounds which greed of gain and the cruel craftiness of the European have caused.’

On the 25th day of December 25, 1828, Johannes Henke passionately delivered the first official sermon in a Chapel which was full of Danish people including the Governor, a few mixed race and African people.  The earnest work to save souls had began.

Sadly the hopeful exuberance of the missionaries was to be dampened. Within eight months of their arrival in the Gold Coast, three missionaries died, leaving Hencke alone to struggle with loss of his team, and the tremendous workload. Although news of the death of the Basel missionaries was devastating, a second batch of three determined men were dispatched to the Gold Coast to continue the work that had been started. These men were Christian Frederick Heinze, a medical doctor from Saxony, Andreas Riis and Peter Pedersen Jager, both Danes from Sleswig.

They arrived at Osu on March. 3, 1832 to find to their dismay that Johannes Henke also had died in November 1831. His last letter was written on October 31, to Basel before Riis and others set out on January 21, 1832. The men settled down to work but once again, death pruned their numbers, leaving only Riis to struggle with the arduous work of saving souls and also battling illness and loneliness. Riis wanted to settle on the mountains of the cooler Akuapim area and begin start a school, but his superiors in Basel resisted this plan, fearing a venture inland would be dangerous and a threat to these goals. So for the next three years (1832-35), Riis struggled not only with death but also with the Danish authorities at Osu to release him for missionary work in the Akuapem hills.

Ignoring pleas and sometimes discouraging language, Riis went ahead with a plan to open a school and a mission station at Ningo, Accra.
Meanwhile, he had written to the Home Committee about the sad news of the death of all his colleagues. The Committee in turn wrote to him, urging him to abandon the missionary work and return home. Riis decided to stay, and at the beginning of 1835 he was relieved of his work as Chaplain. Somehow freed of this responsibility, Riis made his first journey to Akropong, in the Akwapim mountains and area on January 24, accompanied by a Ghanaian interpreter called George Lutterodt. Here Riis lived with the people of Akropong, winning their affection and respect but converting very few people.

In 1840, Riis returned to Basel. He was in poor health and had left behind in the Gold Coast, neither a group of Christians nor school children, but rather graves of several Basel missionaries. It seemed that Riis had failed, but the people of Akropong begged him to return.

Andreas Riis, heeding the admonition of the Akropong King in his departure, suggested to the Danish authorities that Black missionaries from the West Indies would be more successful at converting Ghanaians into Christianity.
Akropong was again chosen to be the venue for this experiment. Within a few months, a group of liberated Christian Africans from the West Indies were to revive and raise the hopes and the goals of the Basel mission in the Gold Coast. Their presence suggested to the natives of Akropong that Christianity was a religion not only for the white man but also for the Africans. For according to Akuapem oral history, Riis was once told by the Okuapemhene Addo Dankwa that “Christianity and African religion are very different. It would take a lot to abandon any religion but if Riis could show him an African who practices the white man’s religion, then he and his people will accept his mission.

On February 7, 1843, Andreas Riis, Johann Widmann and George Peter Thompson together with a party of twenty-four West Indians left Jamaica for the Gold Coast. They reached Christiansborg on Good Friday, April 16, 1843. After spending two months in Osu, Riis and his party reached Akropong on Sunday, June 18, 1843.
As it went about its evangelical work, the Band Evangelical Society, the new name of this racially diverse group, mission began establishing schools to educate the indigenous people. This led to the establishment of the first preparatory school in Akropong-Akuapem in 1844 by Rev Andreas Riis. The increase in the number of pupils in the preparatory school resulted in a higher demand for professionally trained teachers. This demand culminated in the establishment of a seminary in 1848 to train catechists and teachers to teach at the preparatory school. The main aim of the Seminary was to give teachers a sound basic education as well as attitudes and skills “to live shining and exemplary lives.”

The seminary has gone through several revolutionary stages from a seminary to the present college of education of which I am proudly a part.
The Presbyterian College of Education is affectionately called “The Mother of Our Schools.” It was the first institution of Western style higher education in Ghana, and, in West Africa, it is second to Fourth Bay College in Sierra Leone. Presbyterian college of education has, since 1848, grown in size, attained academic excellence and undergone massive transformation in the area of infrastructure. The school population has increased from five men to over 1,800 men and women.

It is worth noting that the College started as an all-male institution until 1958 when it became co-educational with the admission of 17 women during the tenure of Rev. Noel Smith, the last white Principal of the College.
The college has been at the forefront of special education in Ghana. In 1945, The College began to admit visually impaired students. Currently, The College has a Special Education Unit that trains visually impaired, hearing impaired, and physically-challenged students.

