A Man from Another Land: How Finding My Roots Changed My Life (12 page)

I explained to him that through the mitochondrial DNA on my maternal side I was “directly related to the Mende and Temne peoples
out of Sierra Leone. The most famous Mende to date is Joseph Cinque, who took over the
Amistad,
so I’m connected to that wonderful legacy, and on my paternal side, my father’s side and all his father’s fathers are Mbundu,
or Kimbundu, out of Angola, and I can’t wait to get to both of the countries to see what I can invest in.”

Then he wanted to know what it had done for me. “Wow,” I thought to myself, “how could I even put that into words?” But
I tried: “Freedom, man. A quiet power for me. I’ve been searching for a long time, Tavis. I’ve gone from locks to goatees
to this to proving that I’m African and I’m African American, and I no longer have to hold on to these very outward kind of
scenarios anymore or all the literature and rhetoric. I’ve found a bookend to all the literature that I’ve ever read about
Africa, ’cause now I don’t have to go ‘Soweto,’ or wear kente cloth, or hang out at all of the African film festivals and
African festivals all over the world, because I’m very clear now that inside me there’s Angola and Sierra Leone. And that
if I can, with my black dollars, I’d like to be able to go back and help in some kind of way.”
⁶

Within a week of the interview with Tavis, I received a message from my manager, Eric Nelson, that a Mr. Brian Morris, consultant
to the Matthew 6 Foundation and Public Affairs Counsel in the United States to the Republic of Sierra Leone, saw my interview
on the show and wanted a meeting with me as soon as possible. I agreed.

I called Maeyen Bassey, a producer friend of mine, and asked her to grab her camera and document everything. While I couldn’t
always articulate my need to connect with Africa, I was beginning to understand that reconnecting with my Sierra Leonean roots
was my life’s purpose. I wanted to serve as a living example for others who had the same desire and passion to connect with
their African ancestry. I knew this meeting would somehow serve as my “first step” at reconnecting with my ancestral home.

M
aeyen had the camera rolling as I walked up to Brian Morris’s room at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel and knocked on the door.
She tucked herself into a far corner so Brian or his wife would not be uncomfortable. I was not about to lose any of this
conversation. I had the sense that this was the start of something big, that from this moment, my life would be monumentally
different, that I would be a man changed forever.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” I said. “Why did you reach out to me?” I asked quickly.

Brian blinked, glancing at his wife, who seemed desperate to stay out of camera shot. I assured them I planned to use the
footage only to document an interesting and historical journey.

It soon became clear why Brian had contacted me. He thought that as a well-known African American interested in Sierra Leone,
I could help make his job as a public affairs consultant to the Republic of Sierra Leone a little easier.

“I think I could help facilitate your trip,” he said. I was thrilled. We ended the meeting agreeing to keep in touch.

After a few subsequent conversations I sensed that Brian’s agenda regarding my relationship to Sierra Leone was not in line
with my own. He intended for me to merely be a “celebrity face” for the Matthew 6 Foundation. Reportedly, the organization
had been building new homes throughout Sierra Leone for several years. During the eleven-year war, the organization took a
big loss and was looking to attract new investors.

It would have been easy for me to simply say no thanks and step back from Brian, but something inside me told me to wait and
let this thing play out. I had a sense that Brian Morris was pivotal to my destiny. I just wasn’t sure how.

Eventually Brian arranged a meeting with Brian Haney, Matthew 6’s president. The day before the meeting, Brian warned me that
Haney suffered from narcolepsy and that I should not be alarmed if he suddenly fell asleep. The three of us sat down for dinner
at the Mondrian Hotel on Sunset Boulevard and for the next three hours I explained my plan to reconnect with Sierra Leone,
and why DNA testing could finally help bridge the gap between Africans and African Americans.

Haney never dozed off or lost focus during the entire meeting. After dinner, he excused himself; Brian and I watched as this
little nebbish of a man practically skipped off to the men’s room.

Brian looked at me quizzically and said, “I have never seen him stay awake this long in a meeting.”

“Maybe the meetings he falls asleep in are just plain old boring,” I said, wiping my mouth with my napkin. Maybe it was Brian’s
slow and pensive midwestern voice that overcame Haney with somnolence.

