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Perched on the edge of Ghana’s southern coast, where the Atlantic Ocean meets the land with rhythmic waves, Elmina Castle rises like a ghost from history. Its brilliant white façade gleams under the tropical sun, but behind its majestic exterior lies a story etched in pain, resistance, and memory. Built by the Portuguese to facilitate trade in gold mined by local communities, it later served as a central hub in the transatlantic slave trade for the colonial powers. Today, Elmina Castle is a landmark that witnessed the forced departure of countless African souls. Yet, beyond its historical plaques, it holds a different kind of memory—one inscribed not in stone but in the people who live in its shadow.
As I step through the arched entrance of Elmina Castle, I’m immediately engulfed by a sense of solemnity. The whitewashed walls, weathered by centuries of sea salt and sun, stand as silent witnesses to a dark past. Our guide begins the tour with a walk through the central courtyard, once bustling with colonial activity. The echoes of footsteps seem to carry the weight of history.
We descend into the male dungeon—dark, airless, with only small slits of light piercing through thick stone. The air is damp and heavy, and the floor still bears the marks of chains. It’s a harrowing space where hundreds of men were imprisoned, often for months, before being shipped across the Atlantic. The female dungeon is no less haunting, and the infamous “Door of No Return” is a chilling climax—it was a narrow exit point leading directly to the ocean for thousands of captives loaded onto ships as enslaved Africans.
Climbing up to the governor’s quarters, I’m stunned by the stark contrast. Bright, breezy, and spacious, it offers a panoramic view of the shimmering Atlantic Ocean. From the Governor’s Balcony, I can see fishing boats bobbing on the waves—a serene image that belies the horrors that unfolded here centuries ago. The chapel, built directly above the dungeons, reflects the disturbing irony of colonial faith coexisting with cruelty. The tour ends with quiet reflection at a memorial plaque honoring the victims of the slave trade. As I exit, I carry with me a mix of sorrow, reverence, and the profound realization of the resilience of the human spirit.
Visiting Elmina Castle is not just a tour—it is an emotional encounter with the past. For the people of Elmina, however, the castle serves as a living archive of community memory, spirituality, and intergenerational storytelling. Elders, fisherfolk, market women, and traditional leaders preserve oral histories that are often excluded from textbooks and museums. These stories are shared at elders’ councils, in market conversations, and during festivals. Transmission is informal yet deeply structured by respect, silence, and ritual. These local voices enrich the castle’s legacy far beyond the official European-centered accounts of architecture and the Atlantic slave trade.
However, this emotional terrain is largely invisible to the casual visitor, but it is deeply felt by those who have inherited the spiritual burden of remembrance. For example, elders frequently speak about “spirit zones” in the castle—areas associated with ancestral presence or mourning—which are not typically addressed in formal tours but are central to local memory. They describe the castle as a “wounded place” and believe stories must be told with reverence and ritual care. For them, sharing is often accompanied by libations or prayer. As one elder and libation leader explained, “It is not just a story. It is what our spirits remember.” They view storytelling as a sacred duty—a means to pass down the truth, preserve memory, and maintain continuity between ancestors and future generations.
Senior tour guide Richard begins his tours with a moment of silence, recognizing the ancestral pain embedded in the castle walls. For him, tour guides are not merely interpreters—they are “keepers of grief.” The tour guides I’ve met speak of the emotional toll and moral responsibility of interpreting traumatic history—many are descendants of those who lived through the slave era or its aftermath. “The emotional toll remains with us long after the visitors have gone,” Richard admits. Yet, they also take pride in correcting historical distortions of the slave trade and giving voice to the voiceless. They expressed a strong sense of sacred duty in telling these stories—not just as a form of remembrance but as an act of reclaiming dignity, truth, and justice. “When we tell these stories, it’s not for tourists—it’s for justice. It’s for us,” says Richard.
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Peter, another heritage guide, leads walking tours that connect the castle’s history to everyday life in Elmina town. He takes visitors through fishing communities, past local shrines, and into public squares where generations have gathered to remember and resist. His tours highlight how the castle’s legacy shapes not only memory but also cultural practices, such as the annual Bakatue Festival. “This festival is not just a celebration—it’s a way of saying we are still here,” Peter explains. He incorporates drumming, dancing, and ritual at the Benya Lagoon to illustrate how spiritual strength and cultural continuity persist in Elmina despite historical trauma.
