America, 3 years later...
A meditation on migration from Zimbabwe to the US.
March of this year marked three years since I moved to the United States from Zimbabwe. If we were having a conversation over dinner and you asked me how that has been, this is what I would say:
With every passing day, the memory of home slips away. Against my wishes, that reality seems inevitable. As I write this, Zimbabwe recently introduced a gold-backed currency called the ZIG. My two $20 bond notes, one $10 note and a $5 have suddenly become valueless. They were kept in my wallet for the past three years as my only Zimbabwean money. Frankly, they had become more of a token of what was and not soon-to-be-used money. How the new currency affects the average Zimbabwean, despite currency swaps not being a new thing to my homeland, is something I contend with from Twitter threads and TikTok videos.
Migrating uproots you from the immediate identification with the struggles of home. The danger, which for some is a welcomed escape, is that you forget where you come from and get carried away by the winds of the new world.
To forget home or not to forget home, that is the question.
I try not to forget or detach from the status quo because not forgetting, I believe, allows me to appreciate the good that I may be experiencing vis-à-vis the struggles that may be home, but, more importantly, it enables me to sympathize with home and wish to find solutions for the average youth like myself who still languish in Zimbabwe’s ever-getting-better governance. I desire this to be the case for every Zimbabwean abroad.
Fun fact: Zimbabwe is the only country in the world to ever print out a one trillion dollar banknote, with all the zeroes. Wild! But, history remembers the exceptions and we didn't disappoint there.
If you asked me about how life has been in America, I would default to my unfortunate encounter with the police. I would tell you how while minding my own business, walking from a plaza, carrying a checkers board I had legitimately procured, a grey police SUV appeared out of nowhere and parked next to me then a tall, white policeman pushed me against the car and asked me why I had run from a crime scene on the opposite highway of the plaza. After patting me down, leading me to the back seat and running my name in their fancy computers inside the car, I was let go. My yellow hoodie, height and race were the description they were looking for, and my freedom came from my hoodie not having a large black print on the back. Having heard all the stories about police brutality against black people and the realities of racism in America, although my case was handled well, I would tell you that I felt initiated and part of the American system after that encounter.
If you were to ask me about my social life, about making friends and dabbling in romance I would tell you that either America is the pits or I’m just not trying enough. Being a young adult in America, post-college and in the corporate workspace, there are a limited number of gatherings where you can associate and hope to form bonds that can translate to friendships or romantic relationships. I would tell you that my community came from church. College was not a friend to me when it came to making friends, particularly because I only did three semesters abroad, and all of those semesters were commuted from home while daring not to partake in after-class activities. However, while this may have been my doing, I’d tell you that it matters what state you’re in, what job you have and what city you are in among many other factors.
The stories you hear online about immigrants being lonely abroad are true. There is a certain intense intentionality for a community in Zimbabwe, or Africa in general than there is in the West. Here, there’s no urgency when it comes to shunning individuality over community. And if one is not intentional about removing themselves from the comfort of their apartment to go out and meet people, the universe rarely provides spaces for such desires. To make matters worse, it's reported that America has a loneliness epidemic. So, who am I in the face of what seems to be a national problem?
If you were still conversing with me, I would be interested in dissecting the luxury of the American dream with you. It’s not lost on me that the possibilities of coming to the US as an immigrant and achieving your wildest dreams, getting wealthy and financially free are true. I have had to contend with that “how”. How do I move from a 9-5 to ultimately living my wildest dream, travelling the world, talking to people coming up with solutions for the problems faced by our people back home and, above all, telling stories?
When one has a steady paycheck and occasionally sends money back home for granny, the danger is that comfort. The alternative is frightening; to go all out on your dreams like the motivational speakers always say, and dare to be bold. However, the constant in all this is that America is one of the few countries where pursuing one's dreams to their utmost greatest heights can easily be a reality. Also, there seems to be a market for making a living just about any weird talent you can think of. In the most cliche of terms, America is still the land of opportunities especially for immigrants like me.
After 1994’s first democratic election, South Africa was termed the “Rainbow nation” because of its multicultural society. About America's multicultural society, I would term America the “Rainbow-yest nation”. Living here removed me from assuming everything is normal and unique to my culture. How the average African self actualises home and abroad is prone to be different than a fellow Hispanic, Asian, African American et al. When you see all these differences and eat the different delicate cuisines from various cultures you appreciate humanity even more, at least for me. It is this way of seeing the world, where we accept that with all our differences, we are more alike in unity and love than when systems are put in place to other others and elevate some on abstract metrics.
Now that we’ve come to the end of our dinner, I’d tell you that while you can create a home abroad, home back home is warmer than trying to Adult in a foreign land.
Aluta Continua!
PS: Good to be back, again.
I found you via Austin Kleon chat! I have a rather eclectic constellation of interests, that include art, storytelling, and community organizing. Some of that involves connecting specifically with displaced people and refugees in Africa. I don't have an immigrant experience being from here, but I've spent a lot of my volunteer life here working with refugees and helping them acclimate to the US. Including organizing cross-cultural exchanges so that they can feel like they're part of American communities. However, I don't even know if there is such a thing as community in a geographic sense in America anymore. At least where I live, in Massachusetts, it's pretty difficult to connect with people. I look forward to reading more of your posts. If you're interested in art and cultural exchange, I've got something going on with refugee artists in Uganda on June 1st. Details on my profile. Nice to meet you!