During a visit to Cape Coast Castle in Ghana, law student Alisha Adjei developed a deeper understanding of the trauma inflicted by slavery. But she also left Ghana with questions about the way slavery and Black history more generally is taught in schools. Here she explains how visiting Cape Coast changed her life.
Perched on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean is The Cape Coast Castle. This antique building stands tall over the city of Cape Coast in Ghana, 80 miles (140km) west along the coast from the capital Accra. Its high, angular walls, softened by the patina of age, reflect the soft hues of the tropical sky—brilliant blue by day, shifting to gold and pink at sunset.
This sunlight filters through the castle’s narrow, arched windows, casting gentle patterns of light and shadow across stone floors.
Cape Coast Castle. Image by Jonathan Hodgson via Flickr
At the top of the fortress is a crown of battlements and turrets, offering a panoramic view over land and sea.
Inside, I found a place that invited reflection and deep, quiet reverence as the waves of the Atlantic crash rhythmically against its base.
Cape Coast Castle is a place where beauty and injustice intersect, leaving an indelible mark on all who visit.
As we parked our hire car, a guide emerged to greet us – a man with kind eyes and a calm demeanour. “Akwaaba,” he said warmly, welcoming us with a slight bow of his head.
“You’re about to step into a place that holds the memories of many who have suffered greatly. Let us begin,” he gestured for us to move towards the entrance.
The salty sea air hit me first, mingling with a faint tang of decay that seemed to cling to the walls. The tour guide directed us towards the dungeons: “Downstairs first.”
I followed as the air grew cooler with each step, descending into the bowels of the building.
We entered a quiet room tucked away from the rest of the castle. It was filled with bouquets of fresh flowers, wreaths and small gifts left by visitors, including members of the public, presidents, kings and queens.
The guide explained, “This room has become a space for reflection. People leave flowers and cultural gifts here to honour the memory of those who passed through these walls. It is their way of showing gratitude for the resilience of those who suffered and ensuring their stories are not forgotten.”
The sea of vibrant flowers against the stark stone walls brought a lump to my throat. Amidst all the pain and darkness, this was a moment of tenderness – a silent promise to remember.
We continued into the darkness of the dungeons. Narrow shafts of light streamed through small, barred windows, illuminating dust particles in mid-air. We turned on our flashlights.
Guided Tour at Cape Coast Castle. Image by Jeremy Weate via Flickr
The guide gestured to the stone floor, uneven and worn smooth in places by the movement of countless feet. “This is where the enslaved were held,” he began.
“Men in one dungeon, women in another. They stayed here for weeks, sometimes months, chained together, waiting to be sold and shipped across the ocean, in darkness.”
The smell was faint but unmistakable — a lingering odour of human despair, sweat, and excrement that centuries had failed to erase. I envisioned the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of bodies that had been crammed into this suffocating space.
“Many did not survive the conditions,” the guide continued. “No sanitation, little food, and no space to even sit. Death came often, and when it did, the bodies were simply removed to make room for others.”
I felt my stomach churn. The guide’s voice broke through my thoughts again, as he pointed to a small, recessed area with an iron ring embedded in the wall.
“The ‘rebellious’ ones were chained here,” he said. “They were beaten, tortured, and left to die as examples for the others.”
I tried to imagine the defiance it must have taken to resist, even in the face of such overwhelming brutality. My eyes traced the grooves in the stone floor – evidence of the chains that had scraped against it for years.
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These were marks of resistance but also of suffering. My throat tightened. Then, the guide led us to the women’s dungeons.
“The women endured immense suffering here,” he said, his gaze distant. “Many were raped and sexually assaulted by the officers who lived above. Some became pregnant in these conditions, forced to carry life in a place filled with death.”
He pointed to the floor, its surface marred with stains from centuries ago. “Women bled directly onto these stones during their menstrual cycles. There were no sanitary products, no care, no privacy. They were forced to endure unimaginable indignities, treated as nothing more than objects.”
His words seemed to echo in the airless space. I imagined the cries of the women robbed of dignity and humanity, trying to comprehend the magnitude of their suffering.
Emerging from the dungeons, I squinted in the sunlight as we ascended to the upper floors, where the European officers had resided. Here, the air was different – lighter, almost fragrant, with the faint scent of the sea wafting through expansive, open windows.
The contrast was jarring.
The rooms upstairs were spacious, adorned with polished wooden furniture and high ceilings. From here, the officers gazed over the Atlantic, the very ocean that had swallowed so many lives.
It’s estimated that between 1.2 and 2.4 million people lost their lives during the barbaric ‘Middle Passage’ ocean crossing. The officers overseeing this barbarity had dined here, slept here, and laughed here.
As we walked further, the guide paused in front of a small chapel. “And here,” he said, “the officers prayed.”
My heart sank.
He continued, “They would gather here, singing hymns and asking for divine protection, while beneath their feet, people suffered. It is a sobering reality – the kind of contradiction that shows how far humans can go to justify their actions.”
The chapel’s unadorned structure was illuminated by the gentle light from a nearby window.