Community knowledge and the intergenerational transmission of stories are central to understanding Elmina Castle. They are not merely historical facts but embodied experience—knowledge that is lived, felt, performed, and transmitted through naming practices, proverbs, fishing songs, and spiritual rituals. For instance, naming practices in Elmina are deeply tied to memory and resistance. Children born near the anniversary of the Bakatue Festival or within the spiritual zones around the castle are often given names that reflect ancestral survival. A child might be named “Nana Benya,” after the Benya Lagoon, to honor the spiritual waters that have long served as a site of cleansing and ritual protection against the trauma of the slave trade. Others bear names like “Ewuraba Amma Dungeons,” given in remembrance of a great-grandmother who was believed to have been held in the castle’s female dungeons. These names function as living memorials, embedding personal and communal history into identity.
Proverbs, another rich vessel of community knowledge, are used by elders to encode historical events, moral lessons, and survival strategies. A common proverb in Elmina goes, “Obra ye ko, nanso yenfa nsuo nko nsuo mu,” meaning, “Life is a battle, but we don’t go to war in water.” This is often interpreted as a caution about navigating danger wisely—a metaphor rooted in seafaring history and the memory of enslaved ancestors who vanished into the Atlantic Ocean. Such proverbs passed during storytelling circles or family meals are not merely sayings—they are epistemologies conveying how to survive injustice and remain rooted in one’s culture.
Spiritual rituals, particularly libation pouring and purification ceremonies, are crucial expressions of community knowledge. At certain times of the year, local priests and priestesses gather near the “Door of No Return” to perform cleansing rites. These rituals are believed to appease ancestral spirits and ensure communal well-being. The ritual often includes drumming, invocation of names of the lost, pouring of schnapps or water onto the ground, and a moment of silence. These ceremonies are seldom documented in history books, yet they are essential to Elmina’s understanding of its relationship with the past. Elders explain that without these rituals, the community cannot maintain harmony.
There are also feelings of pain and ambivalence in the community. Some residents feel that sharing these stories—especially with outsiders—can be exploitative or draining if not done respectfully or without benefiting the community. “There is a sense of being used,” one local fisherman lamented. “Tourists and researchers come, take our stories, and leave. But who tells our side fully?” Without reciprocal engagement or support, storytelling can feel extractive rather than empowering.
However, increasingly, scholars and institutions are recognizing the importance of these local voices, which have begun to influence national museum exhibitions, research on the slave trade, diaspora-focused heritage initiatives, and Ghanaian school textbooks. As one local teacher observed, “Our children must know that our ancestors were not just victims. They were warriors, mothers, spiritual leaders. Their stories are our strength.”
In terms of research, community members, especially fishermen, market women, and youth leaders, have increasingly collaborated with researchers through ethnographic interviews and participatory mapping. These collaborative research efforts are helping to document and legitimize these stories within academic and policy circles, offering a more nuanced and inclusive historical narrative. Anthropologists, historians, and archaeologists working on Elmina Castle—especially those involved in the Digital Elmina Project and collaborations with the University of Ghana—have increasingly integrated local oral histories into their methodologies. The project was launched in 2017 and remains ongoing.
The work of Professor Renato Perucchio, Director of the University of Rochester’s Archaeology, Technology, and Historical Structures Program, has emphasized the significance of contextual interpretation. He asserts that just as a diseased body must be studied to understand a healthy one, sites of historical trauma must be examined not just architecturally but socially and spiritually. His team’s technical analyses of deterioration are grounded in local narratives of care and loss, underscoring that the preservation of Elmina Castle is not only a technical task but a moral obligation rooted in memory justice. Students like Marcos dos Santos, with ancestral ties to West Africa, have testified to the transformative impact of engaging with the castle alongside community members.
One notable initiative is the Digital Heritage of West African Monuments Field School, spearheaded by the University of Rochester in collaboration with the University of Ghana and guided by the Ghana Museums and Monuments Board (GMMB). Over the past three summers, students and faculty have focused on Elmina Castle and Fort Amsterdam, combining high-tech methods—like drone imaging, laser scanning, and 3D photogrammetry—with interviews and consultations involving local community members.
As of 2023, Elmina Castle welcomed over 78,000 visitors, according to the Ghana Tourism Authority, and it is now one of the most visited historical sites in West Africa. In 1979, it was inscribed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, recognized not only for its architecture but also for its significance as a living testimony of the transatlantic slave trade. For members of the African diaspora, Elmina Castle has become a place of pilgrimage—a form of historical healing.
But for the people of Elmina, the castle is part of everyday life—a looming presence that shapes identity, economy, and spiritual belief. Their role as guardians of memory deserves global recognition, ethical engagement, and sustained support. As the world continues to reckon with the legacies of slavery and colonialism, Elmina offers a powerful reminder: the past is not gone. It is alive—in stories, in silence, in spirit. And it calls us not just to remember but to listen, to learn, and to honor those who never returned and those who still keep watch.
