A few years back I had this dream, I was on a train and I distinctly remember the reverberating sound of the wheels and tracks - literally a reverberating sound. I was passing many black communities, but then I started passing slave auctions, people running for the train, I saw bi-racial women tied to posts like animals. At one point I remember getting out and I went in to a white merchant's store and he wouldn't serve me, all I wanted was to buy a pack of gum and I don't even chew gum.

Another dream involved me on a train again, but this time I was in a bigger car with more people, many different families, some were my family and some weren't. It's like time was moving in fast forward because they were getting on and off so fast that I couldn't keep up with who was who. Faces were changing and transforming before my eyes, but in every face I saw a part of me.

Did I subconciously know I would be getting on a train to research family history? One thing I know for sure is that my journey started way before this train ride. From my mother's womb, to watching the Cosby Show obsessively, to walking down the street with my Mom and hoping any black man I saw was my Father, to meeting my father for the first time, to my Mom sending me to California as a teenager to meet my Dad's immediate family, to going to Zambia, to researching how Vancouver's first black community was destroyed, to saving money for this trip four years ago - those are just a few pieces in the hay stack and the list goes on forever really.

I will tell you an interesting start to one of the pieces.

I only have one elder left in my family. I found out he is my Grandfather's youngest brother.

When he was four, my grandfather was 16. So he is my great uncle and he lives right in the middle of the divided states of america – Kansas City. I was very excited and got his number from my Aunt who is his niece, my Father's oldest sister - confused yet? I called him on a Sunday, not too early for church and not to late for dinner. This is how our phone conversation went.

“Hello”

“Hi, is this ________?”

“No”

“Are you a McDaniel”

“Yes I am, what do you want?”

“Hi, I am calling from Canada, my name is _____________, I am _____________ daughter. Your brother is my Grandfather.”

“What are you tryin' to do, look for your kinfolk?”

“Yes, I -”

“Well, I am eating my dinner.”

“Okay, what is a better time to call you back?” … “Hello...hello?”

He had hung up on me!

I started calling other family members in a panic, asking them if they could call him and explain who I was, but everyone was like, “Yep, thats Uncle ______!”

So I braved it out again, I mean, I had to see it from his perspective. He is 83, he lives alone in the south, he hasn't spoken with any of my Dad's immediate family for years after their migration, in fact, he has only met my Father once or twice. I am sure it was confusing for him, not to mention how much telemarketing companies pay their employees horrible wages to target the 'elderly'. For all he knows I was trying to sell him something or get his money.

Well, I know you are sitting on the edge of your seat so I will continue. I did strike up the courage to phone him again a few weeks later. I explained who I was again, I said I didn't want anything from him, but his stories, how I had saved up money to visit him and explained my trip. Well once he found out I was ________ daughter he was all giggles and full of jokes, in fact we spoke for an hour and I am more than welcome to come and visit him in Kansas City.

I have a few more cities to get to before his though...