The fan is different here. It's a lazy, ceiling-mounted thing that clicks with each rotation, and it's pushing around air that actually feels cool. That's the first shock. Cape Coast in early August is not the Accra I left behind. It's about 26 degrees, there's a breeze off the Atlantic, and for the first time in a week, I'm not sweating through my shirt before 9am. The drive down took just under three hours along the coastal highway. My tro-tro was a rickety Hiace van packed with market women, a man carrying a live chicken, and my own overstuffed backpack. We left Accra this morning, and now I'm here, in the heart of the old Gold Coast, in a small guesthouse near the centre of town.
Let me tell you about the ride. The road from Accra hugs the coast, and for long stretches you see the ocean on one side and endless green on the other. We passed through small towns where the tro-tro slowed to a crawl, and vendors would tap on the windows holding out bags of fried plantain, sachet water, or grilled fish on sticks. I bought a handful of kelewele through the window for about 5 cedis. Spiced, sweet, and perfectly fried plantain. It cost less than 50 US cents. That was breakfast. The driver, a man named Kojo, blasted highlife music the whole way. It was the perfect soundtrack for watching the city melt into fishing villages and palm trees.
I'm staying in a place near the heart of the historic district, close to the castle. It's a modest guesthouse, just a room with a fan and a cold shower, but it's clean and the windows open to a courtyard where someone is always cooking. The price is about 400 cedis a night, which is roughly 35 dollars. I'm told that during the big festivals, that price would easily double, but right now, in this quiet pre-festival lull, it feels like a steal. The first thing I did after dumping my bag was walk to the water. I had to see the castle.
You can't miss it. Cape Coast Castle sits right on the Atlantic, its whitewashed walls glowing against the blue sky. It's a fortress, a warehouse, and a dungeon all in one, and it stands there as the permanent, unflinching monument to the transatlantic slave trade. I stood on the beach below its walls, watching the surf crash against the rocks, and listened to the Fante fishermen pulling in their boats. The contrast is jarring. The sorrow of that place, and the everyday life happening right at its feet. Colourful pirogues, dugout canoes painted bright blue and green, were being unloaded right next to the castle walls. That's the thing about Cape Coast; history isn't in a museum, it's on the same street as the fishmongers and the tro-tros.
The landladies at my guesthouse, two sisters, insisted I eat before doing anything else. So before the castle, I found a chop bar on the road leading up from the beach. A chop bar is where Ghanaians eat, no frills, plastic tables, and food that's been cooking in big black pots all morning. I ordered banku with peppered fish and a piece of fried tilapia. Banku is a fermented corn and cassava dough, and it arrived as a smooth, white ball, sitting next to a piece of fish that was so fresh it must have been swimming this morning. The pepper sauce was fiery. The whole plate, with the fish and the banku, cost me about 75 cedis, maybe six or seven dollars. I washed it down with a cold bottle of Coke and sat there watching the world go by.
Fortified, I walked to the entrance of Cape Coast Castle. The fee for a foreigner is around 180 cedis, so about 16 dollars. I paid and joined a tour group. The guide, a man with a deep voice, led us through the dark, airless dungeons where thousands of captives were held. It's a harrowing experience. The rooms are oppressive, and you can still feel the weight of what happened there. There's a Door of No Return, a stone archway leading out to the ocean, which was the last African soil so many people ever stood on. I won't pretend I have the words to describe the feeling. I just stood there for a long time, looking out at the waves. When the tour ended, I walked back out into the bright sun, and the town was just going about its day, and it felt strange to be back in the present.
After the castle, I needed to level out. I walked away from the ocean, up into the streets of Kotokuraba, the market district on the north side of town. It's a cacophony. Hawkers calling out their prices, women pressing piles of dried fish into bags, the smell of spices and smoke. It's everything I love about Ghana. I wandered for a while, just taking it in. I bought some cloth—not kente, but a vibrant printed fabric for a future project—and I haggled the price down from 120 cedis to 80. It's worth checking if you're here, just be prepared to keep your hands on your wallet. Pickpockets are a thing in the crowded parts, but I had my bag zipped and my phone deep in my pocket.
