After a good breakfast of coffee, bred, eggs and liver with onions, I headed out to the embarkation point for Goree Island. Goree was for several centuries the most important holding station for slaves before being transported to America. Just before the ferry took off, a dozen black Americans, mostly over 50, arrived with a tour guide.
I'm so accustomed to seeing black women in flowing robes, etc., that the sight of all these Fort Lauderdale ladies in wigs, bursting out of tight slacks, complete with panty- and girdle-lines, had me cracking up. They went wild, spending money at every possible occasion, thinking $20 for a necklace was a great deal, etc.The slave house on the island is not as big as I'd expected, but, considering the way they packed them in, I suppose it held a shipful. The tour group was guided by the curator, in English, so I tagged along.
There wasn't much to see, really, but a lot of little rooms in a 300-year old building, so the curator covered the walls with little placards containing his poetic thoughts on slavery. The guide said that some black Americans cried like babies when they were there, but this group took it all pretty calmly. I eventually talked to some of them—they're all from New Orleans, on a big package-tour, staying at the fabulously luxurious and expensive Hotel de l'Independence, in town. Whenever I feel bad about spending an extra dollar or two, I'll think of the thousands that these people have dished out and I'll take cheer.This afternoon, I finally made it over to the American Cultural Center-- apparently every national capital has one of these, in order for people to appreciate the good life they're missing. Browsing through the library, I was surprised to find a book on contemporary music education and that busied me for the rest of the day.
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