Later that week, Brian called, sounding more animated than usual. “There is a fellow Sierra Leonean I think you should
meet,” he said. “Mr. Raymond Scott-Manga.” He was a retired Boeing aerospace engineer who lived in Seattle, Washington, and
who still had strong family ties in Sierra Leone. He was expecting my call.

I hung up with Brian and dialed Mr. Manga. When he answered, I was immediately struck by the high energy in his voice. He
spoke so rhythmically that the words wrapped around me like an upbeat melody, as if he had a perpetual jocular grin on his
face.

Our conversation flowed easily from one subject to another as he slowly revealed some of our shared history and the layers
of his own life’s journey. We began the conversation as complete strangers, but as we shared our thoughts, our words and stories
overlapped as we spoke. Raymond admitted he was unfamiliar with most of my work but had seen a few episodes of my TV show.
“Isaiah, I didn’t know your name,” he said, “but I told my wife that you looked like a Mende man.”

I wasn’t sure if he was just flattering me or truly being genuine. It didn’t matter. I knew instinctively that Raymond Scott-Manga
would be instrumental in facilitating my destiny and entry into Sierra Leone.

On April 26, 2006,
People
magazine named me one of its “World’s 50 Most Beautiful People.” A few days later the magazine flew me to DC to attend the
White House Correspondents’ Dinner. This time, I had my own agenda in mind: spreading the word about my plans to visit Sierra
Leone and finding people in power who knew how to navigate the Hill.

Steve Ross turned out to be just what the doctor ordered. Steve works for the Artists and Athletes Alliance and is very well
connected. He arranged for me to tour the White House and introduced me to several key people in President George
W. Bush’s administration. During the White House Correspondents’ reception I shook hands with Helen Thomas, the legendary
correspondent, and had the chance to meet John McLaughlin, Wolf Blitzer, and Jake Tapper. I shared a laugh with rapper Chris
“Ludacris” Bridges and fellow actor Terrence Howard. Greta Van Susteren, who turned out to be a fan, and I were introduced
by her husband, John P. Coale, and I shared my love of literature with Joe Pantoliano, who gave me some tips on vintage book
collecting.

People
magazine’s managing editor, Larry Hackett, arranged for me to sit next to Jeffrey D. Sachs, the economist of the Earth Institute
at Columbia University and author of
The End of Poverty.
He was enthusiastic about my plans for a trip to Sierra Leone and asked if I was familiar with his UN Millennium Project
and promised to send me a copy of his book. “Call my office and leave your mailing address,” he said, handing me his card.

As I thanked him, Steve Jones, from ABC News Radio, appeared at the table. “Hello, Isaiah,” he said. “I see you made it back,
but I have a much better table for you than this one!” I laughed, stood up, and gave him a big hug. “I want to introduce you
to the next mayor of Washington, DC, Mr. Adrian Fenty.” I excused myself and followed him; he looked ahead and then to his
left and motioned with his head for me to do the same. It is considered “unprofessional” to point at anyone at this kind of
high-powered event. “I think you know that guy over there surrounded by fans.” I could see a crowd clamoring around George
Clooney.

I walked over to his table, perfectly placed in the center of the ballroom near the stage, and waited for him to notice me.
“Isaiah! Hey, it’s good to see ya! What are ya up too these days?” said George.

“Oh,” I replied, “I’m playing a doctor on this little TV show and I’m preparing to go do some work in Sierra Leone.”

George said, “Sierra Leone, hey, be careful in that country.”

“Yeah, I know all about its reputation,” I assured him, “I’m going with my eyes and ears open.”

The event was about to begin. I jetted back to my table. Comedy Central’s Stephen Colbert was the featured entertainer for
the dinner that evening and he brought the house down with some of his usual biting quips.

I also met a lady named Ms. Ashley Tate-Gilmore that night. She worked for Senator Obama and was a huge supporter of my efforts
in Sierra Leone and a huge fan of my TV show. Ms. Tate-Gilmore would soon become a pivotal player in my date with destiny.

