History has a habit of filing away the extraordinary, especially when it challenges its neat bounds of race, geography, and power. One of those stories is that of Yasuke, an African who became a samurai in 16th-century Japan. Yasuke's life is neither a work of fiction or a page from manga; it is documented in Japanese chronicles, European travel accounts, and oral retellings from around the world. His existence challenges conventional narratives of identity. He was African, most likely from Mozambique. He travelled with Jesuit missionaries. And then, through the sheer attraction of his appearance and demeanour, he entered the court of Oda Nobunaga, one of Japan's most powerful warlords, and was granted the title of samurai. This is not a made-up story to make us feel good about representation; it actually happened. And it's about time more people heard it.

To understand Yasuke, one must first comprehend the era in which he arrived. In the 1500s, Japan was divided and on fire. The Sengoku Jidai, or "Warring States Period," was a period of civil war, power struggles, and unification efforts led by the sengoku daimyo, or warlords. Oda Nobunaga was the most ambitious of them all, aiming to stop the anarchy and unify Japan under his authority. It was during this time, in 1579 that Yasuke stepped on Japanese soil—brought along by Jesuit missionaries, most notably Alessandro Valignano, a visiting inspector for missions in the region. Yasuke was more than just an attendant. His tall build of more than six feet, strength, and remarkable look drew immediate attention.

The Japanese had never seen a Black man before, thus Yasuke's arrival caused a stir. According to historical sources, crowds gathered to catch a glimpse of him. Some assumed his skin was painted, and records note that Nobunaga stripped Yasuke to the waist and scrubbed him, hoping the colour might come off. However, what could have remained a spectacle suddenly evolved into something far more deep. Nobunaga was astonished not only by Yasuke's physical appearance, but also by his intelligence, poise, and multilingualism. He saw Yasuke as a possible ally rather than a source of curiosity. The decision to promote Yasuke from outsider to samurai was not taken lightly. It reflected Nobunaga's foresighted, almost merciless pragmatism. He prioritized skill and loyalty over race.

Yasuke's new status gave him privileges that few non-Japanese, and certainly no other African, had ever had. He was given a home, a short sword (a symbol of warrior status), and a stipend. He dined with Nobunaga, accompanied him to meetings, and fought beside him in battle. Yasuke was a samurai by all standards at the time. And not just ceremonially; he fought. He is reported to have taken part in significant campaigns, notably the deadly clashes surrounding Nobunaga's ascension to power. His rise to power was nothing short of revolutionary in feudal Japan's regimented and repressive culture.

What made Yasuke so uniquely suited to this moment in history was more than physicality. He represented a kind of global convergence—the intersection of African origin, European religious networks, and Japanese military tradition. His life was a collision of three continents at a time when globalization was barely a whisper. And yet, unlike many cross-cultural figures, Yasuke did not vanish into assimilation. His Blackness was not erased to fit into Japanese society; it was acknowledged, even honored. Japanese records refer to him as “kuro-suke”—a black retainer—and never once attempt to whitewash his identity. In a world where race would become a harsh dividing line, Yasuke lived before those walls were fully built.

The fall came, as it always seems to in warrior tales. In 1582, Nobunaga was betrayed by a general and forced to commit seppuku, a ritual suicide. Yasuke was present and reportedly assisted in defending Nobunaga's heir. However, the man who carried out the coup, Akechi Mitsuhide, captured Yasuke following the lord's death l. It's unclear what happened next. According to reports, Akechi sent Yasuke back to the Jesuits after calling him a "beast" who was incapable of comprehending culture. However, humiliation is not the end of Yasuke's journey, even in that time of defeat. He was not erased. He returned, quietly, to the margins of history—but he left an imprint no scholar could fully ignore.

The question that hangs over Yasuke’s story isn’t just “What happened to him?” but “Why don’t more people know he existed?” In Africa, his name is barely known, despite his roots likely tracing back to Mozambique’s Makua people. In the West, he’s still a novelty—more meme than man, often reduced to a quirky fact in trivia columns or as an exaggerated figure in anime. But in Japan, where records are meticulously kept, his presence is part of the historical tapestry. They remember Yasuke. So why don’t we?

Part of the reason lies in how history has been curated for us. Stories about African agency and global presence prior to enslavement are either ignored or suppressed since the transatlantic slave trade has so heavily influenced the global Black narrative. However, a broader perspective is necessary in light of Yasuke’s life. He is proof that Africans were not only present in distant lands before colonialism but were recognized for their value, their dignity, and their strength. In Japan, he wasn’t a slave. They knighted him. He wasn’t a novelty act. He was a warrior. His story does not need to be romanticized—it only needs to be told with the seriousness it deserves. 

To resurrect Yasuke’s memory is not to borrow Japan’s glory, but to restore Africa’s reach. His is not an adopted legacy—it’s an African story that took place on foreign soil. And in claiming it, we claim what has always been true: that Africa’s children have always walked the world, shaping it with their courage, their grace, and sometimes, with their sword.