Just ahead of you, you’ll spot a low granite wall with “Portsmouth African Burying Ground” carved right into it, and a striking metal fence lined with cut-out silhouettes of people-you can’t miss it, especially with the figures standing in quiet watch behind the railing.
Now, get ready-because you’re standing on ground where stories centuries old are just beginning to be told again. This memorial isn’t just a park, and it’s certainly no ordinary piece of Portsmouth. Close your eyes for a moment and picture the street as it might have looked over 200 years ago: dusty roads, the faint clatter of wagons, and the hum of a growing colonial seaport. Right here, beneath your feet, lay one of New England’s only archaeologically verified African burying grounds from the 1700s. For years, people passed by without knowing there were nearly 200 men, women, and children-both free and enslaved-resting in the earth just below.
But the ground didn’t give up its secrets easily. In fact, this lost cemetery hid for centuries, buried beneath the bricks and bustle of the modern city. Maps dating as far back as 1705 showed a cemetery here, but by the 1900s, it disappeared under buildings and pavement. It wasn’t until 2003, while workers were-of all things-digging a manhole, that fate took a turn. Their shovels scraped against something unexpected. And just like that, history surfaced. Archaeologists found the remains of eight individuals, fragments of a forgotten community. DNA analysis told their story-a heritage out of Africa.
Imagine the tension and mystery as bones, long silent, began to speak. Archaeologists and townsfolk alike wondered: Who were they? How did they live and love, struggle and dream? Among those eight exhumed, there were men, one woman, and a child-the rest unidentifiable. Each with their own history, far richer than the silence that shrouded them for centuries.
Fast forward a year or two, and the city made a decision: Portsmouth wouldn’t let these stories fade away again. A committee was formed, suggestions rolled in, and five years of careful planning led to today’s remarkable memorial, designed by artist Jerome Meadows. The memorial doesn’t just mark the spot-it asks you to stand for a moment in the shoes of those lost, to remember. And trust me, for just a second, you might even feel the weight of history blowing through the trees.
Step up to the granite entrance and you’ll see two powerful bronze statues. To the east, a man stands facing toward Africa, wearing the simple clothes worn by so many enslaved people who built the early city. His arm stretches along the granite, reaching for something just out of grasp. On the other side, a woman in a West African dress and headdress-Mother Africa herself-faces west. She, too, stretches her arm out, only inches from the man’s hand. But their fingers never touch. It’s a beautiful but haunting symbol of families torn apart and the pain of separation-one that lasted not just a moment, but for whole generations.
As you make your way further in, look down for the Petition Line: words from a real 1779 petition for freedom by twenty enslaved people from Portsmouth are engraved into the ground. Imagine their voices echoing up from the stone, demanding justice.
There’s more to witness-a ceremonial cover marks where the remains were reinterred in 2015, and eight luminous community figures gather, almost as if holding silent vigil for those who rest beneath. Along the fence you might notice a special pattern inspired by Kinte cloth, a West African motif calling back to the heritage of those honored here.
And how about this for a twist: the site actually cost over $1.1 million to bring to life, but every dollar was raised by the people of Portsmouth, local businesses, and even the city itself. Newcastle might have a lobster boat or two, but Portsmouth’s got a memorial that brings the whole community together-past, present, and future.
So, as you stand here, maybe let the quiet wrap around you for a moment. Pay a silent hello to those long gone, and remember how, thanks to a city that cared, their story isn’t hidden anymore.
