Day 1–3 | The Jefferson & Cummings Cultural Tour Begins
Intro
In the summer of 1994, my father and I experienced a life-changing journey: a cultural tour of Senegal and Ghana. It was a first for both of us—we had never left the country before. The trip was organized by my Aunt Diana and their cousin Denise (may she rest in peace). I decided to document every step of our experience in a handwritten journal, which I’ve held onto all these years. Now, I’m finally ready to share it with you.
This series, titled The Jefferson & Cummings Cultural Tour to the Motherland, chronicles our August 8–21 journey through Dakar, Senegal, and Accra, Ghana.
Preface | August 4, 1994
Today is packing day!
Before heading off to Africa—or any international destination—you’ve got to make sure your medical and travel documents are in order. First: vaccinations. We got our yellow fever shots at JFK Airport’s Building 198, which also housed the clinic where we picked up our malaria prevention tablets.
Next stop: the passport office. Your passport is your golden key to the world. You can get an application at any major post office. Once that’s done, you’ll need a visa from the embassy or consulate of your destination country.
Take it from me: don’t wait until the last minute. I nearly missed my opportunity because we were rushing to finalize everything. If you’re planning to visit the Motherland, give yourself time to do it right.
I hope you enjoy reading about my journey.
—Lela Jefferson, age 16
Day 1 | August 8, 1994 – Lift Off
Dad and I did some last-minute shopping before heading to JFK Airport. We were flying out to Senegal on Air Afrique, with a scheduled departure at 10:30 PM. We had to check in by 8:00 PM, so the countdown was on.
Yesterday, I made my rounds—calling my besties Chi-Chi, Zena, Debby, Juson, and Crystal—to say goodbye. The excitement was bubbling over, and it’s taken me all day just to settle down and write.
My bags are all packed and tagged. Hopefully they’re under the weight limit (our group capped it at 40 lbs per bag, even though most airlines at the time allowed closer to 70 lbs for international flights).
10:06 PM
Luggage cleared customs! Airport food? Outrageously expensive. Dee Dee nearly missed the flight—she rolled up at 10:13 PM, and by then, coach was full. But God’s favor had her flying first class!
The flight took off around 11:40 PM New York time, which was 3:40 AM Dakar time. The plane was decked out with African-print seat covers, and the stewards wore traditional African-style uniforms. It already felt like we were entering a new world.
Day 2 | August 9, 1994 – Welcome to Dakar
Dinner last night included flounder, lamb stew, and some hard-as-brick rolls I dubbed “hockey pucks.” I knocked out around 2:00 AM, but got woken up two hours later—Dad moved, and I lost my human pillow.
We arrived in Dakar on time and met our local guide “Papa” at the airport. Another guide, Alfi, gave us a quick drive-around orientation before we checked into our hotel. After unpacking, the adults exchanged currency while we took a breath and soaked in our new surroundings.
Later, we visited the sand painting craft shops. I bought two beautiful dolls, and Dad surprised me with two intricate sand paintings. At the market, I scored a pair of sterling silver earrings and a large, guitar-like instrument called a kora—both for about 5,000 CFA each, which was around $10 USD at the time.
Dinner at the hotel was spicy, but dessert? The mango was divine.
Note to future travelers: Get ready to be bumrushed in the market! Vendors will try to sell you everything but your luggage. They are persistent—and they’ll make you feel guilty if you walk away without buying something.
Day 3 | August 10, 1994 – Goree Island
Today, we visited Gorée Island, a place that once served as a transit point during the transatlantic slave trade. The weight of its history is indescribable.
The island is home to the House of Slaves, and within it stands the infamous Door of No Return—the final passage enslaved Africans walked before being forced onto ships bound for the Americas.
Gorée Island wasn’t the largest or most active port, but it has become one of the most powerful symbols of the Atlantic slave trade. European nations—starting with the Portuguese in 1444—used various West African ports to traffic millions. (The Dutch played a major role later in the 1600s.)
The House of Slaves held small groups—likely dozens at a time, not hundreds—but the conditions were inhumane:
- Men were chained together in tight quarters for months.
- Children were kept in dark rooms and judged by their teeth to determine their age.
- Girls were housed separately, as they were considered “more valuable” due to their “purity.”
- The weak were fattened for sale, like livestock.
- People were tortured or thrown to sharks if they tried to escape.
- Clean water was so scarce that enslaved people were given only droplets at a time.
- France abolished slavery in 1848, but only after reinstating it in 1802 under Napoleon Bonaparte. His wife, Josephine—despite popular myths—was not of African descent and was never sold into slavery.
Historians estimate that 1.8 to 2 million Africans died during the Middle Passage alone.
I stood in that small, dark room, staring at that Door… and I felt the pain of generations echo through the silence. And yet, somehow, I also felt the strength that carried them—and us—forward.
Today I received a new name: Zeinabau—a West African version of the Arabic name Zaynab. It loosely means “beautiful” or “fragrant flower.” Our guide told me it symbolized “sweet woman.” I’ll take that.
We also met Adama, affectionately known as “The Doctor of Tours.” He holds a PhD in Tourism and guided us with deep knowledge and care, helping us understand the legacy of our ancestors with respect and reverence.
And we learned about Lamine Gueye, the Senegalese leader and trailblazer who championed independence (1891–1968). His legacy lives on.
Coming Soon…
More journal entries, including village visits, Ghanaian adventures, and the emotional highs and lows of traveling across two countries that welcomed me like a long-lost daughter.
If this story moved you, please share it. And join me as I continue to trace the path back to where my people’s story began.
© 2025, Lela Fagan. All rights reserved.
