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Check out this blog article by Regina Vaughn, a historic Cameroon Diasporan who traced her roots and traveled to Bimbia:

Bimbe- Will the Circle Be Closed?

Will the circle be closed or is the clock of time only on the three quarters of an hour?
On June 2, 2010, my mother Mother Vaughn, at age 86,received the DNA results that her maternal DNA genetic ancestry sample shared ancestry with the Masa people in present day Cameroon.  The Masa people can also be found in Chad and the Central Africa Republic.  Mom was ecstatic!  She would tell everyone in earshot,” Don’t mess with me!  I’m Masa; I am from the Cameroon.”  Mother Vaughn, Cousin Othella, and Aunt Thell is the family matriarch, historian, and genealogist.  Mom has traced our family back to 1824, (eight generations) to Saluda, Newberry, and Greenwood Counties, South Carolina.  Our family name is Tribble.  Mom and I, in particular, are descendants of Rev. George and Fannie (nee Tribble) Glenn.

In the fall of 2010, the writer received an email from Gina Paige, President of African Ancestry Inc.  ARK Jammers, a Baltimore, Maryland, based group along with the government of Cameroon would host the first Ancestry Reconnection Program.   African Ancestry provided the names (confidentially) of the DNA certified African American returnees to Cameroon.  Did I want to be a part of the historic journey?  Mom could not fly fourteen hours and endure the arduous touring in a tropical climate.  The itinerary was sketchy, I had no one to travel with me, the details changed weekly, and no money was needed except for airfare, and just who were the ARK Jammers?   I am a Philly girl: can this be real?   I decided to come out of my “Regina Box” and against my better judgment and sound advice purchased my airline ticket.  Why? Bimbia was on the itinerary.  Just a brief phrase “Travel to Bimbia-Slave Port” was listed on the travel program.  Mom and I had been to the “Door of No Return” in Ghana, Goree Island in Senegal, and took in the breathtaking sights of Abu Simbel in Aswan, Egypt but to get that close.  Would I be able to connect Mom’s research back to a specific area: ethnic group in Cameroon?  I was intrigued. I was curious. I would go in honor of my mother.

A week before our departure, I was ready to back out the trip (the details kept changing and were sketchy): then I received an email from Lisa Aubrey, PhD, from Arizona State University.  Unbeknownst to me Dr. Aubrey and her graduate students were the researchers for the Bimbia part of the journey.   In fact, it was Dr. Aubrey who insisted that the organizers take us to Bimbe. After listening to Dr. Aubrey with her calm, soothing voice and hearing her knowledgeable mind, I decided I was going and would not turn back.

Next thing I know on December 26, 2010, I am bound for Cameroon, Central Africa.  My fears and trepidations were found less.  The group of travelers was wonderful including six students from Howard University.  The government of Cameroon and friends of the ARK Jammers paid for everything. Two days later on Tuesday, December 28, 2010, I departed the Hotel Sawa in Douala, Cameroon for Bimbia.   I was like a kid with anticipation on tracing my female ancestor’s journey.
First we stopped at a Sawa house of worship for a Ngondo Ceremony. Visible on the pagoda style building were Egyptian symbols the ankh from the House of Horus, On Sawa house were the moon and horns of Hathor, and what appeared to be an ancient Egyptian Was scepter cut into three-sections, a long stick symbolizing the reproductive system of a male bull.  It is a symbol of power.  The Benediction was held in the sacred house just for our group.   The Benediction ceremony is usually reserved for heads of states.  We were barefoot so we could connect to the African soil.  The priest spit on our feet in order to bless our path.

Back on the bus:  Is Bimbe next?  We drove through the town of Limbe.  Crowds of people surrounded the bus and the military guarded us.  I just sat on the bus in amazement.  “The Americans had returned. We were treated as royalty and a curiosity at the same time.”  Although I have traveled on five continents, I am a girl from West Philly; this was beginning to get overwhelming.
Finally, what seems to be forever but really @ three hours after we left hotel, we arrived at a restaurant on the outskirts of Bimbe.  Sawa chiefs, town officials, and a band greeted us.  We were given cold drinks and entertained by the band at the restaurant as small groups of our traveling party were taken to the village town hall.  I was itchy and impatient:  would I be left?  What was going on?  Finally, we boarded the 4x4s and SUVs to the town hall where we greeted by the Sawa tribal chiefs and elders, their queens and dancers.  The queens kissed us starting on the left (east) and then to the right (west).  Inside the Head Chief of the Region, Makundi lead a libation service and apologized for slavery. Makundi told us “time is elastic.” The group was shocked!  We were not expecting an apology for the African role in slavery.  The Sawa, Doula, and Isebu (Isu) were the middlemen in the slave trade.  They were told to sell their own or other groups of people. There was not a dry eye in the room.

We were then re-loaded onto the 4X4s and disembarked a short distance away at a grassy path and told to start walking.  Where is the water?  Where is the Atlantic?  We were assured that we were on the way to the Atlantic.  On my arthritic knees and being overweight, I marched through the rainforest.  The Limbe businessmen took my hand and guided me; like a younger brother leading his sister to his secret place.  The two businessmen were my strong tower of strength and comfort.  I did not feel any pain.  No, I was levitating with a peace in my heart.  I named my  Masa grandmother, Yassedi.  I could feel her spirit as I walked sure-footed with determination to the Atlantic.   As the trees dipped like bamboo, I could feel her arms in encircle and protect me as I talked to her. I talked to myself.  The Masa are from North Cameroon.  How had she endured such a journey down to Bimbe?
Then I see African young men and women chained to the trees.  Another shock.  The chiefs, elders, and businessmen had planned a slave trading reenactment.  We sat down for the slave trading reenactment program: I could not process it.  As of this writing I still cannot process it.  It was too real and I was still channeling Yassedi.

Finally, we followed the “enslaved” Africans to the shores of Bimbe.  I was at the Atlantic. After @ 200 years, I was at the shores where my female ancestor had been forcibly taken to the Americas.  But where in the Americas?  Brazil?  The Caribbean?   Virginia? I had the first two generations of Yassedi’s children in my heart and pictures of the next six generations physically on me.  I had an out of body and mind experience as I stood at Atlantic.  I felt the spray of the water on my face and water rippled through my feet and toes. I heard the sounds of the crashing Atlantic.  I wept and prayed.  I could feel Yassedi holding me up and surrounding me with her love.   And I prayed this prayer:

To Yassedi: Don’t Call Her Name
Because of you Yassedi
We are strong women,
Born of strong women,
Who are born of strong women
We speak your name of Yassedi
Because of you Yassedi


Check out this article by Queen Mother Mwikali Hayes