4 min read

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1 day ago

I could not have been more prepared and also underprepared for my journey in the land of the free and the home of the brave. I came to America for an undergraduate degree; never in a million years would I have guessed that most of my closest friends, people I would consider almost family, wouldn’t even share the same skin color as me. When I knew I was coming to America, I went through a tsunami of emotions. I was excited, sad, anxious, nervous, and scared. The major things I worried about were doing well in school and making friends. I imagined the latter would be more difficult due to my introverted nature. So, I did what most introverts do and started practicing different conversation scenarios and ice breakers. If only I knew how futile that endeavor was. When I landed in Nashville, I could immediately see the differences between my country of birth and the one I just landed in. And it wasn’t the race of the people around me. With all these emotions going on in my mind, I knew I had to focus on practicalities, starting with my new apartment. When I arrived at my apartment, I unpacked, put everything together, and then headed off to the nearest supermarket to get the other essentials I needed. That supermarket was Walmart, and I had never seen a supermarket that big in my life. It had everything I was looking for and things I didn’t even think I needed until I saw them. I got what I needed and went home to set everything up. After setting up, I felt a sense of accomplishment that drove me towards the next important step: registering for classes. When I arrived in America, classes had already started for a week. I missed orientation and had to figure out how to register for classes, knowing where to find the buildings for my classes, etc. Luckily for me, I met a few people from other African countries on my second day who put me through everything. As a Nigerian in America, the first thing you notice in a classroom in America is how different the educational system is. The Teachers/Professors were more nurturing, easier to approach, eager to help, and were quick to encourage rather than criticize. I found myself being friendly with my professors, something I never would have been able to do back home. But I also noticed that the content of the Nigerian education system is world-class. I mentioned how worried I was about making friends and how I even practiced different conversation scenarios. In all of my scenarios, the people I was having conversations with were black. I didn’t see a reason that wouldn’t be the case. But in every single class I walked into, I was either the only black person in the class, or it was just a handful of us in there. I had never been in a situation like that before, and I can’t even begin to explain how intimidating and uncomfortable that was. As a self-diagnosed overthinker, my brain went into overdrive. I started wondering if the different scenarios I went through would work with a white person. Then I realized I was doing what most racists do: I was focusing on the differences we had and ignoring the commonalities. They were my peers, fellow Engineering majors. So, I figured I could use coursework and studying as a way to make friends, and it worked. It went from studying together to hanging out outside school. There were a few things that threw me off, which I guess count as part of the country’s culture. I never understood why people would go into the woods with rifles to hunt when they didn’t have to. Or why everyone felt the need to be armed. But the one that threw me off the most was DIP. All these things were strange to me, but I’m sure there are probably a few things about my culture they would have found strange too. As a Nigerian coming to America, everyone congratulates you and tells you how lucky you are, and you’re going to a place where you can have a better life. But no one tells you how isolating it can be, or the depression that can come along with it. No one tells you how much you’ll miss home, your family, the food, the music, your country, even with all its faults. Coming to America can be the best thing you can do for yourself, your career, and your family, but from my experience, in the end, there truly is no place like home.