Adaptation
On
January 11, 2001, Ghana Airways flight 1081 left Ghana heading to its
destination: Baltimore, Maryland. My sister, I and my dad were seated in the
coach class. I was very excited! Finally I am going to America. I remembered my
father telling us that what we see on the television about America is not
exactly how the country is structured. “You have to work hard in other to live
that “American dream” he said, but being young and not really worried about my
future, I did not understand his advice. Upon arriving to the United States, as
I stepped out of the airport, I thought to myself, what a country? How come the
air is so cold and why do I have to wear this big jacket? As I looked around and
observed my environment, I immediately felt strange; I knew that it would not
be an easy adaptation. I have always
travelled within Nigeria, and upon arriving to my destination, everywhere seems
the same, people look the same and I can still hear 1 or 2 people speaking my
local dialect. I never felt out of place or challenged even if the place is
kilometers away from home. But for some reason, America was overwhelming to me.
I felt challenged. That excited girl on the airplane was not so excited
anymore. I remembered having the urge to cry on our four hours drive to
Virginia from Baltimore. I hated where I was.
When
we arrived in Norfolk, VA, my dad woke us up to see the tunnel that he has
always told us about. When he visits Nigeria, we always asked him questions
about America, what is the country like and how do the people behave? One of
the things that he always talked about was the tunnel. A road built in the
middle of the sea; amazing architecture found in America the beautiful; the
tunnel connects people from one city to the next, he described. As he always
said, you will never know that you are driving in the water unless someone that
knows the history tells you. As we drove through the tunnel, I was amazed and at
same time terrified; I could not wait for us to reach the end, because I was
getting more anxious as we drove deeper into the tunnel. Five minutes later, we
were finally home, my “American Home”. We were welcomed with KFC and Papa John’s
pizza. I was afraid eating my share of the KFC, because in Nigeria my family
only ate chicken during special occasions, such as Birthdays, Christmas, Easters
etc. My mother laughed as I refused eating the chicken. She said, you are now
in America, where food is in abundance. The next day, she bought McDonald’s, the
day after, Wendy’s, within two weeks, my sister and I ate from all the fast
food restaurants known locally or nationally.
February
5, 2001, I started high school. It was difficult saying high school at first because
it is one of those American terminologies that I was not used to. Before I left
Nigeria, I was in the secondary school. I remembered telling a woman that I was
in the JSS3 (Junior Secondary School 3) when she asked what grade I was in. She
had a puzzled look on her face, and it dawn on me that I have to use the
American terminologies in other to have effective communication. So I said 9th
grade. My mother woke me up at 5:30AM; the bus will be here at 6:50AM, so you
need to be at the bus stop at 6:45AM she said. I was very happy getting ready
for school, finally I will be attending “American school” and I will make “American
friends” I thought to myself. The walk from my house to the bus stop was less
than a minute. As I approach the bus stop, other kids were already there
waiting on the bus. I wanted to say hello but something in me was muted. So I
stood there observing them talk among each other. The bus arrived exactly at 6:50AM.
My
first class period was Algebra 1, my teacher; Mrs. Garman introduced me to the
class as the first African to attend my high school. I was very pleased and
honored but unfortunately that title will make life a horrific torture for the
next three and half years. I became unaccepted because I was an African.
Students made fun of my accent, no one wanted to be my friend because Africans
have diseases, all negative attentions were on me and as they described it, I
was not “cool enough”.
I
sometimes think to myself, If Mrs. Garman had never introduced me; maybe high
school would have been less stressful. I would probably have been invisible and
no one would have known my history.
My first
American friend was a girl named Adrienne. At first, I really thought that
Adrienne was so much fun and she reminded me of my friends back in Nigeria. But
after 3 months of our friendship, I noticed that Adrienne was only my friend
during lunchtime because I buy lunch for her. During class periods, she gangs
up with the bullies to make fun of me; she sets me up to get into confrontation
with other girls; she does not speak to me when she sees me on the hallway but
once lunchtime arrives, she waits at the cafeteria entrance and once she sees
me, she has the biggest smile on her face and she gives me a big hug.
