"Welcome Home!": My Trip to the Motherland

“Welcome home.” “Honey, I’m home!” “Ah, feels so good to be home.” We hear these phrases commonly used in our everyday English vernacular. As Americans, we typically use phrases like these either to represent the culmination of a long journey, as a means to set the tone for a return to a familiar space, or just simply as something to say. But what do these words really mean, “Welcome home?” Well, to me they’ve always signified a sense of comfort; words that are primarily associated with the house in which I live, and where I could finally unwind away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. A place where I can be myself. A sense of belonging. Or so I thought. The past week has taught me that those words signify something far more meaningful, far less simple, and would cause me to reevaluate my life on a deeper, more introspective level.

On July 25th I, along with 79 other church folk (yea it was... a lot) had the privilege to travel to Ghana. The Motherland. Africa. AFRICA. Take a minute. Let that sink in. Ok, so now that you can see the energy with which I embarked on this journey, it's important to recognize that I wasn't just being extra. This pilgrimage represented so much for me, my church community, and for Black people in general and would ultimately change what "home" really meant for me.

Weeks leading up to the trip, I had begun to visualize it in my head. I knew that this trip would be important for learning about history and culture, you know, solidifying my place as a Black person and honoring the struggles and turmoils endured by my ancestors, yada yada yada. But more importantly, for those of us 20-somethings, trips like these were also the perfect opportunity for an Instagram photo shoot. Now as shallow as that sounds, believe me, I had a purpose. It was important to show my peers and compadres that #1: I catch flights, while you catch feelings. And #2: I look good while doing it! The gram was never ready. I had been brainstorming outfits, sceneries, angles, and even who would have the luxury of being my trusted photographer for the duration of the trip. Needless to say, it was go time. Or so I thought. Little did I know this so-called Instagram photo-op would be the invitation to an experience that would change my life forever.

As people of color, Black people specifically, there is a fine line between just being in the moment, and talking about the moment because the rest of the world just has to know. It's important. We've been through too much as a people to not shout our praise from the mountaintops. But trips like these will also quickly remind you of what's really, really important - to the point where if you missed it, you just missed it. Ironically, the week before we travelled to the motherland, the new live-action Lion King came out in theaters. If you know me, you know that if it involves Disney and/or The Lion King, I'm all for it. Then cement on top of that BEYONCÉ?! Yeah, it was quite a moment in time. Mentioning the timing of The Lion King here is important, as the movie had become a catalyst for a newfound perception of the Ghana trip. Sitting steadfast in my seat at the movie theater, gazing at the determination and fortitude with which Simba took back his Kingdom, I began to feel a sense of pride and willingness to do the same in some sort of way. Well, not exactly the same but it did inspire a desire to do something great. Something bigger. I would now know that the timing of the release of the Lion King wasn't by accident, but by divine purpose. I was going to Africa to do something bigger. Now, you may laugh, and think this is trivial, and that I'm being dramatic; but walking out of the movie theater, I was ready to embark on this journey to the motherland with a completely new lens. My internal visuals that were initially colored by the obligatory social media flex began to shift to a more selfless, purposeful image. I was ready to allow Ghana to teach me, to learn me, to grow me. I was coming home.

And so we went. Departed from the soil of these American grounds and entered into the land. The Motherland. (By the way, "Spirit" is by far the best song to listen to when you're landing. It just does something to you.) Anyway, upon arriving in Ghana, anyone around me could tell, through my permanent smile and my buoyant demeanor, that I was more than excited. For me, the trip, or at least the beginning of the trip, epitomized that mindset of the typical tourist entering a new country: Excitedly soaking up every moment and being a spectator of a place that was, in my mind, different and detached from my own existence. Or so I thought.

We did everything. Learned traditional Ghanian dance at Legon, visited Calvary Baptist Church in Accra-- wait I gotta say something about that. I'm not sure what I initially expected church in Ghana to be, but this experience was something different. Sitting in the pews listening to the words and singing the praise songs and hymns, I was moved to tears knowing that my African brothers and sisters sing the same songs we do! Even thousands of miles across the Atlantic! Authentic worship is definitely a universal language.

We toured the Kwame N'kruma memorial, saw African royalty sustained by the tenacious Ashanti people, and visited Sekyikrom Village in Kumasi. All of these excursions set the tone for what I knew was going to be a beautiful trip. But at that point it still was just that: a beautiful trip. The next day, a shift happened.

Now I want you imagine you are trapped in an underground hole, with an inkling of light. No ventilation. No bathroom. No food. No bed. Hundreds of other people piled next to you, under you, on top of you. All of you submerged in secretion that is anything but pleasant. Imagine this setting lasts for days. Months. Years. This was the disheartening setting of the dungeons in the Cape Coast and Elmina slave castles. The transition from experiencing the life and vibrancy of the Ghanian people and culture to this reflection of the horrors of the slave trade was a sobering one. To be in the slave dungeons, and get a firsthand account of what my ancestors endured upon being captured and taken away from a life similar to the one that we take for granted, was an experience that my words here on this blog post are simply too limiting to convey. In short, I was moved. But seeing the smiling faces of the kids on the street as we left the slave castles, and the exuberance of the Chiefs and Queen Mothers as they did their traditional dances in the villages gave me a sense of hope and pride. We can go through so much as a people, and still have a reason to stand up and keep going. A people who, through persistence, determination, and the hand of the Almighty, were able to reclaim the land which the colonizahh (Black Panther voice) tried to take. I was now really privy to the fact that these are MY people. All of the locals who now greeted us, "my brother," "my sister" meant something different. I was more than proud to know that I hail from a lineage of the most resilient people this world has every seen. More than proud to claim Ghana as my home.

I have to say it was more than disheartening to have to come back to America and return to the house in which I live. To come back to the harsh reality of living in a country that isn't really for me. But in a way, it was almost a good thing. I quickly realized that part of my purpose on this earth is to be an ambassador and tell of the true history of my people. A history that for so long has been skewed and undergirded by the racist agenda of white America. So now I'm ready. I know that although my true home is in Ghana, we got work to do on this side.

So to everyone, especially my Black brethren and sistren, who may have a doubt about visiting Africa and may not understand the necessity of that pilgrimage. I urge you, just go and see for yourself. This transformative experience is too big to comprehend through words. You simply just gotta see for yourself.

"So go into that far off land, and be one with the great I Am." Man that Disney/Lion King/Beyoncé combination can work wonders, I'm telling you!