The wheel of time keeps on spinning, leaving behind history that we are both proud and ashamed of. Our forefathers shed blood for justice, and they also committed crimes because of greed. But our history is our memory, helping us to remember the wonder of mankind and to realize the past stain of sins. There is an island off the coast of Senegal. After hundreds of years of Atlantic waves, it still retains the misdeeds and pain that are sealed into every inch of this island. The island is called "Goree Island," where millions of Africans were sold to the West Indies as slaves, starting about 550 years ago.

Slave port

The island is about three kilometers [less than two miles] from Dakar, the capital of Senegal. Because of the island's location as a major trading station for the flow of goods between West Africa and the Americas, it had been a major battleground for a very long time. The Dutch displaced the Portuguese and named the island "Goede Reede," meaning "good port." The Dutch in turn were routed by the French and British, who competed for economic control of the region.

Colonialists arrived to reap profits from selling large numbers of African slaves. From the mid-sixteenth century to the mid-nineteenth century, it is estimated that more than twenty million Africans were caught by slave traders. Families were torn apart and slaves were shipped as cargoes to markets in the Americas, Europe, Arabia, Iran and India.

Goree was the warehouse for the colonialists in Africa, and it was also the last piece of home the Africans were able to see before being shipped out.

The trip from Dakar to the island takes about twenty minutes. The ferry we took was a little more than ten meters [33 ft] long with fifty or sixty passengers on board. As I looked around, I noticed that the photographer and I were the only passengers from Asia.

When I walked out of the cabin, I saw white foam streaming from the stern, forming a long, white banner flowing in the deep cold water of the Atlantic Ocean. The end of the banner was slowly devoured by the water, and sight of the African continent slowly blurred to extinction.

Praying for the crimes

As we looked from the bow, Goree Island slowly appeared before us. We followed the other passengers off the ferry. We had finally arrived at the station that once twisted the modern tracks of humanity. The local people were not particularly excited about the tourists. I realized that the footsteps these tourists left on the sand were rather deep. It seemed that thoughts of the past weighed heavily on all our minds.

The Pope came here once. His long, pure-white robe swept over the golden beach where African slaves had passed. Leaning on his crosier, he stood silently in one corner of the island and prayed that it would be purified of the crimes that Europeans once committed here.

I felt disoriented. It didn't feel like West Africa heret felt as if we were walking in some old European town. Buildings from the European Renaissance stood on both sides of the narrow cobbled lanes. There were neither motorcycles nor automobiles; not even a bicycle could be seen. Ivy crawled along walls and roofs, creating a relaxed atmosphere for the thousand residents of the island. No one would ever know the horrible history that happened here.

Too horrible to look

"La Maison des Esclaves" or "the Slave House," is still preserved on the west side of the island. It is a two-storied, salmon-colored, stone house about 333 square meters [3600 sq ft] in area. There are two circular stairs in the middle, dividing heaven and hell. The soldiers from the colonial countries lived on the second floor and the slaves were thrown into cells on the first floor.

This house is 222 years old and was built by the Dutch in 1776 as a warehouse for storing and transferring African slaves to the Americas. Eight years ago, the French government paid to restore the building to its original condition, so that future generations could remember those past atrocities.

On the first floor, there are stone rooms of various sizes for men, women and children. Each room has only a tiny window and a door. A dark room of about thirty-three square meters [360 sq ft] was usually packed with more than fifty people stored like goods waiting to be transported.

Many Africans died of starvation and disease. To the slave traders, these sick and dead Africans were like defective goods that had to be thrown away. They would be taken to another room that had an opening to the ocean. When the tide rose, seawater would fill the room and drown the sick people. They would then be swept out to sea and become food for the fish. Because of this practice, our guide told us, there were many sharks around the island, waiting for their "food" to arrive. Even if anyone tried to escape, they would be shot or they would be eaten up by these sea butchers.

The Door of No Return

There is another room by the entrance, and on one wall is the number "60." The slaves were brought to this room and had their teeth and weight examined. Those who weighed over sixty kilograms [132 lb] belonged to the top grade and were lined up to be sold. When all the slaves were priced, they would be brought through a dark, narrow hallway. There was a small door at the end. It was called the "Door of No Return." When the door opened, the Africans were taken onto ships bound for the Americas, where they would begin their new lives as slaves.

When the door closed behind them, the fates of these people were sealed forever. Their fortunes permanently gone, they would spend the rest of their lives in foreign countries without any opportunity at all to see their relatives, friends or anything familiar from their hometowns. It was a final farewell to all that they loved. Groups of brokenhearted slaves were forced to leave their homes on the ships to the Americas.

Standing in that hallway, I seemed to hear once again the piercing clangs of heavy shackles on their feet as they moved through the door. Their heartbreaking cries echoed in the air.

The lapping of the waves came to my ears. As I walked to the door, reflected light from the sea blinded me and I couldn't see clearly what was outside. Connecting the prisons and the sea, the hallway felt like a time tunnel in a science fiction movie.

The crime of greed

When we walk through the Door of No Return into the history of America, we can see African slaves working hard under the scorching sun in vast cotton fields in the southern part of the United States. We can see President Lincoln declaring war on the South to free the slaves. We can see thousands of freed slaves returning to Africa and founding the republic of Liberia. We can also see countless social problems between African-Americans and white people in America. We can see the glory of the African-American General Colin Powell in Operation Desert Storm to free Kuwait. Who can imagine that maybe one day, a descendant of the African slaves brought through the Door of No Return will become the president of the United States, the most powerful leader in the world.