There are stories buried in the soil of the South. They can be found in the air of the Sea Islands, in the sizzle of okra in a cast iron skillet, or woven into sweetgrass baskets with patterns passed down like psalms. 

Gullah Geechee culture—rooted in the Low Country of South Carolina and Georgia—isn’t just a preservation of Black Southern tradition; it’s a bridge to West Africa.

It’s easy to think of the transatlantic slave trade as something that severed us. But what we know actually to be true is that in the face of that unspeakable violence, our ancestors found ways to smuggle pieces of themselves across the ocean. Not just in memory, but in languages they speak, the food that nourished generations, and the rhythm that moves our souls.  The Gullah Geechee people are proof of that.

Their story begins on the same West African coast where Yoruba, Igbo, and Efik communities thrived. Many of the enslaved Africans brought to the Low Country were chosen precisely because of their expertise in rice cultivation, a skill honed for centuries in the deltas of what is now Nigeria and Sierra Leone. The enslavers wanted profit. But our people brought power.

In the remote Sea Islands, separated from the mainland and white society, Gullah communities had something rare: space, and that space became a sanctuary. It allowed them to retain ancestral practices with a clarity that is still revered and studied by historians and anthropologists today. From creating food banks that are responsible for supporting entire communities to the Sacred Land Project, the story of the Gullah Geechee is evolving and unfixed.

Their creole language, Gullah, is filled with West African syntax and tonality. Their spiritual practices mirror some found in Yoruba culture, and their cuisine reads like a diaspora love letter. 

As Gullah Geechee Nation Chieftess Marquetta “Queen Quet” Goodwine once said, “We have been able to retain what may be the purest continuation of the African culture of our enslaved ancestors. Indeed, the Gullah community may well be viewed as a living link between Africa and America.” In short, there’s no separating the Gullah story from Nigeria’s. Their connections are our historical and cultural receipts.

Over the years, Gullah leaders and cultural stewards have made pilgrimages back to West Africa, where in countries like Sierra Leone, they’ve been able to find literal kin. It’s why the link, as Queen Quet calls it, is such an important cultural bridge. And in a time when Black travelers are reclaiming their global movement as resistance, that bridge matters more than ever.

The thread between the Gullah Geechee and Nigeria is undeniable proof that we never stopped carrying our heritage. It may have shifted and adapted to fit our new circumstances, but it lives on through lullabies, red rice recipes, spiritual hoodoo traditions, and the language that rolls off of our tongues. When we talk about the diaspora, we tend to talk in terms of loss, but Gullah Geechee culture offers something else. It offers continuity, a defiant retention, and a refusal to forget. Whether you’re tracing it through the Sea Islands or walking the streets of Lagos, it’s still holding strong. 

So the next time you taste a Low Country boil or hear a shout that shakes the walls of a praise house, know that Lagos isn’t as far as it seems. It’s right there, woven into the moment. The legacy of a world we carried and carry on, even while a world away.