How Africa and the Caribbean Changed Me

For as long as I can remember, Africa lived inside me... there was a pull I couldn’t explain, a curiosity that didn’t fade, a sense of connection that made no logical sense but felt undeniably real. West Africa especially was a region I always felt drawn to, even before I truly understood why. I didn’t have the language back then, but looking back now, I think a part of me knew before I ever got there that something in me belonged to there.

And yet… I stayed away, not because I didn’t want to go, but because I wasn’t brave enough yet. It took me over ten years to gather the courage to follow that instinct and see it for myself. For so long, I carried an image of the continent shaped by decades of deceptive media. It created a distorted lens that made the unknown look threatening instead of beautiful and I let fear and misinformation build distance between me and a place that had been calling my name for years.

It took me a long time to understand a simple truth: sometimes the places we aré meant to experience are the ones we fear the most. But the moment I finally went, something in me cracked open and it was as if I remembered. I felt safer, more welcomed and understood, more at home than I ever had in places I was “supposed” to feel connected to and I believe that is what changed everything.

I used to travel with a completely different mindset because I thought I wanted to chase loud cities, bright lights and iconic places, ticking “cool cities” off a list. At the time, it felt exciting, but very shallow and, although I never said that out loud, even to myself, every time I flew back home I felt an emptiness inside as if something was missing.

But then Grenada happened.

I didn’t know it then, but that island would be the beginning of a new relationship with how I saw the world, myself and the way I wanted to travel. I still remember an early morning on the veranda, drinking cocoa tea with my ex-husband’s grandmother. We were staying locally with them in a neighborhoud without hotels or resorts. The way she told me her story, her journey, her dreams, her sacrifices with such honesty and gentleness was teaching me how to truly listen. Her life was nothing like mine, and yet I found myself in every sentence.

Later during that trip, in St. George’s market, that old man who sat in front of me while I drank a Ting changed me too. He heard my Spanish accent and smiled, then opened up about his life… his career in radio, politics, memories of a Grenada I would never know. Two strangers, different ages, coming from two different worlds, yet an effortless connection. Those moments were a before and after, because something clicked inside me and I understood that travel wasn’t supposed to be about seeing places but it was meant to be about seeing people.

And once that door opened, I walked through it without ever looking back.

When I made the conscious choice to travel to West Africa for the first time, everything I had learned in the Caribbean deepened. If I'm honest, it challenged me to the core because it exposed internal biases I didn’t know I had and it forced me to sit with discomfort. It showed me a world completely different from mine and asked me not to judge it or fix it but just to see it. That very first time in the continent made me question everything I believed about the world and about myself.

Morocco, and especially the Sahara, confronted me with contrast. For me, the desert was both gentle and threatening, soul and shadow, silence and intensity. I realised I had spent so much of my life trying to make things one thing or the other (safe or unsafe, right or wrong, good or bad) when life is always both. The Sahara forced me to sit with contradictions instead of running from them.

Senegal taught me that community is the foundation of life. People move together, they support each other, they understand that belonging is something you build, not something you can buy. Watching people show up for each other reminded me how disconnected our Western life had made me from the idea of “we.”

Gambia taught me to release control because, especially in Africa, plans don’t always work as expected, and that’s not failure. Trusting that everything happens for a reason, learning how to flow, accepting what is and making the best out of it is one of the biggest gifts, although I’m still learning how to put this in practice. 

Côte d’Ivoire taught me about the simplicity and complexity of joy. I saw communities carrying pain, history, challenges, and still choosing laughter, celebration, music, dance and connection. That joy was courageous and resilient, and it made me question what I call “resilience” in my own life.

And then… Ghana happened. 

Ghana was not just a country for me, it was a mirror. I had zero expectations for this trip or the country. But maybe it was because I was going through a painful and confusing year, one that forced me to reflect on what I want my life to look like while still hiding certain parts of myself, maybe it was because I felt more comfortable speaking in English or maybe it was because the people I met were open, reflective, curious and welcoming. I’m not sure, but I know the conversations I had there changed me in a way I didn’t know I needed.

I found myself sitting across from people whose lives looked nothing like mine... different cultures, different upbringings, different educational backgrounds and yet our conversations felt like healing. We debated without comparing, we taught each other, we listened to each other and, most importantly, we respected each other’s truths because we were truly listening to learn from each other’s point of view.

