There’s A Reason Your American Worry Disappears In Curaçao

There’s something special about Curaçao. The island feels alive in a way that moves you as soon as your feet touch the soil. But its beauty is just the entry point to its soul, which is so rich in Black history, you can’t help but fall in love with it.

I got my first taste of it the moment I sat down at the water’s edge. I was mesmerized by the see-through turquoise waves gently crashing against the rocks. I sat there staring for about 10 minutes, completely enamored by the water, until a small white crab dancing along the beach – snacking on the plethora of ants at its disposal – caught my attention. He was so unbothered by the burdens my massive human foot could have caused him, and I felt that in my soul. 

That unbothered energy wasn’t just the wildlife. It was everywhere on the island and in everyone I met.  Getting around Curaçao was no easy task; Uber wasn’t really a thing and I wasn’t super comfortable renting a car, so taxi it was. One of the first drivers I met was Rion. His van was a little old, but immaculate. The kind of clean that tells you everything you need to know about a person before they open their mouth. And sure enough, when Rion opened his, I couldn’t stop listening. 

He had just turned 40, spoke six languages (Portuguese, Spanish, English, Dutch, French and German) and was teaching all of them to his twins and their slightly older sibling.  Time meant everything to him. It was the most valuable currency a parent could spend. Money came and went, he told me, but time only goes in one direction. 

When I mentioned I was a writer, he genuinely became ecstatic. He called it a lost art, which instantly filled me with pride. Like following my dreams had finally paid off.

We connected immediately. His family values made me think about my mother and all the love she poured into me and my twin brother as well. His fear of growing old as a parent grounded me into the realization of what was really important in life. 

In America, when you’re Black, sometimes your burdens get in the way of that, but not in Curaçao, not here.

Rion also traveled the world, but always came back to the island and I understood why way before the ride was even over. He wasn’t shaped by race, or class, or the politics that weigh Black Americans down the moment we are born. He was shaped by Curaçao – and Curaçao was shaped by us. 

The docks of Willemstad are bright, bold and beautiful, but they also force you to see the grander picture of slavery in the Western world. In 1662, the Dutch West India Company made Curaçao the central hub of the Atlantic Slave Trade. Almost 40,000 enslaved Africans were processed through this island before being scattered all across the Americas. Many ancestors of Black Americans also passed through this exact island. The Kura Hulanda Museum, which is one of the most important slave museums in the entire world, sits on the exact same docks where enslaved people were bought and sold, a constant reminder that this beautiful city was paid for by Black suffering. 

Black Americans often carry slavery as if it’s exclusively our burden, but that can’t be further from the truth. The diaspora is so much bigger, more connected and more layered than many of us were taught. Curaçao reminds us that our ancestors touched every corner of the Western world and left something incredible behind everywhere they went. 

Nowhere is that clearer than in Papiamentu, the island’s native language born from enslaved Africans. A creole built from Portuguese, Spanish, Dutch and African tongues, Papiamentu was created purely for survival. And then something remarkable happened. It grew and spread until it became the heartbeat of a country. Today, every Curaçoan speaks it, no matter their race or class. Your ancestors did that. That feeling sitting in your chest right now?  It’s called pride and it’s hard to put into words. 

Soul Beach Music Festival brought me to Curaçao, but the island gave me something I didn’t know I needed.

One of the most surreal moments of the entire trip was at Rif Fort during the White Party. Gorgeous white outfits as far as the eye can see; the epitome of Black Joy. 

I was in my journalist bag, working the crowd, taking notes and getting content when the electric slide came on. I put my camera down and jumped in. It was the moment everything clicked. That’s when I realized Black Americans deserve this. They belong here. Soul Beach in Curaçao is so much more than just a festival. It’s a homecoming, a palette-cleansing of sorts. A way to connect to the Black diaspora through culture, community and history. A full unburdening of America for the Black soul.

Curaçao deserves Black tourism because the island pours so much love, history and humanity back into the experience. But you deserve the island just as much as it deserves you – not just for the beaches or the history, but for the belonging. America is heavy and you’ve been carrying her without a break way too long. I’m here to tell you there’s a place where you can put her down and just let go.

That place is Curaçao. 

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