More Than a Reunion: A Sacred Day of Ancestry, Faith, and Love

Talk about another God-Ordained day—one that will live in my heart forever. From the moment we gathered, it was clear this was more than just a family meeting. We broke bread, shared stories, laughed endlessly, and celebrated together in ways words can hardly capture. Family members from every generation came together, and before we knew it, cameras were clicking nonstop. You would have thought we were celebrities—and in a way, we were. We couldn’t stop taking pictures of them, and they couldn’t stop taking pictures of us. It was love on full display, the kind that transcends time and distance.

After all the smiling, hugging, kissing, and joyful chaos, we finally made our way to the table. Yet, I realized I was already full—without having taken a single bite. The joy of meeting our ancestral family had completely overtaken any sense of hunger. Still, we sat together, and as tears flowed—from me, my sister, and our family members—we couldn’t help but wonder what our ancestors who have passed on would think in this very moment. We imagined them looking down from heaven, rejoicing alongside us.

It was during this sacred time that my husband Wayne shared a scripture that seemed to perfectly capture the significance of what we were experiencing. Wayne read Psalm 78:1–7, reminding us of the importance of telling our stories, passing down God’s works, and ensuring future generations know where they come from and where their hope is rooted:

“We will not hide them from their children,
telling to the generation to come the praises of the Lord,
and His strength and His wonderful works that He has done…”

As genealogists, storytellers, and believers, we felt this moment was divinely ordered. We truly believe God guided our steps back to our ancestral land. How many African American families can say they have experienced this? I don’t know many—if any at all. Yet here we were, living a moment once thought impossible.

Had it not been for our Sister Margaret from Zimbabwe boldly reaching across oceans through ancestral DNA—declaring not that we might be related, but that we are (as she, me, and Denise matched DNA on three different ancestral tests)—this connection would still be a mystery. DNA does not lie, and God clearly had a plan.

As stories continued to flow, laughter soon mixed with music playing in the background. And just like that, we were on our feet—dancing, laughing, singing, and celebrating together. It didn’t matter who was watching. This was family doing what family does best: loving one another.

Eventually, as all beautiful moments do, this one came to a close. We exchanged more hugs, kisses, and photographs, reminding one another, “Our home is your home.” Our family returned to their daily lives, and we prepared for the next leg of our journey—to Bulawayo. We said farewell to our Zimbabwean brother, Harmony, who had so graciously chauffeured us, before passing the reins to our Zimbabwean brother, Pius, for the road ahead.

Though this chapter ended, the story is far from over.

Have you ever met your ancestral African family? If so, where are they from, and what was that experience like? I’d love to hear your story.

Next on the docket: Bulawayo.
You’ll never guess where we stayed, who we met, or why it’s a place we already know we’ll return to.

Onward!