Masked behind the smog and dust of Accra, the moon was an island of light, alone in a night sky iridescent from the city lights below. I kept staring at it as I tried to sleep. From my mattress on the roof of our hostel, I listened to the sounds around me. From the streets I could hear car horns and traffic. To the right I heard a night club, with music playing and people yelling. In the alley I could hear dogs barking. Occasionally a rooster would crow, a mystery to me since it was two in the morning. Four stories above the city, all the sounds formed an intriguing cacophony that could only be West Africa.
Coming off of night shift feels similar to jet lag. While others slept, my body was convinced the day was just beginning. I tried to force sleep, but found myself just looking around. The latex mattress in eighty five degree heat probably did not help. When I looked at the moon, I had a strange thought. Six hours from then, my family would see the same moon. Six thousand miles away, my parents would see the same beacon I was looking at. Strangely nostalgic thoughts of home swirled in my mind, wandering between the world of conscious thought and dreams.
The little things are what I miss. Talking with my parents or playing with my nieces, catching a movie with my sister or carving with my brother, eating Mexican food with my friends or conversations with my pastor, petting the dogs or kayaking on the lake, and especially Whataburger at two in the morning. Life is so different here. Don’t get me wrong, I love living on the Africa Mercy. It’s just some of the comforts I had in Texas will always be close to my heart.
Eight in the morning we headed for Kakum National Forest. Imagine rope bridges two hundred feet above the rainforest floor. We walked through the forest at the canopy level. There were shades of green I had never seen before. The bridges would rock with each step, making for an enjoyable trek between the trees. The actual floor of the bridge is made of a board about a foot wide. Every time we would arrive at a new tree, the board would loudly smack the bottom of the platform. It is an ominous sound if you did not realize it was normal. The scenery itself was gorgeous though. Trees as thick as red woods surrounded us, while much of the time we could not even see the floor of the forest below.
After lunch we went to Cape Coast Castle. Along a scenic coastline of southern Ghana, an old fort sits upon the rocks. The whitewashed castle almost looks beautiful, that is till you hear its history. Three hundred years ago the castle was a holding area for slaves before ships would take them to Europe and the New World. Dehumanized to the point of property, people were kept in dungeons till the ships arrived. On closer examination, the castle is the definition of austere. Our tour guide did an amazing job trying to convey how terrible life was for the slaves. At one point all of us were in the male slaves dungeon. In a room the size of a large garage, two to three hundred slaves were kept, with only a small window twenty feet up for light. With little room to move, let alone sit or lay down, the conditions were breathtaking. Standing there in a group of sixty, it already felt overcrowded. The darkness, along with the heat mixed with the stale air and musty odor to give an idea of what the dungeon was once like. At one point we stood at the Door of No Return. Slaves would leave the deplorable conditions of the castle, only to enter a new world filled with darker trials. Through the door the coastline was visible, filled with colorful fishing boats, calm waves, and children playing in the ocean. It’s strange to see something beautiful, foreboding, and austere all at the same time.
That night we went to dinner on the beach. We found a restaurant that was located about thirty yards from the ocean. As we sat at the table, beneath the thatch roof of the patio, the waves could always be heard, mixing with the sounds of stimulating conversation and laughter among new friends. About twenty yards further in was the main building of the restaurant, open on three sides. By the stage, a keyboard and tenor saxophone serenaded the dinner crowd with smooth jazz. As the tenor saxophone would solo, its deep voice tied together the waves, conversation, African food, and slight breeze into an evening I will never forget. It was one of those moments that demands remembering.
This last month has been humbling. I have been given opportunities many will never have, many of which I may never have again. I’m thankful to everyone for the chance to be here. I’m thankful for my family and friends I have at home. I’m thankful for my new friends on this ship. I’m thankful for the God of all Space and Time, Gracious enough to allow me the chance to serve Him.
Note- For anyone who has been following this blog, sorry I have taken so long to post any pictures. Here is the link to check out my photos so far. Have a great night everyone!
