I’vebeen in Denver since the early 70’s. I grew up here. And yet, I had never been to Rocky Mountain National Park — not until this weekend. It’s funny. Tourists flock to Colorado from all parts of the world, in large part because of our gorgeous natural surroundings here, especially in the mountain areas. However, I secretly hated (yes, hated) going on all those camping and other outdoorsy school field trips when I was growing up. See, I was an artsy kid (singing, violin, musical theater, writing) and I saw myself as more of a character from the TV show Fame. I saw myself living in New York City one day. I definitely didn’t see myself as a nature person, whatever that was.

Well, fast forward to the last 7 or 8 years of my life. I appreciate nature so much. I actually enjoy long nature walks and hikes, and I actually take time to notice natural beauty around me wherever I am. When I returned to Denver last year, after spending three years in the San Francisco Bay Area, I immediately made it my goal to finally spend some time in Colorado’s mountain areas. One problem, though: I’m not a fan of highway driving and definitely not mountain highway driving. So, for an entire year, I’ve neglected my dream of getting out of my own comfort zone in my own home state.

Then, a few weeks ago, that #afreeblackgirlness kicked in and I had a little talk with myself. It went something like this: “Okay, you don’t feel comfortable driving up to the mountains. Got it. But you really, really want to go to the mountains, right? So, are there other options? If you’re serious about living like #afreeblackgirl, you will find a way!” That’s when I searched online for day trips via tour companies from Denver to any of the mountain areas. I stumbled on one that left from Denver’s Union Station downtown to Rocky Mountain National Park and I couldn’t sign up quickly enough, I was so excited!

I had an absolutely AMAZING day in the mountains on Saturday, and I made friends along the way with 13 complete strangers from all across the country on that tour van. I can’t wait to get back to the mountains, as often as I possibly can this year, and for longer stays. How I love being #afreeblackgirl at home and abroad. How I love taking a journey to my inner freedom every day!

Lastsummer, I saw on Facebook that a fellow Oberlin College alum was taking a group to Ghana in the summer of 2019. I had not been to the “Motherland” yet, and I couldn’t think of a better person to travel with than someone who had taken more then 35 groups to Ghana these past 40-plus years. It wasn’t until last fall, however, that I realized how fortunate I was to be traveling to Ghana in 2019. During a ceremony at the National Press Club in Washington, DC last September, Ghana’s President Nana Addo Dankwa Akufo-Addo officially proclaimed 2019 the “Year of Return” for all Africans in the Diaspora, to mark 400 years of the arrival of the first enslaved Africans in Jamestown, Virginia in 1619.

Before we departed for our trip in July, a couple friends who had traveled to Ghana in previous years told me how emotional it was for them to travel to Africa, particularly Ghana, and hear men and women greet them with, “Welcome home, sister [or brother]!” Upon arriving at the Kotoka International Airport in Accra and heading out to our tour bus for the almost two-week cultural and educational excursion, several of the people working at the airport greeted us with “Welcome home, sister [or brother]!” And my heart was filled to capacity. We would hear that greeting often during our time in Ghana.

On the day that we visited the slave castle/dungeons in Cape Coast, it hit me (I think all of us) like a ton of bricks the power and significance of our presence in Ghana as descendants of Africans who were captured and transported to the Americas as slaves. There is a “Door of No Return” on the seaboard side of the Cape Coast Castle, which was the door that led enslaved Africans to awaiting slave ships. It is powerful, surreal and heartbreaking all at once to go through that door, especially as a member of the African Diaspora. However, it was equally powerful and emotional to then walk back through that same door at the end of the tour and discover a sign that says, “Akwaaba” (“Welcome”).

I will never forget walking back through that Door of No Return and realizing that we, the descendants of the millions of Africans who were captured, transported to and enslaved in the Americas, survived. And we returned.