Adrienne,
one of the most popular girls in school, was very tall for 15. She had a
complexion that was very unique: a combination of caramel and dark colors. She
was slightly overweight for her height, because all she ate was junk foods.
During lunch time, Adrienne would hang around me; she would politely ask if I
could buy lunch for her because her mother could not afford to give her lunch
money every day. At first, I was very sympathetic
towards her issue; I did not wait for her to ask to offer. But when I realized
her games, I minimized how much I buy lunch for her. I wanted to completely
stop buying but in my culture it is a sin to leave one starving especially if
you can afford to feed them. One particular day, I was fade up with her, I told
her never to speak to me again. She was very upset with me for talking back to
her so she pushed me and we ended up in a physical combat and I spent the rest
of the day sitting in ISS (In school suspension). When I got home from school I
told my mother about the situation. My mother a dark skinned woman with rounded
face and perfect sets of teeth. Sometimes people ask her if she wore braces
when growing up, her response is always braces are luxury especially if you
grew up in the kind of poverty I endured.
My mother questioned me about everything that led up to the fight, and I
answered correctly. I wanted to lie about buying lunch for Adrienne but I knew
that will cause me a lot of problems later on. Because of the fight, I was
grounded for three weeks.
After fighting with Adrienne, I made
more enemies. All her friends wanted to get into physical combats with me. I was
afraid walking the hallway alone and riding the school bus. I hated going to
school because every day was a battle, no peace of mind. The mockery from other
students also increased, I ended reporting the issue to the student affairs office
but nothing changed. So I began to wonder if this is how the “American people”
behave. Fortunately for me, everything
happened during the last month of the semester and before I knew it, the
semester was over.
Over the summer I pleaded with my
parents to send me back to Nigeria. Going back was not an option because no one
will be there to take care of me. As the summer prolonged, I found myself every
night standing in front of the mirror imitating the American accent. I told
myself that I will speak the “American” English. My accent will not give up my
identity anymore. Every day I practiced.
I watched more American movies and listen to all kinds of American music. I
wanted to be a completely new person by the time school start. I watched a lot
of music videos to pick up on new fashions because my sense of dressing was
“supposedly not cool”.
A
month before school started, I noticed a lot of advertisements for back to
school shopping. When I was in Nigeria, going back to school did not bring any
extra attention. The only things required from the students were to buy the
textbooks and notebooks needed for the term. Some children from rich families
do buy new school uniforms, sandals and book bag every school year. Children
like me will be lucky to get new pairs of socks. I was anxious for back to
school shopping. My goal was to buy
similar clothing of what I saw on the television during the summer vacation. I
persuaded my mother to take me and my sister who is two years younger than I am
to shop for back to school. Because my mom knew the troubles that I was facing
in school, she spent so much money and time trying to make me over before
school started.
On
the first day of the sophomore year, September 5, 2011, I woke up a little
anxious and at the same time terrified. There is a possibility that my first day
would go great or horrible. As I approached the bus stop with my new fashion,
hairstyle, and slightly American accent, I had new confidence in me. I
overheard one of the girls talking about my shoes and how much she likes them.
Another girl complimented me on my hairstyle. I felt the sense of belonging; I
have never been complimented by an “American person”. I knew that my day will
be great. The bus arrived a little later than normal. We had a new bus driver.
When
I arrived to school, I looked around for Adrienne but I did not see her. As I walked the hallway, I could hear some of the kids
talking about my new look, which made me very happy. Fortunately for me,
the day went great. After a week of school, I found out that Adrienne had lost
her mother over the summer and is now living in another city with some family
members. I felt bad for her but at the time very relieved. Although I still have
enemies around the school but Adrienne was my major problem.
With my new look
and confidence, so many “American guys” started noticing my beauty. Many of
them asked me out but I politely declined. A rumor started that the African kid
is a lesbian. She is not into guys.
