Gorée Island

There are places on this earth that, having been witness to unspeakable sadness or horror, hold within them a power that will forever leave a mark on sensitive souls who pass there. Some locations that fall into this category include Auschwitz, the 9/11 memorial in NYC, Montsegur (in the south of France where the Cathars made their last stand), Gettysburg,  and where I found myself visiting on a day off from work, Gorée Island.

The 45-acre island is 1.2 miles off the coast of Senegal and is the most visited site in Senegal. It has been on the UNESCO World Heritage list since 1978 and considered worth preservation by French colonists since 1944. The central location of the island made it extremely valuable for European powers because it connected the North to the South and was easily defendable. Because of that, it was one of the first places in Africa to be settled by European colonists, and a central part of holding power in the area. It changed hands from the original Portuguese, to the Netherlands, then back to the Portuguese, then back to the Dutch, on to British control of it before the French finally took control that lasted until independence in 1960. From the 15^th century until the French abolished slavery in 1848, Gorée Island was the center of the West African slave trade. 20 million Africans passed through the slave trading center that was this island. It was the last of the African continent they would touch, and for about 20% of them whose lives would be cut short while on the Atlantic, their final chance to feel solid land beneath their feet.

Fort d'Estrées

We (Brenna, Colleen, Anthony, Alyson, and I) started out our time on Gorée at a museum that traced the history of the island, which cannot be separated from the history of the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade. The Historical Museum of Senegal is housed inside what used to be Fort d’Estrées, or the Northern Battery, built in 1852.  It has a circular set up that carried us clockwise through history. We learned about the original Portuguese colonists and the changing of hands throughout the centuries. We read about the slave trade and the commerce that drove it. One particular piece of information that stood out to me, for obvious reasons, was how the Spanish would ship horses down to West Africa to trade for slaves. One good horse was worth 20 men...

Gary the Gorée Pelican

After the museum we decided to have lunch while we waited for the House of Slaves to open up again at 2pm. We decided on a place that was right on the water, but in the shade and with a nice breeze. There is always something soothing about hearing waves tumble over rocks and I am glad we chose that particular place. All of us had something traditionally Senegalese: mafé poulet, yassa poulet or yassa poisson with guava or bouye juice (from the baobab tree).  Everything was very good and we lingered over our meals, also indulging in coffee and dessert. We were entertained by a large pelican who decided to join us at the restaurant, hanging out at the door of the kitchen, hoping for something to fall from a passing tray. I’ve never been that close to a pelican, so I don’t know if he was larger than normal, but he was pretty big. We were definitely fascinated by him, naming him Gary the Gorée Pelican for a bit of fun. The whole time I was thinking how jealous my bird-loving cousin Morgan would be that I was this close to one of her favorite birds!

Brenna enjoying the water

We left the restaurant for the House of Slaves, but it was closed for a private tour until 4pm, so we wandered around the island, and especially enjoyed the sand artists. These artists use different colors of sand from all over the regions to create their works of art. They use a special kind of glue and wood to complete each piece. The art is not easily damaged and the only way to ruin it is to soak it in water. The pieces are beautifully done and I am hoping to get some before I leave.

We still had some time, so we went down to the beach and dipped our feet in the water. Brenna was smart enough to remember her bathing suit, so she actually got to go in the beautiful water. It looked amazing and I won’t forget mine next time! We were at the House of Slaves at 4pm so as not to miss it before it closed.

This is the pièce de résistance of the island, an old slave house built in 1776. It was in this house and others like it that slaves awaited their departure on the ships crossing the Atlantic. The ground floor of the home contains holding cells with labels: Hommes, Femmes, Jeunes Femmes, Enfants where the slaves were held awaiting transport, as well as the famous Door of no Return that leads to nowhere but the waters of the Atlantic. This is the place that overwhelms the soul with the tragedy it has seen. Standing in the cell labeled Enfants, I could almost hear the din and feel the despair of crying children unable to comprehend why they were separated from their mothers, fathers, and older siblings. As I stared out of the Door of no Return, I saw the vast morgue that is the Atlantic Ocean and wondered why humanity is capable of inflicting such evil on itself, and will it ever stop?

We were a sober group that left the House of Slaves and decided to walk up the hill to the top viewpoint of the island. As we wound our way up the hill, we passed many artisans selling their work to the cruisers who swarmed the island that day. At the top, I was gazing towards the west when I looked down and realized that I was wearing the jewelry I’d gotten earlier this year in Martinique. It hit me that I had been on both sides of the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade this year: about 25% of the slaves who left the West Coast of Africa ended up in the Caribbean. It was a sobering, full-circle kind of thing, and I kind of wished there was a Toni Morrison Bench by the Road for contemplation like the one in Fort-de-France.

As we waited for the 5:30pm ferry back to Dakar, I struck up a conversation with a few of the cruisers waiting as well. A couple of snow-birds who spend half the year in Montana and the other half in South Africa, and another couple, originally British, but now living in Michigan. We chatted about traveling and the benefits of seeing, and learning in, different parts of the world, continuing our conversation when we got on the ferry. At this point it was just Colleen, Brenna and myself because Anthony and Alyson had left just after lunch. We were all chatting with each other and the two couples that had sat behind us, discussing the island and its important history. At one point, Colleen and I were chatting and an older British woman sitting in front of us interrupted us to ask Colleen “Do you ever stop talking?” At first, we thought we’d heard her wrong, but she then said “Don’t you ever shut up? You’ve been talking this entire ferry ride!” I was shocked. We were not being particularly loud, and we had been talking with the people around and behind us as well. Colleen answered (more politely than I probably could have) “I’m sorry If us talking is bothering you, maybe you can move to another part of the boat, because this is a public ferry and we paid just as much as you did to be on here.” I was still so shocked that someone would be so rude that I had stopped our conversation, but then willfully started it back up again, just to prove a point. It was a bit of a bummer to end the day in that way.

I definitely want to go back to Gorée Island; it is a beautiful place with a profound history to it that merits multiple visits. Maybe I’ll make sure there aren’t any cruise ships in port next time…