Wanderlust by Daisy Prescott

Author:Daisy Prescott [Prescott, Daisy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Wanderlust
Publisher: Daisy Prescott
Published: 2017-01-15T16:00:00+00:00

Everything was hopeless, pointless, and futile. Okay, the last two meant the same thing, but when Kai and I visited Elmina “castle” prior to returning to Accra, both applied to my emotions. Despite my intellectualizing of places not holding memory, the dark, dank spaces inside Elmina affected me more than I anticipated.

History was messy, ugly, angry, and violent. Rarely was it as pretty as depicted by the paintings hanging in museums.

I cried at the stories told by our guide.

Horror could occupy space, haunting it.

I never wanted to return.

I gasped for air and turned my face to the strong sunlight when we exited the door. Sitting on a bench facing away from the building, I focused on the living taking place around me. To my left, a pair of goats nibbled green grass on the lawn, ignoring the “keep off the grass” sign. A young woman sold trinkets on a small piece of cloth set on the ground at her feet, and two men chatted next to a large tour bus while several children wearing blue school uniforms played tag in its shade.

Kai handed me a bottle of water.

I chugged the warm liquid, and then exhaled. “Thank you.”

“It’s a powerful place.”

I nodded in response.

We sat for a moment without speaking. My usual defenses of snark and humor failed me. I had no words.

He broke through my silence. “You okay?”

I shook my head. “I … I wasn’t expecting to have such a strong reaction.” I gulped water. “Makes our conversation yesterday an exercise in intellectual masturbation—all my theorizing about place and object.”

With a chuckle, he put his arm around my shoulders. “Life does go on, history forgotten.” He squinted toward the long fishing boats crowding the water. “Forgotten and repeated.”

“What do you mean?”

“Slavery isn’t a thing of the past in Ghana. Or anywhere in the world.”

I stared at him.

“See the boats?” he asked. “Many of those boys and young men working on them are contemporary slaves or work for little pay. Parents sell their children to the fishermen, who make promises of school and a better life. Instead, they spend their lives on boats, detangling nets and living in fear of beatings.”

The boats rocked on the water, their colorful green nets dotted with brightly painted buoys. Small boys scampered around several of them.

“Are you serious?” I asked, unable to comprehend how right under my nose slavery existed in the shadow of a monument of the slave trade.

“One hundred percent,” he said, his voice serious.

“How do you know about this?”

“It’s my work.”

“I thought you were a wealthy banker, suit wearing super power, captain of industry, master of the universe type.”

He rubbed his hands up over his jaw and scruff. “I was.”

“But not anymore?”

Frowning, his mouth formed a tight line. “Not anymore. I told you yesterday, I’ve been working to change over the last five years. This is part of it.”

I shifted my body to see his face clearly. “What does that mean?”

“Instead of making money for the sake of having money, I focus on using it to do better in the world.

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