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When my feet touched the grounds of South Africa, I knew I was home. Visiting the land of my ancestors was something I thought I wouldn't be able to do until I was older and more financially stable. I remember the moments in my childhood when I'd hear the stories my grandfather shared about his tribe, family and the traditions that've lasted for ages. My eyes glowed, as I'd imagine what it would be like experiencing everything. Fast forward to my freshman year of college, I was accepted into a study abroad program in Cape Town on scholarship. When I shared the news to my family, I also learned I'd be the first person since my grandfather to return to the African continent. The day arrived for me to leave and my heart was pounding as I boarded the plane. This was the first time I traveled alone. At 19 years of age, I was experiencing a liberation like no other, the beginning of my journey to find my roots and learn who I truly am. Over 24 hours later, the sun shone through my window, as if it was giving me kisses upon my arrival into the motherland. The plane descended, the door opened, and I was the last to exit the plane. When my feet touched the grounds of South Africa, I knew I was home. We connected on all levels: physically, spiritually, mentally and emotionally. The winds danced around me, embracing me in a hug so flowing and gentle. The ground kept me steady, like it sensed I was excited. The tears in my eyes flowed smoothly like the waters of the Nile up north in Egypt. I was here. I was home. Throughout the study abroad program, I had free time to visit local museums, the beach, and climb the highest mountain there, known as Devil's Peak. When I reached the top of Devil's Peak, I sat on the edge and admired my surroundings, speaking into the winds so my words could travel with it. "I am here, grandfather. I have fulfilled the wishes and am starting my journey." I also visited the area where my grandfather grew up and learned about his tribe, where I danced, sang and participated in tradition with the locals. On my last night there, a dinner was prepared by the locals, celebrating the students on the trip. We laughed, danced and ate foods we have never seen in our lives. Before I left, one of the locals gave me a necklace of the continent, made of ostrich bone. They said to me "Though you must go, part of your spirit stays here, Omowale." I've heard that word before, in the Autobiography of Malcolm X, but I forgot what it meant. When I researched it, it was defined as "The child has come home." Boarding the plane the day of my return was bittersweet, but I knew I would return one day. As I slept on the plane, I recall having a dream about my grandfather, sitting beside me on the top of Devil's Peak. "Thank you" he said "for coming home."