I remember watching the movie Coming to America, and dreaming about one day packing up my bags, getting on that plane for the one-day trip to America from Nigeria, walking the streets of New York or Atlanta, and breathing in the air of fear, excitement, and endless possibilities.
After spending an extra year at home in Nigera after graduating secondary school (high school), my parents and I finally felt comfortable enough for me to fly the roost and travel solo to Atlanta, GA to attend the University of Georgia for my undergraduate studies. Bags packed and a heart filled with excitement and fear, i got on that KLM flight to Atlanta with a connection in Amsterdam. Everything was going so far so good, I had settled in to watch the in-flight entertainment after barely eating the tasteless plane food (except for the rock hard bread roll). After previous holiday trips with my family to the UK and the U.S, I felt confident that I would be able to travel unaccompanied. Upon arriving at Amsterdam, we passengers got in line to get through immigration, and I was busy day dreaming of my new life in Atlanta. I had to snap myself back to reality when I heard the immigration officer say to me "I'm sorry but you cannot enter into Amsterdam". WHAT?!
I felt my whole world crashing before me, and hurried off to make tearful phone calls to my family in Nigeria, and my older sister in America who waiting for me. "Nneka - you are not supposed to leave the Amsterdam airport you are only supposed to pass through with your Schengen transit visa and get on a connecting flight to Atlanta". OH. False alarm guys 🤣😅🤣.
That was my first major learning moment on my solo journey to America, the next was arriving in December of 2001 - 3 month post 9/11. Starting school in January 2002 - I was not prepared for the fear and distrust that lingered in the air for non-Americans, particularly for Muslims. Coming from a third world country, I had never experienced such a tragic event and the more painful aftermath till this day.
I could see the surprise on my classmates' faces when I showed them pictures and described living in the city of Lagos - in actual buildings as opposed to the huts they had seen on tv. From the countless comments about how "my English was so good", I never got tired of educating my new friends about Nigeria's history - our British colonization, our hundreds of tribes, and how our main language is English. They soaked it all in and i was glad to be of service.
Sadly, I couldn't educate my English teachers on the fact that we used the Queen's English, and how my spelling and sentence structures were indeed correct and not deserving of a C or D grade. Can you imagine having to re-learn how to write English, when you already speak and write great English? 😅
Fast forward to 20 years later, and I am grateful that my coming to America has exceeded my wildest dreams and expectations. Can you relate to any of my experiences? I'd love to hear your stories, please comment below! XOXO.
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