After dinner, I headed over to the Bloomberg News after party at the Embassy of the Republic of Macedonia to do some networking.
Since it was my second consecutive Correspondents’ Dinner, I felt like a seasoned political insider and was welcomed as such.
As I stepped outside to enjoy a cigar, a young man introduced himself as Jay Carson. He worked in the office of former president
William J. Clinton. He handed me a card and said to give him a call the next time I was in New York. My mind began to race.
As I firmly shook his hand, I said, “Thanks, Jay. This is very forward, but do you think President Clinton could give me some
advice on his experience with Sierra Leone?”

“What do you need to know?” he asked.

I explained that I wanted Clinton’s thoughts on the safety of a visit to Sierra Leone. Jay set up a meeting with Clinton’s
foreign policy adviser, Eric Nonacs, for mid-May, when I was already planning to visit in New York to promote my TV show.

The next day, I pulled out the business card Jeffrey Sachs had handed to me. He had the longest job title of anyone that I
had ever seen in my entire life! Director of the Earth Institute, Quetelet Professor of Sustainable Development, and Professor
of Health Policy. I dialed the office number and left a message.
Then I tried his personal mobile phone. To my surprise, he picked up.

“Isaiah! How are you?” His voice always sounded positive, like a joyful smile.

I asked if we could meet for lunch during my trip to New York to continue our conversation about Sierra Leone and his Millennium
Development Goals. He told me to call his office and set something up. “Thank you, Professor Sachs,” I told him, “this means
a lot to me.”

On May 15, 2006, I took the red-eye from LA so I’d have twenty-four hours before my promotional obligations for ABC began.
After checking in to the Trump International Hotel & Tower in New York, I quickly checked my notes on Sierra Leone and jumped
in the shower. I arrived at Jean Georges a few minutes early and waited at the bar for Jeffrey to arrive. I picked up a copy
of the
New York Times
that had been left on the seat next to me. Immediately I noticed a two-page ad by Bausch & Lomb, the contact lens company.

Bausch & Lomb Contact Lens Solution, ReNu with Moistureloc, Removed from Market—Found to Cause Severe Eye Infections.

That day Bausch & Lomb announced its decision to permanently remove all ReNu with Moistureloc products from shelves worldwide.
I checked the stock exchange quotes for BOL, the company’s ticker symbol. The stock’s price had plummeted on the negative
news. I quickly dialed my business manager, Mark Kaplan, and instructed him to immediately buy five hundred shares. I knew
that when the stock came back up I was golden.

“You’re the boss,” he said.

I didn’t know why at the time, but I hung up thinking I might need to fall back on that money.

Jeffrey arrived right on time. During our lunch he shared some very detailed insights on what to expect when dealing with
a poor nation in Africa. He suggested I stop using my own money to fund my mission and look for interested investors.

Now I understood. The Bausch & Lomb shares could serve that purpose.

“Trying to rebuild a poor nation’s village is very expensive,” he explained. “Maybe you should try and use your celebrity
to get yourself on the board of a major oil company.”

I was confused. “Why an oil company?”

A huge smile spread across his face, “Those guys have lots of money,” he said, his eyes squinting behind his glasses.

When asked how to do that, he said, “Isaiah! You are a celebrity, my friend, just pick up the phone and call, like you did
me. I told Angelina and Bono the same thing. Use your celebrity for good.” He left me with a copy of his Millennium Development
Goals, checked his watch, and dashed off to another meeting.

“I can’t wait to read this man’s book,” I thought to myself.

Two days later, I took a taxi from the Trump hotel up Broadway to Harlem. As I walked down 125
^th
Street, I immediately spotted the Apollo Theater.

It was a different Harlem from the one I remembered. Gone were many of the mom-and-pop establishments, replaced with Starbucks,
Old Navy, and other big chain stores. Harlem had changed, I suppose, just as I had. People stopped and shook my hand and asked
for autographs. One man asked a passerby if she would use her camera phone to take a picture of the two us. I wondered how
he would get the photograph from this total stranger. I was even more surprised when she agreed to do it!

I told him he didn’t need a picture, “I’ll just give you a hug. Is that cool?” He stepped back, blinked, paused for several
seconds, and then he opened his arms wide. I hugged him as if he were an old friend. “You the man! You hear me? YOU-ARE-THE-MAN!”
he shouted as he made his way down the block. I gave hugs and signed phone bill envelopes and the backs of some T-shirts too.
“Wow,” I thought to myself, “I’m in Harlem signing autographs!” I had come a long way.