The
rumor about my lesbianism spread through the entire school like the case of the
Black Death in Europe in the 1940s. I felt very overwhelmed because I thought
that I had finally succeeded in fitting in. Some of the students that were bold
enough asked me directly if I was gay; my answer was always a No! But they
never believed me because I have turned down every date request. The issue here
is that I wish I could go on those dates but my culture will not allow me
because I was very young only fourteen years old. It is a taboo in my culture
for a girl as young as I was to have some kind of attraction and likeness
towards the opposite sex. I wanted to tell my mother about the issue but I knew
that she will probably punish me for even having such discussion with her.
Eventually
I agreed to go on a date with a young lad named Tyson Duran. Tyson was cute. He
was very tall for a sixteen years old lad with a height of 6’0 foot. He was
fair in complexion and had the deepest dimples. During our date, I noticed that
he smiled a lot, having me wondering if he was intentionally smiling because he
knew that I enjoyed watching his dimples. Tyson took me to the restaurant Apple
Bees and then later on we went to the movies where we saw the movie Baby Boy.
Because we were under aged to watch Baby Boy, he paid for a different movie and
we snuck in and watched our movie of choice. During our time in the movies, I
kept thinking to myself that I just committed my first “American Crime”. At
first I felt bad but I was enjoying my company, so as time went on, I really
did not care anymore. At the end of the date, he drove me back to my
neighborhood and by my instruction; he dropped me off half a block from my
house. When he parked the car, he got
out of the car and opened my door, when I stepped out of his car; he hugged me
and gave me my first kiss. The walk back to my house, felt like I was walking
on white clouds. I could swear that I saw an angle smiling at me, I was very
happy. My first date and my first kiss were
blessed by an “America guy”. I could not wait to call my friends in Nigeria and
boost of it. I knew many of them were going to be envious of me.
When
I walked into the house, my mother asked me if I had fun with my friends; I
said yes. Before I went to bed, I had to bring myself back to reality in the
sense that I had to let Tyson know that I was not allowed to have any male
friend, or in the western terminology, a “boyfriend”. When I stepped out of the school bus the next
morning, Tyson was waiting at the entrance door for me. When I saw him, my eyes
lit up and my soul was full of joy. We hugged and he asked if I wanted to get
breakfast with him, I agreed but I knew that I had to speak to him before it
became very hard to end our new formed relationship. That afternoon, Tyson
volunteered to give me a ride home. I was very content with his niceness and I
really thought that he was genuinely a good person. On our way to my house, I
told him that we can only be friends. I explained that it was culturally
forbidden for me to have any kind of attraction towards him. I also explained
that it will be very difficult for us to date due to my living situation. My mother
kept track of where I go and I was only allowed to hang out once in a blue
moon. To my surprise, Tyson was very understanding and respectful to my
situation. He was happy to be my friend and promised to be my ride from school
to home every day.
As
time went on, my friendship with Tyson became stronger. He was my protector in
school. He defended me anything kids wanted to gang up on me. Due to our
friendship, the rumor about my lesbianism ended. Because he was so nice to me,
I was not interested in making other friends. Tyson’s friendship was perfect
with me. He helped me to completely transition into the American lifestyle.
For the next two and half years in high
school, life was a lot better because of Tyson. Some weeks were rough for me
because a lot of students can never stop being ignorant. I was still made fun
of and called different names due to my heritage. As of today, I still believe
that Tyson’s presence in my life reduced a lot of high school stressors.
June
16, 2004, Tyson and I graduated from High school. We were going to different
universities. He received a full scholarship to attend University of Oklahoma,
while I stayed back in Virginia to attend George Mason University. We kept in touch for at least a year, and
then we lost touch. The last time I heard
of him, he is happily married with two children.
I
am always thankful to Tyson because he truly cared for me. He never judged me
or felt superior to me. I am fully adapted in the America culture because of
his influence in my life. As of my
accent, over the years I have learned to talk like an American but sometimes my
accent gives me away. I am not ashamed of it anymore, I am actually very proud
to have an accent that tells the story of my heritage.
