A raw account of visiting Calabar’s colonial-era museum—where the brutal history of the Middle Passage becomes personal, and a beautiful city transforms into a site of sorrow.
Posted: 2025-Jul-10
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Well, in my visit to the other museum today, which was housed in the old colonial administration building overlooking the port and river, I discovered why I was so revolted last night at the Marina.
Calabar was the slave port through which the largest number of all African slaves were shipped on British-flagged ships for the Middle Passage to the Americas. Almost 1/3 of all African slaves on British-flagged ships (more than 750,000 of the 2.5 million total) shipped to the Americas came through Calabar.
The port where the slaves were loaded was along the river right where the Marina Resort is today, and the small museum at the Marina is built on the very same spot where the warehouse was located to which the slaves were brought from the stockades in surrounding villages to await loading onto the slave ships. Most importantly, it is absolutely certain that slaves from Kanuri land would have passed through Calabar after making the trek of several weeks or even months from inland. They were kept in neck, arm, and leg chains and shackles and marched single file.
Our FAMILY passed through that same same spot where I was so revulsed last night.
I have long ago given up being surprised by or trying to understand the path life has taken for me, but I honestly had absolutely no inkling of what awaited me in Calabar until it was time to walk into the building last night. Had I known in advance, I am not sure I would have gone, but I am grateful for the experience nonetheless. I am so glad I took the opportunity to visit the "real" museum today.
Unfortunately, what until last night was a beautiful place has now become something to despise. I have had to keep reminding myself that the people of Calabar today were not the ones who sold my grandmother, but truthfully, I don't think I was listening to myself. I just wanted to get away from there, and I don't think I will ever go back. Fortunately, I have experienced wonderful connections in other parts of Africa. Calabar is the only place I have been that caused any such feelings of revulsion. I know my friend Jan has felt similar things in the slave ports of Ghana, but until yesterday, I had only had beautiful experiences in Africa.
Otherwise, I am fine. I just arrived back in Abuja and have come to the office from the airport. It is now 6 p.m. I am leaving the office, though I don't want to go home... it is too empty without Victoria there, especially on a day like today. Maybe I will see a movie instead.
Related Posts
Calabar’s Ghosts: Tracing My Family Through a Slave Port (pt 1)
Returning Home to Borno
I was born in the last year of the Baby Boom into an essentially all-white, all-Mormon community in Southern Utah. Six decades later, I am no longer Mormon, no longer white, and finally ready to share my story. The map is not yet complete, and new pathways beckon. Shall we see where they lead?
If these words resonate in your own journey, I'd love to know which passages lingered with you. Let's continue the dialogue.