When my grandmother died in 2022, I heard the news through a phone call from my sister. I had just come back to my college dorm from my thermodynamics class when I received the bad news. I quickly hung up the phone in shock and crawled into my bed, where I proceeded to burst into tears. She was my favorite grandma in the entire world. You see, when I was 7 years old, I was really sick and Western medicine failed to cure me. So my worried dad drove 7 hours to my grandmother’s house for her to treat me. My grandmother understood the assignment because every night, she would pour this bitter liquid down my nose. And every single night, I would scream and cry because it burned so much. It felt like my brain was getting seared in hot oil. At that age, I did not understand why she was doing this. I knew I was sick, and I knew this liquid concoction was some type of traditional medicine, but I didn’t understand why it had to go down my nose, with my aunt and grandma holding me down so that I didn’t run away. Now that I am older, I can see that they were only doing what they knew how to do and it did save my life. To this day, I still don’t know what made me so sick to the point where I was convulsing. All I know is that my sweet, beautiful grandmother saved my life, and I am forever grateful.
Learning about her death while I was abroad with no economic means to attend her funeral was so devastating. For many years, I was a broke middle school student, a broke high school student and a broke college student. A lot of people back home think that living abroad means that you are so rich and have so much money but that is far from the truth. Many people who immigrate to Western countries are living paycheck to paycheck, drowning in student or medical debt, or are struggling to keep their head above water. It’s so difficult to survive in many of these countries, especially if you don’t have the right connections, support system or know the right people. In my case, I wasn’t able to afford a flight ticket to visit my family in Kenya for almost a decade. That is a long time to be away from home and isolated from the only community you know, in a foreign land. Over the years, the phone calls between my grandmother and I dwindled. I don’t regret many things but I wish I had called more when she was in good health.
Heartbreaking circumstances like these remind me of how much time I have lost with my family back home and how much time I will never get back. It reminds me that I am missing out on the lives they are building while they are missing out on the life that I am building here. I know someone is probably thinking that the simplest solution would be to move back home but it’s not that easy. I have built my life abroad and most people who leave their home countries don’t leave because they want to. They leave because they have to. There is a lack of opportunity that is plaguing so many African countries due to the systemic effects of colonization, corrupt African leaders and the constant theft of resources from Africa. These problems provide little to no economic freedom and opportunity for most Africans, especially the African youth. There’s this guilt that comes with knowing that people in your home country are struggling but you don’t have enough resources to help everyone. It’s really unfortunate. At the same time, I still wish there was a world where I could split my time between continents and weave the life I have built abroad with a different simpler life back home. But unfortunately, a world like this does not exist for me…yet.
I went to Kenya in early April and I was so happy to see so many of my family members. The first 2 weeks I was back in the states after visiting my home country were really confusing and challenging. I felt this sense of grief knowing that I was leaving behind people who loved me so much and cared deeply for me. At the same time, I have people here in the states who love me just as much and care deeply for me. After processing all these feelings that have been consuming me in the last few weeks, I have had to remind myself that I only have one life and I refuse to let life happen to me. I can write my own story and carve my own path. When I die, I want to leave this world knowing that I have followed and hopefully conquered my wildest dreams and lived my life according to my own terms. However, this kind of fearless living does not happen in a vacuum or in isolation. Something that I took back with me to the West after visiting my family in Kenya was the importance of having a robust support system and community. It’s very easy to become isolated in the West. Most of us are working to live and pay bills because the only thing that is guaranteed in this lifetime is death, bills and taxes. In addition, the economic and political state of the world is worsening. As such, it’s very easy to opt out of society and community because we are overwhelmed. Going back home made me realize that this is the time to lean into the people around you and support each other. Kenya is currently going through some of the toughest times politically and economically but somehow people are still undeniably resilient. I think the reason most Kenyans are weathering this storm is because they understand the power of community. For example, most of my dad’s side of the family lives walking distance from each other. They are always going on impromptu lunch dates, they hang out all the time, and they see their friends very often…..it was so fun to experience this in real time. I was so happy. Some of these are things that I already do with my friends but seeing it happen in real time reminded me that I could do an even better job at supporting my community. I hate phone calls and I am a chronic texter but I have been making an effort to call people more and check in on people even when life is kicking my butt because again, it’s very easy to become a recluse and be isolated from everyone.
Even though I can’t see my family back home as often as I would like, those short moments when I get to see them mean the world to me and they are some of my happiest memories. I feel so grounded and at peace without a single care in the world when I am back home but I also feel at peace when I am in my little apartment with my cat running around because of her afternoon zoomies. I feel so lucky and so privileged to have been able to experience both lives because my worldview feels like it has expanded and there is room for even more possibilities in my life.
To all first generation immigrant kids who know this feeling deeply, I hope that you are holding onto where you’re from and that you are wearing your identity with pride. Yes, assimilation can make you feel unrooted…like you’re losing pieces of yourself in the process. But remembering your roots and where you are from will make you feel anchored. Stay connected to your culture, honor your heritage, and never forget that where you come from is just as important as where you’re going.
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