We talked about love... the kind that drains you or saves you, the kind you lose yourself in.
We talked about pain... the kind you hide behind strength.
We talked about identity... the parts you show and the parts you protect.
We talked about the world... and how little we understand each other until we choose to.

Those conversations taught me that being human is enough to build a bridge. Unfortunately, we’re made to believe that differences are barriers, but every trip I’ve taken has shown me they are invitations to understand each other, to be curious instead of defensive, to recognise that we don’t need to share the same background to connect on something real. I realised that when you sit with someone who sees the world differently and you genuinely listen (not to reply, not to debate, not to defend your own worldview but simply to understand), something shifts, your invisible walls soften and your assumptions dissolve because you start seeing the person in front of you instead of the story you created about them. Probably that’s the biggest lesson travel has given me: connection doesn’t require us to be the same, it only requires willingness.

And in those late-night talks and vulnerable exchanges, I realised something I had been avoiding: I had spent years shrinking myself to be understood by the wrong people. In Ghana, nobody told me I was “too emotional” or “too intense” or “too much.” If anything, they showed me that depth is intelligence, vulnerability is strength, honesty is connection and that there was nothing wrong with me; I had simply been trying to be myself in places that couldn’t meet me. I like to think that Ghana gave me permission to return to myself.

All these experiences changed me, and naturally, they changed the way I travel and the way I see the world. Traveling with purpose, for me, has nothing to do with checklists anymore. It means traveling with intention, choosing places that teach me, choosing experiences that transform me, choosing to show up fully instead of hiding behind my idea of comfort. It also means supporting local communities, listening before speaking, respecting cultures even when they challenge my beliefs, moving slower, observing more, and letting myself sit in discomfort because that’s often where truth appears.

For me, it also means letting go of control, surrendering expectations and allowing the world to change me instead of trying to fit it into a box I learned growing up. My entire vision of what life “should” look like has changed. I was born and raised in Europe so I learnt from a young age that Western culture tells us that success is loud, fast, productive and measurable... You keep chasing the next job, the next promotion, more money but somewhere along the way, we forget to live and to be present. Africa and the Caribbean taught me that life can be lived differently: slower, deeper, with community, patience, gratitude and presence.

Now, I show up in the world with less judgment and more curiosity, less certainty and more humility, less fear and more trust. I like to think I’m a different person because of these places... I am more open, more grounded, more connected and most importantly, more myself. I always try to learn a few sentences in the local languages wherever I go, eating the local way with local people, saying yes to invitations even when I’m tired or unsure, and using my intuition as my compass.

One day, I’d love to organise trips for others who want to experience this way of traveling, with local communities at the center, learning from the people who actually live there, helping shift the narrative of what these countries truly are.  I want others to feel what I feel: that travel can change you if you let it, and that there’s a different way to move through this world rooted in respect, curiosity, and human connection.

And today, at 37, as I write these words, I can’t help but think of my past self… the one who dreamed of Africa but was scared, the one who listened to other people’s fears instead of her own intuition, the one who kept pushing that desire aside because so much of who I am today began with the thing she was too afraid to do. If I could sit with her now, I’d tell her this:

I wish you had trusted yourself sooner, I wish you knew that the places you felt drawn to were calling you for a reason, even if you couldn’t explain it at the time. That feeling in your chest wasn’t random, it was guiding you toward people, places, and lessons that would become some of the most meaningful parts of your life and you weren’t imagining it, you weren’t chasing something unrealistic... You were simply listening to a part of yourself you hadn’t learned to trust yet.

You were not wrong for wanting it, you were curious, open-hearted, and more connected to yourself than you realised. You were being pulled toward a version of you that didn’t exist yet, the version who knows how to sit with differences, who sees people beyond stereotypes, who embraces discomfort as growth and  who leads with compassion instead of fear.

Please don’t let fear, especially fear that isn’t yours, make choices for you, don’t let other people’s projections drown out your intuition and don’t let the world convince you that you don’t belong in the places your heart feels drawn to.

Go where your soul feels most alive, you’ll eventually realise that West Africa is where you are happiest, even if you don’t understand the why yet. The reason will reveal itself later... it always does.

One day, the Caribbean will show you who you can become... softer, more grounded, more connected to humanity. And Africa will show you who you are... brave, intuitive, curious, deeply human in a way the world tried to make you forget.

And I promise you when you look back, you won’t just be grateful for the places you visited or the lessons they gave you. You’ll be truly grateful for the people who crossed your path and became family to you in ways you never expected.