The Basel missionaries were the first to bring cocoa to Ghana. They successfully planted and processed cocoa beans into beverages long before Tetteh Quarshie, the man who commercialized cocoa, went to Fernando Po and brought cocoa seeds. Indeed, Tetteh Quarshie worked for one of the missionaries at the College and therefore knew about cocoa before he left for the island of Fernando Po. It was no surprise that he knew the worth of the plant. Today, the small cocoa farm of the Basel missionaries still exists on the campus of the Presbyterian College of Education. The roots of the crop have are firmly embedded in African soil. The story of the cocoa farm was almost lost in the telling of the first successful cocoa farm in Ghana.

Also buried on the campus of the Presbyterian College of Education and other cemeteries at Akropong are brave men and women from Europe, Jamaica and other parts of the world who believed in their mission and brought western education, including writing and reading, to lay the foundation for learning. These people and countless Ghanaians who aided them in fulfilling their mission are owed a debt of gratitude and respect. I wish I could name them all. But I am determined to keep their work alive as a dedicated teacher and proud student of the Presbyterian College of Education, and to “heal the bleeding wounds which greed of gain and the cruel craftiness of the European have caused.’

Philip Ampofo
Student Teacher
Presbyterian College of Education Akropong-Akuapem, Ghana

The Deeper Meaning of Kente Weaving

The Witness Tree Institute (WTIG) played a pivotal role in facilitating an enlightening tour of Kumasi, a city steeped in the rich cultural heritage of Ghana. This journey was an immersive experience that delved into the heart of Kente weaving, exploring not only its mesmerizing artistry but also the profound meanings hidden within its intricate symbols.

Guided by the expertise of WTIG, the tour of Kumasi provided participants with a unique opportunity to witness the captivating world of Kente weaving firsthand. The institute orchestrated visits to dedicated workshops where master weavers demonstrated the meticulous process of setting up the loom and threading the vibrant threads, a laborious yet essential step in the creation of Kente cloth. Participants were able to witness the rhythmic dance of the weavers' fingers as they brought to life the mesmerizing motifs, each pattern infused with centuries-old cultural significance and stories.

One of the highlights of the tour was delving into the symbolic meanings that lie beneath the surface of Kente designs. The Witness Tree Institute arranged engaging discussions with local artisans and historians, who unveiled the intricate narratives woven into each pattern. From geometric shapes representing unity and community to complex color arrangements signifying historical events, these symbols served as a tapestry of stories that spoke to the values and beliefs cherished by the Ghanaian people.

With WTIG's guidance, participants had the privilege of learning about the profound meanings that often stem from proverbs, virtues, and ancestral wisdom. This deep dive into the symbolism imbued within Kente patterns transformed the experience from a mere observational tour into an intimate exploration of culture and identity.

The Witness Tree Institute's dedication to cultural preservation and education was evident throughout the tour. Through their careful curation and facilitation, participants were able to connect not only with the artistry of Kente weaving but also with the stories that have been woven into the fabric of Ghanaian society for generations.

In essence, the collaboration between the Witness Tree Institute and the Kente weaving artisans of Kumasi was a bridge between tradition and modernity, heritage and innovation. The tour exemplified how organizations like WTIG play a vital role in fostering an understanding and appreciation for cultural practices, ensuring that these valuable traditions continue to thrive in a changing world.

Edith Boatemaa Acheampong 7 to 9 grade English,NyigbenyaD/A Basic

The Broken Door Metaphor

I broke a door yesterday. Literally, not figuratively. It was a large, brown, wooden door and it came off the hinges. Let me tell you the story. 

We started our Monday in Kumasi and mid-morning we headed back to the Ghanaian Cultural Center to shop and pick up beautiful batik prints we created on Sunday. I hopped off the bus and joined others as we went into a craft shop. The shelves were full of carved statues and woven treasures. I window shopped for a few moments and decided to ask the shopkeeper if there was a public washroom nearby. Restrooms have sometimes been hard to come by so I was pleasantly surprised when she said she had one in the shop I could use. I proceeded to where she pointed in the back corner of the shop to a large brown door actually made of wood-the good, heavy kind of door. I was impressed. I absentmindedly opened the door and stepped in. 

Problem #1- Ghana has decided to play continual jokes on North Americans by placing small ledges and minuscule steps in every building. I lost track after day two of how many times I stumbled or tripped up or down these tiny stairs. Stubbed toes abound and I do not live up to the meaning of my name. Anna ironically means one of grace. Nothing will make you feel stupid like taking a step expecting there to be a flat floor and suddenly you fall because your balance and weight are thrown off by a few inches. 

