“Do you know if your ancestors are from here? You look so much like us.”

My experience in Sierra Leone felt more like the Sunday afternoons I grew up with. The kind of Sundays when the family met for dinner after church, a holiday, or a significant milestone like a graduation. I remember vividly the laughs in my grandparent’s home while conversing with my aunties and cousins. My favorite memories involve music. One minute, we’re talking. Then, all of a sudden, the one song that connects the older and younger generations comes on. Your favorite aunt or cousin grabs you by the hand to revel in the soulful sounds, which always included a Black family’s unofficial celebratory song by Maze featuring Frankie Beverly, “Before I Let Go.”

More than two decades later, I found these scenes imprinted in my core memories come to life in Freetown, Sierra Leone. The only difference is the lack of familial ties — at least, that is what I thought.

While sitting at brunch with some of Sierra Leone’s most prominent women at Cole Street Guest House, a boutique hotel and restaurant, the conversations gave me a nostalgic feeling of the community and belonging I felt in my grandparent’s home as a child. When the women around the table, who represented the industries of journalism, health care, finance, and law, spoke about the impactful work they are facilitating in their communities, I felt a strong sense of pride. Between the live band playing in the background and the gourmet local cuisine served that fulfilled my soul, I forgot that I was not at home but more than 5,000 miles away.

At one point during brunch, luxury fashion designer Madam Wokie, who hosted the event, invited the group I traveled with to join her on the dance floor. The inviting atmosphere was all too familiar.

During brunch, we introduced ourselves to the women, who graciously welcomed strangers with open arms in a way I grew up and was accustomed to. We introduced ourselves and answered questions they had for us. When I finished talking about growing up in the Midwestern part of the United States, a woman sitting across from me asked, “Do you know if your ancestors are from here? You look so much like us.”

She said the interior monologue I was quietly having with myself since arriving out loud. This question has come up in some way, shape, or form during my travels over the last five years, but Sierra Leone was the first time I pondered this question of my identity. Sierra Leone felt like a game of Clue. Instead of a deck of cards, each space, activity, and encounter hints or represents how everything is connected.

For example, Matthew Short guided us around the guest house before the brunch. Short’s wife, Miatta Marke, is the head chef and owner of the restaurant, which the couple boasts as the “first gourmet restaurant” specializing in native food. The guest house has a history and is rooted in connection. The late Lati Hyde-Forster built the Cole Street Guest House in the historic neighborhood of Murray Town. She was the first woman to graduate from Fourah Bay College and the first African woman to serve as a principal in Sierra Leone. Forster is also Marke’s grandmother.

In another instance, a visit to Bunce Island left me in tears.

Before traveling to Sierra Leone, I learned about the “Door of No Return.” For Black Americans, it’s a symbolic meaning, marking the points where our ancestors were forced to leave the only home they knew before the gruesome journey to the Americas.

I grew up learning about the “Doors of No Return” in Cape Coast, Ghana, Ouidah, Benin, and the island of Gorée, Senegal. I knew nothing about Bunce Island. When I got off the boat, the first thing I saw was a placard that read, “British slave traders operated on Bunce Island from about 1670 – 1807, exiling about 30,000 Africans to slavery in the West Indies and North America. The slave fort’s strong link to that region makes it unique among the West African slave castles.”

Standing there, I was overwhelmed with emotions as tears flowed behind my sunglasses, and thoughts rushed over me about how I could be standing in the same place where my ancestors once walked in captivity.

Before we explored what was left of the slave ruins, our tour guide, Peter Momoh Bassie with Tourism is Life, said it was customary for someone in the group to pay homage via a libation first. The group I traveled with allowed me to do so.

I said three things with each pour.

“Thank you for your sacrifice. Today, we honor you. Thank you for helping us shape a better world.”

Bassie later taught us that there is a direct connection between people in Georgia, South Carolina, and Sierra Leone. Black Americans, known as Gullah Geechee, speak a Creole language similar to Sierra Leone Krio. 

The Gullah Geechee people are known for their distinct language and preservation of practices more than any other group of Black Americans. 

After leaving Bunce Island, we headed to Banana Island, another holding site for enslaved people. From there, we traveled to Bureh Beach Surf Club, Sierra Leone’s first surf club. The beach is named after Bai Bureh, who became a powerful figure of resistance for leading the rebellion against British colonial rule during the Hut Tax War of 1898.

During my visit to Bureh Beach, I learned that it is a place of cultural significance for both natives and the African diaspora. The beach, filled with black rocks and gold sand that shimmers in the sun, is a place where the African diaspora connects with what could be their ancestral heritage while celebrating a legacy of resilience. 

I traveled to Sierra Leone with a deep appreciation for a country that has always represented a place of resilience despite its unfair misfortunes, including civil war, health crises, and natural disasters. 

Now, I have more than an appreciation. My visit inspired me to trace my roots – something I did not care to do before. Sierra Leone and its people revealed that it’s time to search and answer the question posed at brunch about who I am and where my ancestors came from.

Read next: Ten Reasons to Visit Sierra Leone in 2025.