When Nathan’s parents visited, I took them, as well as Karissa, on a tour of St. George’s Castle, once a “point of no return” for thousands of slaves. This has been a topic of study in Karissa’s history—both last year and now at the beginning of this year.

Most of the information was sobering. We were “locked” into a cell to experience the darkness and poor ventilation that slaves endured. It was only for 20 seconds, not the 3 months that “processing” took. We saw the narrow door that Africans passed through to board the ships that would take them to the new world. This small exit and the fact the slaves were chained together prevented them from escaping or staging a revolt. We walked through a church and were told that when particular atrocities were done, the windows were closed so that God could not see what took place—as if God could resides within man-made walls.

Last May we visited an African slave camp in northern Ghana. This is where Africans bartered for slaves. Slaves bought at this market were then transferred to another market and then another and another. As the need for slaves in the new world increased, many found themselves at places such as St. George Castle.

There are a couple things that I find truly interesting. First of all, the “point of no return” has become a point of return for those seeking their roots. And secondly, those returning to the point of no return who are the grandchildren of slaves are now in a position that would be envied by the most Africans today since they have freedoms and opportunities not available to most Africans. The irony is painful. The suffering of those who could not return and the terrible ramifications of slavery cannot be minimized. Neither can the suffering of Africa’s children today. Pray that God would redeem the suffering through the suffering, death and resurrection of his own Son lived out by broken (and redeemed) people in this broken (and redeemed) world.

[singlepic=27,320,240,,right]We just spent a few days with Nathan’s parents staying near the ocean. We collected seashells and played in the sometimes powerful breakers. Our last morning we walked up the beach and saw some Fante fisherman fishing in the same way they have done for centuries with dug out boats, nets, and large groups of men pulling in the nets up onto the beach while children and women pull out small and large fish. Psalm 65 took on new meaning for me there.
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