Shifting to a new city seems to be intimidating at times but shifting to a new country filled

with racism is a daunting task on its own, especially for a student. Like all immigrants we
shifted to the US with dreams and hopes for a better future, life and education. The life of a
single mother with the job of raising two kids in a world where you’re not truly accepted
was punishing. However, the drive for the promise of a future out of the African slums was
greater. The most important aspect of being a child growing up is to be accepted by those
around you. Then and only then can the child nourish. Before coming to America, as a child,
I never saw myself as black or others as white. I never saw colour to be a discriminating
factor. But the racist world had begun to push down on me and soon after our arrival I
began to feel the repulsion people often feel towards their unacceptable identity. As quite
child being bullied around it never entered my teenage mind to tell my overburdened
mother about it. I could not focus in school but could not disappoint my mother with lack of
focus. She wanted us to excel. Because, in her eyes it was only us who could build the future
she had dreamed of, we were the only ones who could reward her for her tiring life. But
similar to all teenagers I became immersed in my own struggles, I wanted to be accepted,
forgetting that in order to be accepted I first had to accept who I was. I became ashamed of
my own culture, my own association with my birth state Africa to just be one of the
Americans. To be as one in the land of the free. I rejected my identity as an African and
embraced my new forming identity as an American. The only aspects of myself that I could
change, I nabbed them by the neck. I worked on getting rid of my accent. Dissociating with
my culture and in large part my family as well .Still in my naïve mind I did not comprehend
that my identity was not to be ashamed of, that I could not hid the evidence of what I had
inherited, that my culture is my identity, my home-state is a part of my identity and so was
being American. The hurdle in the American dream that we did not imagine had wanted us
in the shadows. It seemed as I grew older that because of my darker complexion, something
I had no control over, I had to prove myself in every opportunity in comparison to my
counterparts. To be associated as violent even with my even temperament was beyond
difficult. To be segregated at each point was onerous. I began to realise that I might never fit
into these American whites. It was not I who was repulsive but their racist mindset. I saw
myself being segregated but I also saw my Mexican and Indian friends being punished for
their uniqueness as well. My mother, my confidante, my friend saw my struggle. She was
always by my side even through my angsty teenagers. I saw that I was disappointing her
more with my attitude than with my dropping grades. I tried diligently for years to remove
what was considered wrong about me and failed. maybe it was time now to accept what I
had repelled against. My identity is what made me unique. The American dream is to be
whatever you want to be. Then why be one of the crowds? The huge burden of being
something I was not, bearing down on my shoulders, lifted. Now I am proud to be African. I
am utterly grateful for the melanin in my skin and my country Africa. And now I accept that I
am Africa and Africa is me.