Identity, Belonging and Face

By: Yvonne Howard-Bunt

Heritage trail to Gambia

Kicking off my sandals, I stepped onto the scorching sand, seared the soles of my feet and hot-footed several steps before throwing myself onto a nearby beach lounger. Hurriedly, I replaced my footwear, narrowly avoiding burn, blister and the heartache of ending my ancestral journey of discovery just as it was about to begin. My heritage trail had led me from the shores of Britain to Gambia, my father's birthplace, and here I was, settling myself into the tourist hotspot of Kololi Beach to begin my long-awaited expedition.

A parade of enterprising locals attired in local dress or jeans and t-shirts paraded up and down the beach selling their wares. Artisans touted art, crafts and silverware, alongside women who approached me selling anything from containers full of shea–butter to colourful clothing and huge bowlfuls of various fruits, skilfully carried on their heads. Traders walked up and down the beach all day long, plying their wares, in the heat of the simmering sun.

I shared information on my Gambian-Senegalese heritage and held insightful conversations with locals on the beach, in the hotel, and out and about. This led to home invitations, a visit to an agricultural project, the discovery of inexpensive shops, and the hustle of very busy value-for-money eating places full of locals, hotel staff, and other workers. A daily lunch of domoda (groundnut stew) or whatever was in the pots and pans was a set price of 100 Dalasi, about £1.15 for a large plate. It was delicious.

I gazed at the horizon, pondering the limited information about my extended family and the broken historical ties. I was transported in my imagination across the Atlantic Ocean and its role in my family history. My ancestors were cargo, taken through the 'door of no return' at Gorée Island (now part of Senegal) and shipped to the lesser Antilles of Martinique and Guadeloupe in the eastern Caribbean. Their liberated and educated descendants travelled back to the furthest tip of West Africa. 

A later generation included three blue-eyed, brown-skinned sisters, one of whom was my grandmother. My father sailed from Banjul to Liverpool on M.V. Aureol in 1952. He arrived in Yorkshire to study, where he met my mother. My childhood contact with him was limited. And here I was, staring into the Atlantic, thinking about my family roots.

Venturing beyond the tourist trail, I visited the traditional fishing town of Tanji, adjacent to the mouth of the River Gambia and the Atlantic Ocean's major trading and transport route. On arrival, my ear tuned in to a symphony of rare and diverse birdsong and other soundscapes from the lush green protected ecosystem of the birdwatching and wildlife nature reserve. I watched the tranquil Tanji beach burst into life with the arrival of a flotilla of brightly coloured fishing boats - some sporting flags – rowing toward the shore. It is likely that my father was born along this river, his ancestry being linked to the ancient history of the Manjak tribe of Guinea-Bissau.

The rainbow of vivid shades and patterns blended with merchandise sold at the shoreline, community marketplace, and town centre. Fishermen traded from narrow vessels or leapt into the sea to drag their heavy craft and cargo onto the beach. The catch was unloaded for sale to local customers, the occasional tourists, and businesses. Moving on, I meandered through the crowds, witnessing the journey of the food trail as I passed rows and rows of traditional fish-smoking ventures in an open warehouse.

This was my first visit to the Gambia. Though I experienced elements of the tourist trail, I also needed to satisfy my curiosity and a deep connection to my heritage. I ticked off the visits to monkeys, crocodiles, and vultures, leaving time to travel the main highway and red dusty roads seeking family connections in the suburbs and villages of Gambia's capital, Banjul.

Amid my exploration, chance encounters led to serendipitous connections, bridging the gaps in my family tree and shedding light on my West African lineage. From distant cousins to local historians, each interaction added a new dimension to my understanding of identity and belonging.

The hotel lobby and reception area became a meeting point where people gathered to make travel plans and share local intelligence. I met a regular Gambian visitor who explored my family connections on the phone with her friend in London. We started talking and found out that the friend in London was a cousin and that – on exchanging photos – there was a family similarity.

I also connected locally with another cousin from a different family line. He had information on my father's ancestry. When we met, I could see an unmistakable resemblance with my father's face - but for my cousin's blue eyes. This cousin was close to my father and knew him well. He filled in some gaps in my West African heritage, mainly related to our tribal links in Guinea Bissau and family educationalists in Senegal. We have remained in touch, and he intends to explore and share information on the family tree in Gambia. He was keen to draw me into the wider family, but my plane was leaving in two days, and there was still much to do.

By answering the deep-longing call to visit this part of my ancestral homeland, I have completed a promise to myself that I made decades ago. Now, there is a deeper, more profound connection with family and the meaning of identity, belonging and place. The jigsaw puzzle remains a work in progress, but the journey is inspirational with the fit of each new piece.