I was beginning to flag, so I found a coffee shop. You heard me. Coffee. I walked into a clean, air-conditioned place called Algorithm Coffee & Juice, which was a welcome relief. I ordered a cappuccino, which was surprisingly excellent, and a piece of cake. The bill was around 40 cedis. It felt pricey for a snack, but this was the local version of a fancy cafe. I sat by the window and watched the street. The town is humming with preparation. I'd read about the Oguaa Fetu Afahye, Cape Coast's biggest festival, which climaxes in early September, and the build-up is already everywhere. I'm told there's a week of silence before they open the Fosu Lagoon, and the street-carnival launches are happening all over town. There's a real energy of something coming.
That energy is partly because of PANAFEST, the big diaspora gathering, which apparently just wrapped up here on the 3rd of August. The guesthouse sisters were telling me the town was absolutely packed with visitors from the US and the Caribbean for two weeks. The candlelight ceremonies at the castles drew huge crowds. That means this week is the quiet lull before the Fetu Afahye storm. I'm glad I caught it. But I'm also told there's the Central Expo starting on the 31st of August at Adisadel College Park, with over 500 exhibitors expected. It's timed to ride the festival crowds. So in three weeks, this town is going to explode. For now, it's just the warm-up act.
As evening fell, I made my way to the beach again. I walked along the sand, past where the fishermen were mending their nets, to a bar called Lemon Beach Restaurant. It's exactly what it sounds like, a wooden deck with a thatched roof, tables right on the sand, and the sound of the waves. I ordered a grilled whole tilapia. It's served with banku and a scorching hot pepper sauce, and it costs about 100 cedis. This is the meal of the coast. I sat there as the sun set, turning the sky pink and orange over the Atlantic. I watched a group of kids playing football on the beach, and a few women with massive bowls of fish on their heads walking home. For a moment, I felt the pace of this place. It's slower here. More deliberate. The town has a small-town feel, despite the history it carries.
The walk back to my guesthouse in the dark was a different experience. The streetlights are few and far between, and the gutters are open. I was glad I'd switched from my sandals to trainers. I passed a small gathering where someone was practicing drumming, a rapid, hypnotic beat that echoed off the walls. This is the heartbeat of Fanti culture. The festival drums are warming up. I stopped for a moment to listen. It reminded me of the Homowo drumming I found in Jamestown in Accra, but this feels different, more organic, tied to the fishing and the sea.
Back at the guesthouse, I sat on the rooftop terrace with the sisters. They were shelling groundnuts and told me about the town. They told me how Cape Coast used to be the capital of the British Gold Coast until 1877, before Accra took over. They talked about the University of Cape Coast and the student life that keeps the town young. They also spoke about the price of things. It's no joke. They said the cost of beans, the base of the poor man's meal of gari and beans, has gone up by over 80 per cent in the last year. That's real inflation. The whole town is feeling it, but they still offer me a bowl of soup as I head to bed.
So, the plan for this leg of the journey is set. This is my base for a while. From here, I'll visit Elmina Castle, the old fishing town of Elmina, and later, head north to Kakum National Park to walk the canopy walkway through the rainforest. This is a heavy region, but it's also one of immense beauty and resilience. The history is in the walls, but the life is in the streets, in the drumming, in the smell of smoked fish, and the taste of that fresh tilapia. It's a different Ghana down here. It's the Ghana of forts and fishing, of castles and rainforests. And I've only just started. For now, the fan is clicking above my head, and the drumming has faded into the distance. Akwaaba to Cape Coast. Goodnight from the coast.
Tomorrow, I'll take the short tro-tro ride to Elmina. But for tonight, I'm just listening to the waves and letting the weight of all this history settle in my bones. I'm glad I came. I'm glad I took the slow road. The pace here is a teacher. I just need to be quiet enough to learn.