Sankofa – Ghanian symbol meaning “return and get it” – signifies importance of learning from the past

A few months ago, I had the incredible good fortune to visit the Smithsonian Museum of African American History in Washington, DC. The place is an awe-inspiring testament to the deep wounds, trauma, resilience, power, culture, magic and beauty of the Black American experience. 

I walked through the exhibits feeling like I was floating on pride and wonder. How can I describe the fantastic glory of being part of one of the simultaneously most abused and most gifted people on the planet? It gave me depth of gravity, as I held the weight of my life and its historical importance. 

I kept my emotions mostly under control, until the very end, when the museum was closing. The staff had to gently usher the crowd out. We were all so deeply moved. None of us wanted to leave. 

I saw a Black woman surrounded by a group of about a dozen Black children who appeared to be in the second or third grade. I assumed that she was their teacher. She told them, “I know you are tired. I know it’s been a long day. But I need you to understand the importance of me bringing you here. You needed to see this. You need to know who you are and where you come from. Now, you can’t ever let anyone tell you that you are not beautiful… that you don’t matter. You are so so beautiful. You come from greatness and I brought you here because I love each and every one of you.” Her eyes were welling up and she continued talking as the tears came down. Then I lost my cool and started crying too. 

My first trip to India is coming to a close and in many ways I am reminded of the feeling of that moment. I can’t say this journey has been easy. It has come with significant costs, both literally and metaphorically. But here I am again, standing at the precipice and staring into the deeply murky and yet vividly iridescent waters that I come from. I am taking in the balance of generations of extraordinary glories and brutal oppressions. 

I acknowledge that I have spent most of my life on the land upon which my kidnapped African ancestors were enslaved, and now I have absorbed the sensation of stepping on soil where my Tamil ancestors thrived for thousands of years (and by some accounts, were among the first peoples of India) before being colonized by the same invaders, and eventually fighting for their freedom. These experiences are equally humbling and mesmerizing. 

I went to a healer in the African tradition once who gave me a spiritual reading. She asked about my family background and I told her. I am the product of India, Africa, indigenous America and, as much as it hurts to recognize, traces of the European aggressors who forced themselves into my bloodline. The healer told me, “You have powerful ancestors.” This is true. Sometimes it feels like a burden, an obligation to live a complicated and often lonely existence, but the ancestors have spoken. This life will be anything but ordinary.