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When westerners think of Africa they think of a poverty stricken nation, tongue-clicking topless women, fear mongering war lords, lions and elephants, and a continent that is uncivilised and reliant on the West. Dreaming of how they one day hope to travel there to take their saviour picture with some random African child and upload it on their Instagram. Sadly, the Africa we are all taught about in school never shows Africa in a positive light and never speaks of the great history that runs deep. From the big smiles that entice you to grab a partner and dance into the sunset to the little girls braiding each others hair, uncles on the corner kissing their teeth, aunties who spend their days selling fresh fruits in the markets and their afternoons doing outdoor Zumba class, these stories seem to always be missing from the narrative. As a mixed-race person who didn’t grow up in a black community, I knew that it was my duty to travel home to Cape Verde and discover the real Africa that bleeds in my DNA. As soon as I arrived I was greeted with the sweet sound of Creole Portuguese along with the “you came here alone, you are brave” shortly met with a “girl you are crazy”. Going home to the motherland was an experience like no other, it was like my ancestors were drumming and dancing for me as soon as I set foot on the island. I found that my stomach was not ready for any of the food and every time I went to the bathroom it was like I was decolonizing my bowels. The ocean hugged me every chance it was given, there was something magical about swimming with other black people that is unexplainable. It brought me so much joy to see that Eurocentric beauty standards for the most part were a thing of the past. Women and men rocking their natural hair and for the first time I wasn’t the only person with a tub of Cantu Leave In Conditioner at the beach. It felt as though every corner I turned I saw someone who looked like an uncle or aunty of mine, it was strange but also heart-warming to say the least. Every time I met someone new they embraced me like they’d known me my whole life. The more and more I re-connected with my people the more I saw how the west continues to take and disadvantage Africa. I found in some islands our people lived in designated areas and that the influx of tourism had totally swallowed our islands. Seen as a destination of luxury for the five-star tourist, but also a place where people want to go to Africa but don’t want to deal with any Africans, so they stay in their resorts and private beaches. Catholic churches and monuments stippled across the island as a constant reminder of slavery and colonization. Another African country who have the imprint of the Chinese government plastered everywhere with Chinese immigrants who constantly undercut the locals by selling the ‘Made In China’ mass produced versions of local handmade products. Locals trying to make a living off the tourism industry but having to beg and plead for the big resorts to source fresh produce locally. A myriad of dreams and hopes for Africa being constantly shattered because of power and greed. Although our people are constantly disadvantaged in our own country, I was surprised to see so many others like me who had returned to discover their motherland. Sitting in genealogical offices looking for the names of our forbearers with a hope to find our family who remained when ours migrated. A feeling of being so lost, but so found as I was not the only one facing the reality of the unknown. We went through book after book looking for any trace that may lead me to my family. By pure luck it just so turned out that the person helping me was a relation of mine. Here I was in Cape Verde embracing my friend who turned out to be my cousin; as tears kissed my cheek I knew I was finally home.