Senegal part 10

When we got to solid land, the group decided to take a tour of the island and the museum, and then have some free time in the sun and sand.

The streets were narrow, with colourful houses and buildings on each side. The hot sun was beating down, and my bottle of water was almost gone already. Not that it mattered, because it was already hot enough for tea.

We then went to a former slavehouse. I didn't know how I would feel about it. Would I imagine myself in it? Or would I experience it passively, like a television documentary?

We walked into a courtyard full of people. The walls of the building were a soft pink, and the ground was well-trod upon earth. A large staircase dominated the middle, and it split into two and ran along the galleries. Huge glassless windows were cut into the walls, but you still couldn't see the the ocean.

I couldn't hear the presenter talk, as there were so many people murmuring amongst themselves. I wandered around the inside perimetre, touching the walls and peeking into the museum. They had maps, slave charters and torture equipment, like manacles, balls and chains and restraints.

The families would be separated in the courtyard and sent to small, dark rooms. I ducked behind the stairs to explore behind the tiny rooms and corridors.

To the left was the room for the children. It was about 2 metres by 5 metres, and held approximately 50 children. The sign above the door said (and this is a rough translation, as the sign was very hard to read) "Innocent child, far from a smile, and crying for his mother".

Further away was the room for young women, which was slightly larger, and lit by a single lightbulb, which cast an eerie yellow glow on the stone walls. On the other side was the largest room, reserved for the men. There was also a sinister room, for the "temporarily unfit".

Upstairs were the traders' quarters. They were turned into miniature exhibits for artifacts found on the grounds.

A single hallway led to the ocean, with only a tiny doorway overlooking the sea. It was called the Point of No Return, as it was the last place the Africans would see before being forced on the slave ships. You could literally feel the pain and agony in the hallway. The walls were scratched and chipped. I ran my hand along the surface and felt sick to my stomach. I found out later that I wasn't the only one who had that reaction. The temperature was noticeably lower in the hallway, than in the rooms or courtyard.

I went to the Point of No Return, and saw a few children playing in the rocks. Our host's daughter was also looking out, and I caught her on camera at the perfect moment. Probably the best picture I've ever taken.

The ocean looked so beautiful, sparkling outside the doorway. Too bad it has such a sinister history.

Unesco did a wonderful tour of the slave house, which is accessible here.