The Africa that is sold to us is not my Africa, the dry and desolate place filled with starving people and war lords is not my Africa. My Africa is filled with trees that are a heavenly green and the soil bleeds red. My Africa is beautiful so therefore, I am beautiful.

For a long time, I did not believe I had a story to tell. What could be special about a Black girl from Queens? The separation between myself and my Caribbean heritage left me feeling adrift, the classic first generation dilemma.