Small Girl, Big America

 

Today is my second day in America. But it is the first day I have walked on the streets. Which, by the way, is very different from my hometown. While my hometown has a million people walking in every direction, conversing and laughing, I was the only pedestrian in the street! However, I am not complaining; I enjoyed the walk and came home with clean shoes, while a walk in my village would have resulted in washing red soil off the shoes for hours, and words have not been invented yet for my dislike of washing shoes. Anyways, I saw a cute "pick up after your pet sign on the walk" which made me think, are you picking the toys they leave behind when you are playing "catch," or do you clean up the poop on the pavement? I wanted to take a photo of the cute poster, but behind it was someone's car, and the number plate was visible. So, I got scared for a hot minute because what if that was trespassing?

Yesterday I went to Target for shopping. I was keeping my host's daughter company as she picked up back-to-school items. It was fun until I broke off with the team and walked alone around the mall. I saw a guard behind me twice or three times. And I froze, thinking he was following me. Until he diverted and went to the backroom.

The day I arrived, my host was stopped by the police. He asked for his license and registration, as in the movies. I found that exciting and familiar. However, when he got the license, it showed he lived in a different neighborhood. He asked if my host really stayed in that neighborhood! And that felt familiar! Not in a good way. My host had just bought a house a week before, hence the difference in details. The police let us go, but I didn't expect that.

Today, as I sit here, I realize that I am afraid! I am afraid of being a little black girl in the big America. I am afraid because I do not know my place, and when I do, I am afraid others don't, and when they do, I am afraid they might feel I have infringed on their space. You know, all the extremists who think like students and immigrants in this country have come to take away American Jobs and "pollute" the country. I am afraid of them. Now I am here as legally as legal could get, but why does it feel this way? 

Why do I keep wondering if one day I will be walking down the street and get stopped by a cop, and before I know it, my face is on the pavement and my hands behind my back? Worse still, end up like George Floyd or Breonna Taylor

Why do I keep holding back from enjoying this country and capturing every cute little thing in the neighborhood? I fear someone might think I am canvassing their property.

Why do I feel I might end up defenseless in jail or, worse still, deported on something I am innocent about? Why do I feel like I sat down in the middle of the tunnel instead of walking towards the light at the end of the tunnel?

I am scared one day, I will be on a bus or mall, and someone will come in and try to rob the place and then shoot helplessly. I am afraid one day, I will go to grab a coffee and be held hostage by a criminal. I am afraid I might fit a profile and, because of that, be the target of a serial killer. I am afraid of being in the right place at the wrong time and with the wrong people. I am afraid that I may never feel like I belong. I am afraid my accent or color might hold me back from greater heights. I am afraid I will be a victim of the racism pandemic.

A few months after I confirmed I was indeed coming to school in America, Charm made me read home going by Yaa Gyasi. The book had the perspective of people from the same family, one in America and the other in Africa. He always insists I read books, but he was bordering pushy for this one; after reading this book, especially the part where H and his family had to work in coal mines and the later treatment of his son when he went to university, my heart bled. Despite all his family's struggle and how he got there, it still felt like it wasn't enough. So, I asked him, "Why did you insist I read this book," he said the past influences our futures. The stories of our past are written in the very fabric of our present. To change the future, we must first understand the injustices that have shaped our today. But what if we can't fix the injustices?

At this point, I am just spitballing!!

You know, three weeks ago I went to my hometown. I remember texting Pinney that morning to tell her I felt calm and at ease. Like all my worries were cast away in the wind, and I just had a sense of calm! One equal to having double orgasms and some good food immediately after. However, when she asked me how I felt when I reached America, I remember telling her the air was hot and salty, and I felt scared.

The question is, am I scared for my future, my life, or what every day brings forth? Better still, will the fear ever go away? One thing I am certain is, Greater is He who is in me, than he who is in the world( I John 4:4); I will soar!!

By Favor Khaoya