When Vannessa Wade thinks about her future, she no longer sees herself confined to only the United States.
The Houston resident and business owner has spent the last few years seriously considering dual citizenship, not as a trendy lifestyle choice, but as what she calls an “insurance policy” in an increasingly uncertain America.
The decision isn’t driven by celebrity influence or social media trends. It’s about having options. “Everyone should consider it if it makes sense for them, financially, and emotionally.”
Wade is part of a documented surge in Black Americans seeking dual citizenship or permanent residency in African nations. While celebrities like Russell Wilson, Ciara, Meagan Good, and Jonathan Majors have made headlines for their efforts to obtain African citizenship, the movement represents a formal legal and financial strategy driven by economic opportunity, political reprieve, and cultural reconnection.
The numbers tell the story
In November 2024, Ghana granted citizenship to 524 members of the African diaspora, more than four times the number granted in 2019, bringing Ghana’s total to over 950 diaspora citizens since the country’s historic “Year of Return” campaign. That 2019 initiative, commemorating 400 years since the first enslaved Africans arrived in America, attracted 1.13 million visitors to Ghana and generated $1.9 billion in tourism revenue.
But Ghana isn’t alone. In 2024, Benin enacted groundbreaking legislation granting citizenship to descendants of enslaved people who can provide DNA proof of Sub-Saharan African ancestry. Guinea-Bissau, under its “Decade of Return” initiative launched in 2021, began granting citizenship to individuals with verified ancestral ties to ethnic groups such as the Balanta, Fula, and Mandinka. In January 2025, Burkina Faso followed suit with an executive order granting citizenship to the descendants of enslaved Africans with minimal bureaucratic barriers.
According to recent polling data, 34% of Americans expressed a desire to live abroad in 2024, up dramatically from just 10% in 1974. While comprehensive data on Black American emigration specifically remains limited, experts tracking expatriate trends report a noticeable spike in Black Americans seeking citizenship abroad.
Dr. Lindsay Gary, the founder of The Re-Education Project and Dance Afrikana, contextualizes the current movement within a longer historical trajectory.
“This idea of returning home, although it’s very trendy, is like a new wave of a longer trajectory of our people wanting to be where their homeland is,” she says. “I think about people like Paul Cuffe in the 1700s, Marcus Garvey with the Black Star Line. This is nothing new.”
Yet Gary cautions against repeating historical mistakes. She points to Liberia, where some 19th-century Black American settlers arrived with colonizer mindsets that created tensions with indigenous Africans.
“We have to be very mindful not to repeat those types of things,” she warns. “Don’t go there with a white mentality. Don’t go there with a Western mentality. Go there for genuine connection, reconnection.”
Living the reality
For Sentwali Olushola and his family, that reconnection became reality six years ago. The Houston native, CEO of Beulah Land Holdings and Farm, and lead instructor at Whole Living Academy in Rwanda, moved to East Africa during the COVID-19 pandemic and has never looked back.
“I don’t really have very much of a desire to go back,” Olushola says of returning to the U.S. “But I miss my people. I think the people are probably the biggest factor that would influence my return.”
He grew up very pro-Black and African-centered. He volunteered at the SHAPE Community Center and developed his passion for activism and community service through the Shrine of the Black Madonna and the Pentecost Orthodox Christian Church.
His children once asked him why they had never visited the continent. They celebrate Kwanzaa, they have African names, and are very involved in community organizations. It only made sense to give his family that experience.
Olushola and his family spent nearly three years in Tanzania before settling in Rwanda, where they’re now pursuing citizenship after meeting the country’s five-year residency requirement.
“As long as we’ve been here, people will still come up to me and start speaking Kinyarwanda,” he says. “They expect me to immediately know the language because of my appearance. I look very Rwandan.”
Nikala Asante, founder of Whole Living Academy and another Houston expatriate now living in Rwanda, shares similar sentiments. She moved with her young daughter in search of a healthier environment, better financial opportunities, and freedom from daily racial microaggressions.
“I don’t think there is any place in the world more dangerous for an African American
Nikala Asante
than America.”
“I don’t think there is any place in the world more dangerous for an African American than America,” says Asante, who pays just $343 monthly for a fully furnished seven-bedroom home with fruit trees and herb gardens. In Houston’s Third Ward, she paid significantly more for far less. “I’m in a better position as a single mom and as a school leader to support Houston from here than from being there.”
Asante’s move to Rwanda represents both a personal transformation and a continuation of lessons learned growing up at Houston’s SHAPE Community Center, where she volunteered for nearly two decades.
“I’ve seen so many elders from the elder circle of wisdom pass away from heart attacks, from stress-related illnesses, or from not being able to get quality foods,” she says. “If they could have left, they would have left.”
Watching community leaders succumb to the daily toll of American racism and economic stress taught her a crucial lesson on legacy building. As a single mother with a four-year-old daughter, Rwanda’s lower cost of living freed her to focus on wealth creation rather than mere survival.
She’s launched Legacy Landowners, a company that provides affordable land to other Black Americans; started a six-acre moringa farm in Ghana; opened a tech company in Rwanda; and now employs over 20 staff members across her ventures. The same woman who couldn’t afford holistic childcare in Houston now pays her Rwandan home assistants to pursue degrees in accounting and law while building generational wealth her grandmother lost to tax liens in Tamina, Texas, land that would be worth $3.5 million today.
For many, the journey begins with DNA testing. Gary, who partners with African Ancestry, a Black-owned genetic testing company, has witnessed how discovering specific ethnic origins helps with learning which countries she wants to plant roots in. She is pursuing citizenship in Guinea-Bissau after discovering her Balanta ancestry and connecting with a citizenship program specifically for descendants of that ethnic group.
Wade is still planning her next move. She says African citizenship shouldn’t be viewed as abandoning the fight for Black freedom in America.
“Some people may do it because of health concerns or health reasons. Some may do it because they want a slower pace of life for themselves and their family,” Wade explains. “But just know what works for you. Don’t base your decision on a celebrity or a TikTok post.”
The question is no longer whether African citizenship is possible; it’s whether it makes sense for each individual family. With eight African countries now offering pathways to citizenship for diasporans, and remittance flows to Sub-Saharan Africa reaching $54 billion in 2023, the movement represents both cultural healing and economic strategy.
“We’re able to be that bridge,” Olushola says. “We’re able to say, listen, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows, but it’s also not the worst experience you can have. My quality of life has improved drastically, and I don’t regret my decision.”
