It was an unexpected discovery along the winding, sometimes muddy path leading to what is solemnly known as the Last Bath in Ghana.

Just moments earlier, our guide, Devine, was sharing rhythmic and powerful stories of survival of the men and women whose lives were violently uprooted centuries ago and forced toward an uncertain future across the Atlantic Ocean. His voice carried through the trees as he recounted the journeys of those who passed through this place in chains.

Then, as Devine’s leather sandals were striding down the lightly muddy path, he stopped.

The World’s “First” Security System

Kneeling beside a place in the path, he pointed to a small patch of greenery and invited several of us to gather around.

“This,” Devine said with a comforting smile, “was the first security system.”

With the gentle touch of his finger, the tiny plant immediately recoiled. Its delicate leaves folded inward as though retreating from the world. Devine explained that the plant, commonly known as the Sensitive Plant (Mimosa pudica), would slowly reopen several minutes later. According to the stories that he shared, the plant’s sudden movements was an alert system for those who may have “disturbed the area.”

“It was a secret system the ancestors used to protect their lands. We still have it here.” He said that if it were not for the grass that has grown up around the special plants, the visitors would be walking on the Sensitive Plant on the way to the actual river of the Last Bath.

“They know that they have seven minutes to catch up with them. After seven minutes it opens back fully and they lose the trail,” explained Devine.

He said the ancestors “were using it as their secret motion sensors. Whenever the ancestors came out to see the plant closed, they knew that something” been there. There is nothing on this earth that is invented by anyone else. Today, you are seeing the proof of our intelligence”.

He referred to the plants as being the equivalent to the modern Ring Door security device: “The most amazing thing is that the security system itself was invented by an African American woman.” He was referring to Marie Van Brittan Brown, an African American nurse, co-invented the first home security system in 1966 with her husband, Albert L. Brown, an electronics technician.

The demonstration lasted only a few seconds, but its symbolism lingered much longer.

Standing at Assin Manso’s Last Bath, a place where countless Africans endured unimaginable loss before beginning the final stage of their forced journey to the coast, I could not ignore the metaphor. Generations of African Diaspora families have carried memories that folded inward for protection. Through genealogy, oral history, and return journeys to places such as Ghana, those memories slowly begin to open again.

The Last Bath

More than 100 miles from Accra, Ghana’s capital city, lies the community of Assin Manso, home to one of the most emotionally significant sites in Ghana’s remembrance landscape. Located within the Assin Manso Ancestral Slave River Park, the Last Bath marks one of the final inland transfer points for many enslaved Africans before their forced march to the slave dungeons at Cape Coast and Elmina.

Here, according to historical accounts, captives were brought to the river to bathe before continuing toward the coast. For many, it would be their last physical contact with the interior lands of Africa before boarding ships bound for the Americas and the Caribbean.

We reached the river entry point.  We slowly and assuredly walked down the path to the waiting arms of our guide, who had gotten in the waist high water.  The water, he observed was higher than in previous years. While the waters were rolling, there was a striking peace.  Birds sing from a distance. The trees seemed to welcome its visitors as the branches were swaying gently in the warm breeze. Most of the visitors entered the river, including this writer. It is a cleansing and connecting feeling to African ancestors like no other experience while in this region of Ghana.

Beneath the somberness rests the weight of countless untold stories that would never be known for their lives were lost either through death along the hundreds of miles of marching to an unknown fate, or through the separation and ultimate travel across the Atlantic Ocean to reach lands they never knew.

Lessons from a Small Plant

As the leaves of the Sensitive Plant gradually reopened, our guide reflected on the lessons it offers visitors:

• Memory can be hidden but not lost.
• Trauma may cause individuals, families, and communities to close themselves in self-protection.
• Healing often happens slowly, one layer at a time.
• What appears dormant may still be very much alive.

Whether those meanings are found in nature itself or assigned through human reflection hardly matters. At Assin Manso, the symbolism feels undeniable.

For descendants of the African Diaspora, family history often unfolds in much the same way. Names disappear. Stories fade. Connections seem lost. Yet many symbols such as a documents, oral histories, conversations, DNA matches, or a long journey across the ocean, touches the past and awakens memories  that may been long folded away.

Interesting finding was right in my backyard. When comparing the look of the Mimosa pudica, I noticed that the leaves of one tree always blooms into a pattern that is identical to Assin Manso’s Secretive Plant. Without any scientific or other professional explanation, it appears the plant was transplanted to my backyard tree.

Like the Sensitive Plant, those stories begin to open again.