St Helena is a tiny rock deep in the South Atlantic Ocean halfway between Brazil and South Africa – the kind of place you’d find yourself having to zoom in very closely to spot it on a map and home to around 4,000 people. As a child, it was a picture on my grandfather’s wall, a place unknown to me that he often referred to as “back home” with wet eyes. 

There was never any further explanation. As a child, St Helena was a mystery. Where was this place that stirred such strong emotion, yet no one had visited in 50 years? Why didn’t they just pop back and visit if they missed it so much? How and when did this part of my family come to the UK in the first place? My parents divorced when I was six, so it was difficult to ask questions.

My dad is from St Helena, Black and triracial due to his Malgache, Indian and white heritage. I am pale-skinned, as is my mum, but my brother is tanned and often gets asked for directions in Greek. Growing up, I never knew quite where I belonged. After my parents separated, we drifted away from my dad’s side of the family, and I buried my love for and curiosity about the island – it was easier. 

An invitation to my grandfather’s 80th birthday when I was 40 brought me back into the bosom of my St Helenian family, and I felt like I had come home. It also brought me back into contact with my estranged father. When I heard his voice for the first time in 20 years, it was like finding a missing part of me. 

But my dad had some family bombshells. Did I know I had three half-sisters? I had heard of two girls, Saffron and Neele, but our paths had never crossed. The third one was new to me and lived in America. Could I connect with any of them?

The answer was yes. I first made contact with 27-year-old Saffron, who had been unsuccessfully looking for my dad, brother and me her whole life and burst into tears when she got my message. Next, I reached out to 21-year-old Neele, who cautiously agreed to a Zoom call and a glass of wine. I’ve yet to meet our third sister. 

Getting to know Saffron and Neele made me consider my identity in a new way. I learned that we are all quadracial, as we have mono-racial mothers (British, Jamaican-British and German respectively), and then the St Helenian triracial side. My sisters knew nothing about St Helena – the island, its heritage or our family – and had questions. I was suddenly the big sister responsible for finding answers, and having been silent on the matter for so long, I had to excavate buried memories. I did remember things. And where there were gaps, I discovered I was excited to seek out answers.

Alongside our brother, we started to build a picture of the island together. Gathering research and piecing together memories and photographs, an extraordinary place emerged. There were resourceful relatives – people who had been exiled from Africa, America and Europe – who had built a life in isolation, yet somehow fashioned a warm community and a sense of unique belonging in a place that didn’t feel like anywhere else on earth.

The people I got to know from St Helena were brilliant storytellers. My nan, who travelled to the UK while working and separated from her young children, was constantly describing funny characters and situations on and off the island. My great-grandmother travelled solo across South Africa and made her way to UK, raising children and building businesses. My paternal great-grandmother grew produce on the family farm and brought up nine children single-handedly when her husband died young. As memories and stories were shared, I could sense my sisters’ hearts soar – in tandem with my own – with their new sense of identity.

I started reading books about St Helena and finding film, vintage postcards, maps and pictures. I shared them not only with my sisters but also with my grandfather. “Old photo you got here, girl. Late 18th century,” he would say as he studied one. Grandad would sometimes walk me down the streets of the main city, Jamestown, using Google Earth on his iPad. I loved looking at the names of the places: Shy Lane, Egg Island, Old Joan Point. Who was old Joan? I loved reading about its tiny library  – the oldest in the southern hemisphere, apparently  – and wondered which books my ancestors had borrowed. I started embracing the St Helena community, too, tasting new food, meeting family and immersing myself in a culture which for so long I felt I wasn’t a part of.

I quickly stopped feeling like the white girl who didn’t belong and realised it was time to embrace my ancestry and rejoice in it, rather than trying to hide from it. When I found my sisters, I not only found my heritage, but I also unlocked the inner child and adventurer in me. As a child, I had been deeply hurt by my father’s absence – was there something about me that was not lovable? But it didn’t hurt as much when I found my gorgeous, loving and capable sisters, who wordlessly understood my vulnerabilities and showed me how fantastic we all are.  I feel emboldened to take on the world now. To dream big and build the life I want – just like my family did.   

Images: Esther Harris