I digress, behind Door #1 was an unexpected step. This time it was about a foot instead of 2 inches. I stepped into the room and lost my balance needing to grab the edge of the sink to stay upright. I glanced behind me to make sure that no one saw. I got lucky. In front of me was now a second door and a toilet. Problem #2-I needed to close the second door because the first door did not have a lock and I did not want a situation where the door was opened to a crowded shop. I walked to the second door and without a thought grabbed the handle to pull it closed behind me. As I grabbed the handle the upper door hinges came apart and the entire door fell on top of me and squashed me against the wall with my two hands pressed against the door! Surprise quickly turned to panic. My thoughts went something like this, “I broke the door! I broke it! Oh no! What do I do?! Do I try to push it back up? Can I put it back on the hinges and it will magically repair itself? It’s heavy. Oh gosh, it’s so heavy! Wait, what if I can’t fix it? How do I get it off? If I let go is it going to fall flat on the floor? Will a massive bang occur to alert everyone that I broke the door! Do I need to pay for the door?” The thoughts continued to race and my breaths became a little bit more desperate. I hadn’t felt this much panic since I was in second grade at Hollis Hand Elementary School and threw up on the hallway floor and didn’t know how to hide it before another kid or teacher saw me. The whole picture was being seared into my mind; added to the file folder in my brain that held my most embarrassing moments. 

I tried to set the door upright. It wouldn’t stay. I tried to lean it against the wall. It would not lean. It was still attached at the bottom hinge but the hinge was not strong enough to keep it upright. My thoughts of using the restroom immediately left me. Nothing will make you able to wait to use the restroom than the conundrum of how to get a 100 pound door back in its hinge. I thought about calling for Phillip. He is kind and helpful, also very strong, and I knew he would laugh, but would happily help me. I just didn’t know how to call for anyone. So I kept at it. I tried to wedge the hinges back into their rightful place. Nope. I felt sure people had to hear me scraping this massive door across the floor as I attempt to lift it to a new placement. Finally, after what felt like 13 years but was probably of total of two minutes, I was able to balance the door by essentially trying to close it back in the doorframe. It was a momentary fix, but gave me a short respite to identify Problem #3. 

Problem #3- I had to tell the shopkeeper. I walked quickly out of the bathroom and right to this kind woman. I blurted out, “I’m so sorry, I think I broke your door when I was using the restroom. It came off the top hinges. I’m so sorry!” She was kind, as I have learned Ghanians always are. She smiled and said, “Oh yeah, I’ve been meaning to get that fixed!” Relief poured through me and I immediately had to share my harrowing adventure to fellow cohort members. Rica’s laugh made me breathe a little bit more deeply. She has a great laugh. 

I have a point. Very quickly this ridiculous story that I will not soon forget became a metaphor for my time here. I did not really know what I was walking into. I did not know that I would stumble many times, tripped up by the new atmosphere I was in. I am a European American. I stick out here. I want to do my best to evaluate each step and every word I say, but I have stumbled. Those around me have been so gracious with my questions and thoughts. I have felt welcomed in so many spaces, and because of that welcoming atmosphere I have learned a ton. Right now that knowledge feels like a literal door holding me down. Our time here is almost complete and again my mind is racing with questions as it did just yesterday, “What do I do now? Was I present enough? What do I do with all my pictures? How do I absorb the experiences we had in the dungeons of the enslaved and then translate that into a classroom lesson? What about all the new questions I have?” My heart is full but my mind is trying to perfectly balance the door of knowledge and questions I have acquired. 

Balancing the knowledge is going to take time. It will take longer than the two minutes it took me to balance the wooden door on a street in Kumasi. Conversations will be paramount. Journaling will need to continue. Connections with our cohort will be helpful and further reading is a non-negotiable. I feel a responsibility, a weight to share my experiences. I feel a responsibility as a history teacher to make sure that the stories of all people are told in my classroom. I feel a responsibility to lift up the narratives of the African Continent and Ghana in particular. I recently heard a quote and I admit that I do not remember exactly where this quote came from but it said, “Wisdom is knowledge, rightly applied.” The end goal is wisdom and my time here and the wrestling I am doing with all I have learned will lead to that wisdom. The door of knowledge will eventually find the rightly applied hinges.

Anna Kerr, History teacher, Spring Woods High School, Houston, Texas

Cape Coast Reflections

On Friday, we visited the Cape Coast fort where enslaved Africans were held in dungeons for weeks or months before the miserable journey across the Atlantic. Built in the 1650s, as many as 1500 people were held in the dungeons at any given time. Our group was led through the fort by a guide who delivered a passionate and detailed history of the insidious business conducted at Cape Coast until 1807.

After the tour, the African diaspora members of our cohort participated in a ceremony to honor the souls that passed through Cape Coast. The rest of us found a space in the fort to reflect on a location using senses, voice, connectivity, and criticality. This post will try to share my meditation.

