Where I’m From was sent to me as an ARC by She Writes Press. This does not affect my review. You can get your copy at their website starting September 8th, 2026.

It was 2010 when Ebony Walden, on the verge of thirty, decided to travel across five continents alone as a Black American woman. She travelled with two bags and some hiking shoes across the globe, volunteering in most countries, especially with children, a journey that took eight months. The subtitle of Where I’m From is “A Poetic Journey Across Five Continents,” giving readers a clue about the kind of person Walden is. After learning a creative exercise from another writer, one that shapes a poem that declares who a person is and where they are from, Walden takes the prompts from the exercise and uses them with people who are close to her at each stop on the trip.

We’ve gotten plenty of memoirs about a single white woman travelling the globe, most famously the Eat, Pray, Love craze. I also read Revolution: The Year I Fell in Love and Went to Join the War by Deb Olin Unferth, a memoir in which the author professes her intentions to help poor countries but became a burden after she fell ill from health issues common in the area and had to be cared for, using valuable resources that could have been directed toward the Central American war effort in the 1980s. But, just because you’ve read one travel memoir doesn’t mean you’ve read them.

Ebony Walden starts with a prologue of sorts, noting that “…volunteering while traveling, teaching English, and working in children’s homes was impactful, but I now understand how the revolving door of untrained volunteers can be harmful to children and communities. The ‘do-gooder’ mentality, even when well-intentioned, can sometimes be paternalistic and disruptive.” Immediately, her ethos was established, and I was ready for a good book. I trusted her because she didn’t try to nag the point that she has a right to travel and enter communities all while pretending to have no negative effect.

Where I’m From develops a pattern of Walden arriving in a community, getting settled, and asking someone she’s connected with to do the “where I’m from” poem exercise with her. Given that there are fifteen countries she visited, I was worried that the narrative was going to be repetitive, but I really liked how Walden noticed something in a foreign country that launches her narrative back to her past. For example, when one guy offers her a space brownie, she recalls to readers the revelation that her mother had been using drugs, which Walden couldn’t concern herself with fully at the time because she was focused on getting through high school and college.

Each country reads differently, too. I’m happily surprised I remember so many of the people and places. Occasionally, one location is memorable for not being what Walden expected. In an impoverished city, Walden learns, “Kenya invited me to see it, not save it; to be a witness to the good already happening, to learn, and to become more human.” I liked this reminder about the beauty in places that look destitute. We assume things about “those poor people” that need a monthly donation so they don’t starve to death, and the current US president labels them “shit-hole countries,” so the reminder of common humanity was lovely. In fact, when Walden is asked where her people in the U.S. came from originally, she’s not sure and thus is “adopted”:

“Our connection to Africa was severed by enslavement. Black Americans were cut off from our languages, our ethnic roots. Still, we know from history that our prior were from West Africa.”

She looked at me tenderly and said, “You are a daughter of Kenya now; welcome home.” She put her arm next to mine and smiled. “See, we look alike.”

I know a bit about feeling adopted thanks to my fathers-in-law and best friends who are like siblings; it’s warm. It’s the best. I found Walden’s memoir a compelling way to experience different cultures, including Walden’s own, and highly recommend it.