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Monday, August 9, 2010

Welcome to America

I hope all of you had a great weekend! Thanks again for checking the blog. Today, I want to talk about a personal experience. Most immigrants would understand what I am talking about. You know that feeling you have when you dream that you will go to America.


It began with a dream. My friend and I used to think that going to America wasn't something that could happen to people like us. When we were younger, we thought that America was a country from outer space. We imagined that Americans were super humans who would blow up the earth and go live in the moon. I remember when Reagan was president; my friend told me that Americans would never let their president die, that they could replace everything in him; his heart, his brain and his body parts to make him immortal. The idea we had was that there was nothing Americans couldn't do. Not to mention the great movies, the terrific music, the splendid beaches and above all, opportunities. In the mind of the African that I was and still am, America was Heaven.



Applying for the American visa in Cameroon was like applying for a seat in paradise. Obtaining the American visa was like obtaining a certificate to become a god. That was what happened to me. When I obtained my American visa in 2006, the world instantaneously shrunk and became like a small ball in my head. I was caught by the invincibility syndrome, I thought there was nothing harder than obtaining an American visa. I felt empowered and transformed; I felt like an American, after all, I was going to America, wasn't I? The party and celebration that followed after I obtained the American visa was indescribable. My friends literally bowed to me when they were talking to me. For them, I wasn't like them anymore. I was different; I was an "American" already. My visa was the key to success and life.



On Friday, December 29, 2006 when my plane landed at JFK, I couldn't believe that I was breathing the same air as the people I saw on movies or those I thought were super humans. A couple of hours later, when I was welcomed at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport in the middle of the winter, the cold air that hit me there was the first hint of what my hopes, boldness and dreams were going to turn into.



After two weeks in Atlanta and one week in Nashville, I couldn't recognize my face anymore. My visage was lacerated by the icy-cold weather, it was dry and the skin began to peel off, I was worried, but I survived it. The real baptism was when I moved to California. I arrived at the San Francisco International Airport on Wednesday, January 17, 2007 at 9:35 pm. My host drove me to San Jose. Two weeks later I was struck by paralyzing sciatica. I was bed-stricken for four months and my best and only friend was loneliness. Loneliness? I never knew what that meant when I was in Cameroon. Well, I soon had to get used to it. Living in the suburb of San Jose didn't help me much. I had an excruciating pain and had nobody to talk to. I had to crawl to get a glass of water to drink. There were no human beings around. When I peeked outside, all I could see were cars going up and down. When I started walking with crutches, I went to a freeway overpass off Saratoga Avenue. I was standing there looking at the cars speeding on either bound of the freeway. I began to think of where those cars might possibly be going in such a hurry. I then called my host and begged him to take me where I could physically see people. He felt sorry for me and took me to a mall at around 11pm. I was so happy to see real people walking and talking, not mirages or shadows.



When I began to shop, I was faced with self-service machines and the other option was on-line services. Everything was setup as a barrier between people. I was shocked to see some people rushing or literally running to do something. Folks gave me their phone numbers or emails, but they never returned calls or messages. They certainly were too busy. Nobody ever had time to talk or socialize. I became slowly disillusioned about everything I read, heard or saw on TV or movies. At work, I always had the feeling that people were talking in parables or behind my back. Even the English language that I learnt back home became totally different from the one spoken in America. I met a guy whom I thought was my best friend, but I discovered that he hung out with me simply because I could pick him up and drop him off. Everything seemed fake and superficial. I became more and more isolated. Back home, I used to have dozens of friends around me every day, but now and here I was looking for only one real and less superficial friend.



I walked on the street, nobody waved to me. Everybody looked sad, stressed or depressed. I wondered if the images of the hungry African children that they showed on the news weren't far much better than those faces I saw. The faces of fear and worry. The visages that were scared to lose their jobs and homes. Those faces that struggled to make ends meet. Those faces that were so cold and distant. Those faces that were so isolated and isolating. Those faces that were restless and looking for a job. Those faces that didn't know true happiness. Those faces that were scared to go back home and find nobody to talk to. Those faces that were afraid to wake up in the morning and realize that they were all alone. Those faces that were anxious about the future. Those faces that were struggling to find the right partner. Those faces that were engaged in improbable love. Those faces that always met people who were emotionally unavailable. Those faces that thought they ran out of time to start a family. Those faces that lived recklessly to conceal their unhappiness. Those faces that couldn't find peace from within themselves. Those faces that went through a painful divorce or break-up and couldn't get over it. Those faces that were hurt in the past and feared to trust again. Those faces that were in good relationships for the bad reasons. Those faces that were in bad relationships for the good reasons. Those faces that were so withered by incessant tribulations. Those faces that cried for help.



I was one of those faces. On Saturday, April 10, 2010, I had a surgery and stayed at the hospital for six days. I had no visits and realized how lonely I was. For the first time, since I came to America, I missed home (Cameroon). Whenever I felt lonely, an echo in the back of my mind would say "welcome to America." I would go to the Emeryville or Berkeley Marina and stare at the water or go to the Oakland-Berkeley hills and walk on the Skyline hiking trail and comfort myself and say "you are not alone".


I love this country for all the opportunities it offers, but sometimes, I wonder if the pursuit of happiness isn't simply a new form of slavery? Am I not slowly being transformed into a cold and heartless robot? Can I chase the wind and catch it, or run after the time and tame it? Why do I feel lonely even when I am in the middle of the multitude? Why should we feel isolated? What has become of our sense of humanity? I am blessed and lucky to be in this wonderful country, but how can we make it a much better, less isolating and more sociable place?

3 comments:

  1. Very touching post, Ebede. A good exploration of the disillusionment one feels when the "promised land" doesn't turn out to be so wonderful after all. I think we need these stories from people who have emigrated here because we need the outside perspective. People who grow up in this country think this way of life is "normal", then wonder why they are so miserable.
    By the way, I too was hospitalized for an unforeseen medical complication and I too felt very lonely. I had few visitors (and I'm someone who grew up right here!)

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  2. Hi Ebede,

    I read your most recent post, and tried to comment on there, but it wouldn't let me. Here is my response...
    Loneliness is a normal part of living, but I think it is especially prevalent in the States because of how hurried life is here. We are taught to live for the future. People feel like they don't have time to connect with another human on a regular basis. Also, your loneliness was amplified because you are in a new place and also mainly because reality did not meet your expectations of what life would be like in the U.S. Maybe now that you've been able to experience the U.S., you can see why I think Cameroon is such a treasure. : ) Being there, I was able to live in the moment and experience true peace.

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  3. You are right Liz! Now I understand why when you were in Cameroon, you were radiant and happy. I never doubted that Cameroon was a treasure. If only we had a system that creates opportunities, I don't think anybody would want to leave. I guess you can't have it both ways. In the US, the price of opportunities might be loneliness and in Cameroon, the price of socialization might be lack of opportunities.
    I appreciate you comment.

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