I chose the female dungeon cell, the last room before the Door of No Return.

I sat for a moment and then began to record what my senses were experiencing.

First was smell. A slightly musky odor was present. Then I imagined the odor of 150 women held for weeks or months with no bathing, forced to menstruate, urinate, and defecate in the 30 foot by 15 foot cell where a small trench was surely ineffective in draining the waste. The women were likely standing, or leaning against the wall, or perhaps lying on the floor among this awful mixture.

Second was sound. I heard the pounding surf and the locals talking animatedly beyond the Door of No Return. I imagined the sound of the women moaning, crying, and screaming in anguish, sadness, fear, and hopelessness. The surf was not a soothing sound but a soundtrack of terror.

Thirdly, I considered what I was seeing. An electric light illuminated the small cell. The uneven stone floor with the trench. The floor, we learned, was still caked in the packed human waste from the women imprisoned here. There are two small windows high up on the wall letting in faint day light. Wreaths and flowers are propped in the corners, left in tribute to the women who suffered here. I

imagined no light except from the two small windows. I tried to imagine hundreds of women packed in, some standing, some unable to stand, eyes flashing in fear and anger or registering dull disbelief and shock.

The last sense I experienced was touch. Rough stone walls, floors, and ceiling. The floor slippery under shod foot. I was sitting on the sill of an arched window opening on an internal hallway. I wondered about the purpose of the window and where there was a door or bars to keep the women inside. I tried to imagine the feel of the stone floor with bare feet or a naked body, the flow of waste underfoot.

My imagination of the experience of the women waiting in the dungeons is limited to what I have read or learned from our tour guide. Their trauma is unfathomable. The stories we heard were dreadful: rape, torture for resisting rape, torture for attempting suicide, murder for disobedience and rebellion to set an example. While I used my senses to imagine this insidious history, I was struck by the presence of the women as I sat in their torture chamber.

Why visit a dungeon like Cape Coast? Perhaps to be fortified in the drive to teach about the horrors and realities of chattel slavery practiced in the Americas. To tell the story to family, friends, and students of how chattel slavery was justified by systemic racism. That human beings were tortured and murdered while massive wealth was accumulated by Europeans in their colonies and then the United States. To remember that we all need to be determined teachers who continue to teach about chattel slavery, even as such teachings are outlawed. 

By Julie Wyman, Teacher, Glenn Urquart School, Beverly, Massachusetts

Tears of Sorrow to Tears of Joy

The last three days I’ve been on an emotional rollercoaster, and it has been very personal to me. The first day we visited the Elmina Castle - the place where my ancestors were dehumanized and were forced to leave a country they loved, not knowing where they were going and if they would return. They left through the Door of No Return. They never had a chance to return. I was one of the last ones to leave from the door of no return due to my emotions. It was very hot in the small space; however, when I went to the door and thanked my ancestors, a cool breeze came through the door. My ancestors spoke to me, I heard them loud and clear. 

The second day we visited Cape Coast Castle and I took the book: The Washingtons of Wessyngton Plantation: Stories of my Family’s Journey to Freedom written by  my cousin, John Barker. He traced our roots back to Ghana and some other African countries, so this is why this was very personal to me. During this tour I had the some of the same emotions as the first day. Not as strong as the first day but the same feelings: hurt, anger, disappointment, just to name a few. It’s one thing to watch Roots, and see it, but to walk the same path as they walked gave me a better understanding of the horrific conditions they had to endure. As I walked through the door of no return and re-entered through the door of return I felt a little bit stronger than before, with the help of my ancestors.

The third day is where my tears of sorrows turned to tears of joy!! We toured the Assin Manso Donkor Nsuo (Slave River) site. Our tour guide, Kofi said: “You coming back here provides closure for the land and for your African brothers and sisters who have been awaiting your return”.  This is exactly what I needed -closure. Not the kind of closure of “it’s done” and now I move on to the next best thing. I have the type of closure that allows me to realize that I have the opportunity to go change the world because of what my ancestors endured. During our walk to the river, we connected to the earth and showed respect to this sacred place by removing our shoes.

Standing in the cold rushing water of Donkor Nsuo (Slave River) was emotional as well. Realizing this is the last bath before they reached the auction block sent chills all through my body. After standing in the river for a minute or so I began to talk to my ancestors and to tell them thank you. I also asked them a question about my life. Then suddenly the water became warm on my legs and feet. Once again I heard my ancestors! I started laughing and crying tears of joy because of what they said to me and when I asked, they spoke. I heard them and basically they said “You are our wildest dreams.” That was the closure I needed. 

Rica Davis, Reading Interventionist, Grahamwood Elementary, Memphis, Tennessee