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Hey Guys! Sorry it’s been a few days since I’ve posted, but that first week was super crazy. Between trying to combat the time difference and waking up every day a 7 A.M., it’s been struggle for your girl. I cannot believe it’s already week two, and that in itself is flying. This experience has brought me so many different perspectives and has pushed and allowed me to think and feel in ways I would or could have never. The most recent life changing experience I had was at Goree Island this past Saturday. On Saturday I had the privilege of visiting Goree Island and this one of the places I was looking forward to, but also the most nervous for on this study abroad experience. I was anticipating my feelings, emotions and reactions the entire week, but no matter how much you research or ask around, nothing can prepare you for the real thing. We got on the boat to depart for the island, and just looking at the Atlantic made me think from two different perspectives (which I found became a tendency throughout the trip). I initially thought of all the African bodies that were down there, whether they jumped, were thrown off, or just didn’t make it through the long gruesome voyage. Then I began to think in present times and to think how privileged I am to see and learn about the struggles of my ancestors up close and personal; being able to return to the land of my ancestors. My ancestors pushed through and suffered so I could have an experience such as this one and it was humbling in the sense that slavery was just “abolished” not more than 160 years or just over a century ago.
When we got to the island, I hadn’t realized that people still lived there. The people of the island were descendants of people who worked for the colonizers during slavery and were either their chefs, house workers, etc. When we initially began the tour, I felt okay and was very intrigued to learn about the history of different buildings and pieces of art. For example, there was a building that was shaped like a boat and its purpose was to see how many black bodies they could fit on the boat before setting sail, while both disturbing and sickening to hear, it was just as if I was hearing another fun fact about how Europeans used their minds for sick and twisted things.
However, when we entered the “Maison des esclaves” or House of the Slaves, I instantly felt a heavy weight of grief, melancholy, remorse and resentment. I felt the spirits of my ancestors and every moment of suffering, sadness and torture they felt there and I instantly began to ball uncontrollably. The tour guide showed us these small rooms that would hold 60 plus slaves, where they were forced to stand for 20 hours a day, chained, unable to eat, use the bathroom or even drink water. They said if someone felt sick they would not be taken care of and that they would let them die or throw them overboard like a piece of garbage. When you tried to escape to your freedom or behave in a “disobedient manner” then you would be put in a room that would be pitch black and you couldn’t even stand up. They said the only way a person could get their freedom, was if a woman was raped and she became pregnant and because the child would be mixed they would allow them their freedom. All I could do was cry and imagine myself there whilst all of the brutal and gory violence and exploitation was taking place.
To make matters worse, they took us to the “Door of no return” and that was one of the most paradox images one could imagine. The view, so beautiful and so peaceful, was something that brought loads of heartbreak, pain and life ending violence. They call it the door of no return, because that would be the door slaves went through to get on to the boat and either they would never return home, because they would die on the voyage there, or have to leave behind their community, their culture, and their traditions forever to be beaten and broken down into enslavement.
In those moments I felt resentment towards every white person around and even all of my Senegalese peers. In those particular moments I felt NO ONE understood what I was feeling and no one could understand what I was feeling unless they were of African-American descent. To my white peers: I didn’t necessarily resent you, but I resented what your people did to my people and wondered how could you look at someone and recognize that they are human being just like you (walk, breath, move just like you) and still treat them as if they deserved to be brutalized for falling farther on the color spectrum. And to my Senegalese peers: although I know we have a lot more in common than we have differences, and we both suffer from the effects colonial oppression, but at the end of the day I felt it came down to my ancestors were taken and yours weren’t. The struggle and emotion I felt is something that that is unique to the African American diaspora, because you can trace your ancestors while mine were stripped of their name and branded with numbers like cattle.
The main take away from the experience in general was take away in general was to just be mindful of others feelings and emotions and recognize the differences in one another’s struggles. I walked away sad from the island, but I also walked away proud enough to say that my ancestors were strong enough to suffer through the brutalization and loss of self in order for me to be standing here today experiencing
what I am experiencing and being able to share my thoughts with you all.
Check down below for the #OOTD
Dress (Forever 21), Purse (Express)