I never really thought much about what a name means.

Of course, I’ve always appreciated the legacy carried in my family name. It represents the people who came before me, the stories I inherited, and the history that shaped who I am. But, if I’m being honest, I rarely thought much beyond the few generations immediately before me.

Then I went to Ghana.

There was something about being there—the history, culture, the land, and especially the people—that made me feel connected to my ancestry in a way I had never experienced before. It was as though something that had always been a part of me suddenly became tangible. I wasn’t simply learning about history. I was standing in it. Feeling it. Seeing myself reflected in it.

One of the most unexpectedly meaningful moments of the entire journey was a naming ceremony I participated in. I know… it may sound a little cheesy. But hear me out. Our tour guide at the Slave River explained that when Africans were stolen from their homelands and forced into slavery, they lost far more than their freedom. They were stripped of their identities. They lost their names—names that carried their histories, their families, and the hopes and dreams their communities held for their futures. That realization stayed with me. Stays with me. And it is what made the naming ceremony, for me, more than just a tourist gimmick.

A name is not just something we are called. It can be a connection to where we come from. It can carry the memory of those who came before us. It can tell us that we belong somewhere. The tradition of giving African names to members of the diaspora metaphorically represents something deeply powerful: the return of those who were stolen away. A reconnection. A reclaiming of something that was taken. And that is what my Ashante name, Yaa Asantewe, means to me.

I will always be proud of my family name and the legacy it represents. But Yaa Asantewe, which means warrior and leader, carries a different kind of weight. It connects me to a part of my history that was separated from me long before I was born. It reminds me that my story did not begin with the generations I can name. It reaches much farther back.