I am on a train and I have been on many trains over the past week. I am on a quest you could say, a journey, a trip, to find out more about my family, my tribe and my history.

I come from a family of Diaspora.

Growing up in a small town on turtle island proved that to be true.

A town, I only knew as Terrace. Little did I know the name 'terrace' derived from the sediment deposits from glaciers over thousands of years ago that produced terraces - essentially creating a valley over the Skeen River. The river I knew as 'skeena' has another name, the K' shian River which means 'water from the clouds' (too bad I am learning this recently from wiki when someone could have answered these questions if I had asked)

A town that I would comfortably say is 'white' without acknowledging that the Tsimshian have lived there for thousands of years. Little did I know that internalized racism was so fierce in my tiny head. How could I contemplate my complex identity when all I wanted was to fit in with the white kids in school, even though it was the native kids who had my back when white girls wanted to pick fights with me.

A town where kermode bear was our mascot in high school, but we were too busy learning about the fantastic accomplishments of white settlers to understand true history and knowledge.

A town where salmon was given to my mom for our family to share along with fry bread.

I was blind, deaf and numb for a long time.

Asides from the white settlers that continue to capitalise on occupied territory - I know there is a deeper meaning to why I considered Terrace white, because my mom is white and my whole household was white - except for me.

So why is this significant? What does this have to do with anything?

Well, like I said, I come from a family of Diaspora and growing up in a small town on turtle island can testify to that.

This blog will be about my journey, who I meet along the way, and the information that I find about myself, my family and true history coming straight from my people's experiences(and by my people, I mean all of the African Diaspora on turtle island) - and of course the little or BIG quirks, questions and thoughts along the way.

I am on a train right now, so when did my journey start? I believe it started before this train trip, but I guess the physicality and the vastness of the locomotive can help materialise how extensive this journey is. Perhaps, I need this type of consistent movement so I can commit to finding the answers to some of my questions in the vastness of my mind coupled with the random settlements, communities and connections along the way.

My back is sore.

Sometimes I regret deciding to take the train all throughout the colonised states of america.

Did I mention my back is sore, my feet are swollen, the bathroom stinks, the water is expensive and that I'm hungry?

But then I look out the window and at the fields, the cows, the graffiti, the ocean, the hills, mountains, the sunsets and sunrises and the simplicity of how smooth the ride is and fast! The train car rocking me to sleep, then the switching of train tracks jolting me awake.

No stop lights or heavy traffic. I have my wool socks and converse shoes. I get to view scenery that I could never have see from a plane, or an automobile. I don't have to worry about driving, or expensive flights, just a direct route to the next destination - while I take the time to ponder, to reminisce, to dream of what the future holds, to be with myself and all my splendour and to write about my discoveries and adventures.

So yes, my back is sore, but my mind is wandering, my soul is stretching and I'm gonna get some insoles for my kicks.