In my mind, the faint whispers of imagined prayers mixed uneasily with the cries from the dungeons below. How could they kneel in worship while ignoring the agony?
Cape Coast Castle is just one of around 40 castles or forts built on the Gold Coast of West Africa by European traders to enable the abduction, detention and forced deportation of African people who were enslaved.
Just 8 miles (13km) west is Elmina Castle, the oldest of these trading posts, built by the Portuguese in 1482 and originally intended to boost the trade in gold before becoming the centre of the slave trade, like its neighbour, Cape Coast Castle.
According to Ghana Museums and Monuments Board, around the year 1700, some 70,000 enslaved people were being shipped to the Americas every year. And the Equal Justice Initiative says that between 1501 and 1867: “nearly 13 million African people were kidnapped, forced onto European and American ships, and trafficked across the Atlantic Ocean to be enslaved, abused, and forever separated from their homes, families, ancestors and cultures.”
Our guide motioned towards a large, open balcony. “From this point, you can see the Door of No Return,” he said. “This was the final exit for the enslaved. Once they passed through that door, they were loaded onto ships and taken across the ocean, never to see their homeland again.”
The Door of No Return in Cape Coast. Image by Adam Jones via Flickr
The Door of No Return loomed ahead, its frame weathered by time and sea air. It was not imposing in size, but its presence was overwhelming. The door was no more than a few feet wide, its wooden planks warped and darkened, iron studs rusting in the salty air.
“Before leaving through this door,” the guide said, “many of the enslaved had their names forcefully changed. It was a deliberate act, stripping them of their identities and their connections to their families and communities.
“They were given new names, often foreign to them, making a total erasure of who they were. It was more than a change of name; it was a change of existence. To the captors, they ceased to be individuals and became property.”
The doorway stood before me, a gaping void opening onto the Atlantic.
The guide’s words lingered in my mind. “Imagine,” he said, “standing there, knowing you’ll never return. Knowing your family, your life, your freedom… all gone.”
Crossing that threshold meant losing everything – your name, your history, your present, your future. Your freedom. The door was not just an exit but a severance, a boundary that separated freedom from enslavement, life from the unknown.
But of course, I got to return. As a tourist, I walked out through that door and back into the castle with my name, history, present, and future still in my hands.
My thoughts returned to my own life—to the privilege of returning home to the UK, to my family, and my identity. Unlike those who passed through the Door of No Return, I could return to my story, to reclaim it, shape it, and share it.
This privilege is not something I take lightly. Visiting a historic site like this is a gift and a responsibility.
To return to one’s identity is to hold onto what so many were forced to give up. My hope is to honour their memory by living with intention and using this privilege to amplify their stories.
As we left the castle, I reflected on how little I had learned about slavery in school. It was only briefly mentioned during Black History Month, condensed into two weeks and accompanied by diagrams of the Slave Trade Triangle and stories about white abolitionists.
The stories I heard and the feelings I experienced in the dungeons of Cape Coast Castle are something every person should hear and feel to get even the briefest glimpse of what enslaved individuals experienced.
And, while slavery is a significant part of Black history, the story and culture of Cape Coast did not begin with the trauma of slavery. Long before the first ship arrived to take captives across the Atlantic, the people of this region thrived. They had their own systems of governance, intricate trade networks, vibrant art, music, and spiritual practices.
These achievements were not erased by slavery.
Ghana, formerly known as the Gold Coast, has more than 70 ethnic groups and more than 80 languages. Ghana became a British Colony in 1821, and Kwame Nkrumah led the country to independence on March 6, 1957.
Like many African communities, the people of Cape Coast and the surrounding Gold Coast carried their traditions through generations, even under unimaginable loss. Ashanti – an ethnic group in Ghana – are the originators of the Kente Cloth, which dates back to the 12th Century, a widely used fabric in the Black diaspora today.
It’s important to remember that Black history does not start and end with slavery. Slavery was a chapter – a horrific one – but not the entirety of the story. Black history is a history of resilience, creativity, and brilliance that predates the atrocities of transatlantic slavery and continues to thrive long after.
So why are we so rarely taught about the beauty and richness of Black history and of African culture, in school and why do we so rarely see those stories in the media? Why is the narrative so often confined to trauma and atrocities?
To teach an incomplete version of Black history is to do a disservice to the people it seeks to honour. Black history is not merely a story of oppression.
It is also one of triumph, ingenuity and enduring legacy. It is the story of kingdoms that rose, art that flourished and ideas that shaped the world. We risk reducing a rich and multifaceted heritage to a single, painful chapter by failing to present the whole picture.
How the world addresses – or neglects to address – human rights issues today reflects the injustices of the past. From modern slavery to systemic discrimination, the lessons of Cape Coast Castle are as relevant now as ever.
This building serves as a reminder of the work still to be undertaken – to acknowledge, educate and fight for the dignity and rights of all individuals.
This singular visit altered my life trajectory. It is why I wish to pursue a career in law to advocate for human rights and reform our curriculum.
This is what Black history is about, and this is the potential it has to impact us all today.
You can follow a similar tour around Cape Coast Castle via this video:
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