Five years ago today, I woke up in my new room, in my new home. Five years ago, I woke up on the first day of my new life here in the United States.

            I was a fresh-faced 12-year old with a thick Swahili accent. I didn’t know what to expect and I was anxious to see what America had in store for me.

First tears…

            There was nothing sentimental about it but I remember the first tears I shed on American soil very vividly. It wasn’t because I missed my father or any other family member. It wasn’t because I missed my friends from church. It wasn’t because I missed my schoolmates. But it was simply because they wouldn’t let me enter 8^th grade when I first enrolled in middle school.

            See in Tanzania I worked so hard to skip a grade and get into Form 1 (8^th grade equivalent) and excelling academically like that gave me some sort of bragging rights that I held very dearly and having that stripped from you was heartbreaking.

7^th grade didn’t prove to be a walk in the park after all. I was socially awkward because of my accent and people teased me for it but I overcame the emotional toll and excelled with my studies.

Her sacrifice, my gain

            My mother worked very hard to get my brother and I in the United States and worked even harder to make the transition as smooth as possible. After 5 years of ups and down, and five years of maturing and growing in this society, I am grateful that her diligence brought me here.