by Tracey Howard-Gough photos by Marley Nichelle

December in Ghana is more than just a season—it’s a homecoming. Every year, African-Americans from all over the world return to West Africa, seeking connection, celebration, and a deeper understanding of our heritage. I was one of them. But this trip was different. I wasn’t just visiting; I was shedding, stripping away the layers of my outside world to fully immerse myself—physically, emotionally, and spiritually—into the place where I felt most like me. A Black woman.

The moment it all changed for me was at the Atlantic Ocean.

I stood at the shoreline, feeling the warm Ghanaian sun on my skin, the same sun that once touched the faces of my ancestors. The waves called to me, whispering a truth I had always known but never fully embraced. I removed all of my clothing, letting go of everything—expectations, burdens, the weight of being “othered” in spaces not built for me. As I stepped into the water, the coolness wrapped around me, a baptism of sorts.

Was this the same water that carried my ancestors away centuries ago? Was this the same ocean that bore witness to both their suffering and their strength? The thought sent a shiver through me, but instead of fear, I felt power. I was here. We were still here. And despite everything, we rise.

Amidst the beauty of reconnection, there were also moments of dissonance. One of the most unexpected realizations was that the journey was not entirely shaped by those with a shared ancestral connection. How could we, as descendants returning to the lands of our ancestors, find our story framed by perspectives that felt distant from our own experience? It was a powerful reminder that even in the search for belonging, questions of voice, agency, and access still linger.

But this experience was not just about struggle—it was about reclamation. It was about understanding that my personal journey, my challenges, my resilience, are all threads in a much larger tapestry. Ghana showed me that my culture, my essence, my being had roots in a place that had faced unfathomable adversity, yet still thrived. And in that, I found strength.

That strength led me back.I knew that if given the chance, that I wanted to work together with the delegation to create a space of equity and representation.  In December 2024, I returned to Africa—but this time, I wasn’t just a traveler. I co-led the first Black-led delegation through the Charlottesville/Winneba foundation, ensuring that our voices, our perspectives, and our experiences were centered in the journey home. To guide others in fully immersing themselves in the land, the culture, and the spirit of Africa was an honor and a responsibility I carried with pride.

To my fellow African-Americans: if you ever get the chance, come home. Walk the streets where our ancestors once walked. Taste the food, hear the music, feel the land beneath your feet. Stand in the ocean and let it remind you of where you come from. Because when you do, you will understand—our history is painful, but our existence is proof of our power.

And no matter where we go in the world, Africa is always within us.