Unveiling the Weight of Separation: A Journey of Grief, Healing in Senegal"

In search of a much-needed change, my husband and I embarked on a holiday in Senegal. Although we initially sought a destination closer to home, we ended up crossing oceans and continents to reach Senegal, where we were fortunate enough to experience a journey of deep connection.

Little did I know that our trip to Senegal would serve a purpose beyond satisfying a mere longing for change. It became an opportunity for me to confront the grief stemming from my own circumstances—the heartache of leaving loved ones behind in pursuit of a better life. Accepting and coming to terms with this reality has proven to be a challenging task. During this trip, I found myself confronting the sorrow of migration, allowing me to fully embrace the gift of life and accept my own fate.

I confronted the emotional toll of separation, the profound longing, and the internal struggle to reconcile the feelings of shame and guilt for what might be perceived as a betrayal.

One of the places we visited in Senegal was L’Ile de Goree, a UNESCO heritage site that recounted the harrowing stories of slaves who were held captive there before their fateful journey to the Americas. As we set foot on this picturesque island, I couldn't help but feel the weight in my legs, an overwhelming urge to drop to my knees. However, another part of me resisted this impulse, fearing the overwhelming magnitude of such an act. Our guide, Mustapha, an ex-footballer who was born and raised on the island, greeted us, and as our tour commenced, he provided a brief overview of the island, its population, and its history. He mentioned that we would begin from a lower point, ascend, and then descend once more. Little did I know that this physical journey would mirror my internal voyage—a journey that would lead me to the depths of my being and bring me back to a place of transformation.

As we wandered through the surroundings, we gradually made our way towards the House of Slaves, one of the 28 slave houses preserved for visitors to remember past atrocities. It was here that the weight of separation, betrayal, and grief began to consume me. Listening to the gruesome details, tears streamed down my face, and my heart ached in indescribable ways.

Families arriving at the slave house were torn apart, fathers, mothers, and children separated and kept apart for months on end. Hearing this, my heart wrenched, and memories of the day I left my loved ones behind to start a new life in a foreign land flooded my mind. The pain I experienced compelled me to shield

myself, to close off my heart and survive. The overwhelming sense of longing /

missingness I carried was far beyond what my 23-year-old self, embarking on a

new life in an unfamiliar world, could bear.

I wept for all the mothers, fathers, and children who had passed through those homes, honouring their pain, knowing that their experiences must have been incredibly challenging to endure.

Continuing our journey through the prison, we arrived at "la porte sans retour" – “the Door of No Return”. This was the threshold through which already separated fathers, mothers, and children would pass, leaving behind their loved ones and the land they knew for the unknown. At that moment, I imagined the mix of relief and pain felt by each person standing there, wondering if they would ever be reunited. I sensed the weight of betrayal and the fear of never seeing my loved ones again. This experience reminded me of how I lived in the new country, burdened by shame and guilt for leaving everyone behind. I had struggled to fully embrace the gift of my new life, consumed by a sense of responsibility. I couldn't accept that my fate differed from theirs, and I mistakenly believed it was my duty to change their destiny. By not accepting their fate, I couldn't honour their dignity or grant them the respect they deserved.

In that moment, as I looked at my husband, I felt the weight of our shared destiny. I realized that I still carried the 10kg ball of enslavement on my feet—the burden of the past. I proclaimed, "I can no longer bear this weight. I honour and acknowledge your fate, and I promise not to squander my life, but instead, to cherish the freedom and love you have bestowed upon me."

The history of slavery is not limited to those who experienced it first-hand or solely affects the black community. It is a shared human history, intertwining with

all of humanity. I felt the weight of unresolved grief and the need to include it, rather than turning away as we so often do.

Leaving the House of Slaves behind, I felt compelled to be with this grief, to face the true cost of separation that permeates our existence. I recognized the weight

of the universal story of betrayal, the lack of trust and connection we experience as a global society.

I refused to walk away and avert my gaze or to close my heart, for this was not merely a tale of the past; it resonated with the present reality of separation and betrayal that humanity continues to endure. The toll of this self-destruction reaches beyond individuals to encompass human lives, nature, and even the animal kingdom. I had to include the price we pay for neglecting certain aspects of our shared story.

It became clear to me that we will continue to bear the burden until we acknowledge and include the whole story.

As I continue to grieve for myself, for our ancestors, and humanity, I embrace the profound depth of the story of separateness and love. I am reminded that life wants life. Through this understanding, I strive to heal, bridge the gaps of division, and honour the interconnectedness of all life.