I arrived in America one sunny morning. But I did not feel I was hereyet. Flying on an airplane from Lagos, Nigeria to New York City, toLos Angeles, California did not carry my mind with me right away. Ihad to catch up with my body. The United States is where I had wantedto live for a long time. Now here I was. Driving through the desert ofLos Angeles. The land was cut through with long wide roads that weretoo smooth and flat to seem seam wheel. The roads had no holes orother blocks that I was used to at home. Outside my car window, thehigh, hard, grave rocks did not welcome me. Would this really be home?
During my first month, I liked to drive through well-known costlyareas of Los Angeles such as Sunset Boulevard, Wilshire Boulevard andRodeo Drive. The buildings there were tall, shiny and in strangeshapes. The stores were filled with clothes and other costly things Icould not imagine buying or wearing. On my way home, I drove throughpoor areas of Los Angeles. People sat in the street asking for money.
The buildings were dirty and their windows had no glass. The areafilled me with fear.
Which side of America would I end up in, the rich or the poor? I cameto this country with nothing. But I believed I had a chance here. InAmerica, anyone could become rich, right? I was very lonely. I hadleft all my family behind in Nigeria. When I got tired of stayinginside the house, I took walks up some hills near my house. I wanna tofeel the sun, touch the warm earth and see the blue sky that was thesame as the one at home. There were no huge trees with thick spreadingbranches and heavy green leaves to protect me from the sun. The soilwas not dark brown and rich. It was light brown and dry like sand.
There were small stones everywhere and small brown bushes covered thehillsides.
Again, I had to face the fact that this was not home which was all Ihad known. Only the strong steady shine of the sun was the same. Thatat least made me happy. The sun was my first friend.
MusicI decided to join a walking group that I read about in a localnewspaper. I had been brave enough to leave my home thousands of milesaway. Surely I could meet new people and force myself to talk to them.
One late Saturday, we gathered at the bottom of the Outdina Hills,east of Los Angeles. It was slowly growing dark. Everyone was wearingblue jeans and T-shirts except me. It was as if someone had told themwhat to wear. Instead I wore a dress and walked alone behind familygroups. The children spoke in high American voices. I kept waiting forthem to speak normally, that is, without an American accent. To me,normal meant Nigerian. Would my voice become American like theirs?
The leader of the walking group was a man who knew all about plantsthat grew in the Sima Desert. He talked about burroweed, chaparral andother plants. He kept on talking. Suddenly in the dark, firefliesappeared turning on and off like little lights. The small lights shonelike stars floating among us. All of us were silenced, including thegroup leader and the children. Then the children tried to catch themoving lights, laughing and running around. The parents smiled.
Suddenly I said: "We have lots of fireflies at home."My voice sounded strange even to me. I do not know what made me talk.
The others turned and asked, "Where is home?"I answered, "Nigeria."They were surprised and asked even more questions.
One boy shouted, "Africa. Do you have lions in your homes?"Another child asked, "Do you eat zebra meat? And please take me backwith you."Everyone laughed and I did too. They asked more questions as wereturned back down the hill. They were very friendly. What adifference it makes to talk to people? This warmed my heart and Idrove home smiling.
MusicI got a job as an administrative assistant at an oil company. I waspaid twelve dollars an hour. It was more money than I'd ever been paidin my life. I had a college degree. In Nigeria, I had worked for thegovernment but I had trouble paying all my expenses. So now in LosAngeles, I felt rich even if I was poor compared to other Americans.
What could I do but spend the money? I was too excited to save it.
I bought a car which I could pay for for over six years. That would beeasy. I bought a wide new bed with shiny gold designs on it. It was alarge queen-size bed just for me. I bought clothes too, of course.
Clothes for the office and clothes for church. Clothes for nightparties and afternoon parties even though I had not been invited toany parties yet. Now I needed shoes to match all those dresses,blouses and pants. At home I had one black pair of shoes for work andanother for church and parties. Now I could buy high heels, boots,open toed shoes, leather and suede shoes, shoes in blue, red, greenand white. I, too, would wear new shoes only.
I bought a television, radio, computer, a music system and new thingsfor my kitchen. For once all these things were mine and they were allnew. I would not have to share them with ten other people. All I hadto do was give the salesperson my credit card and she let me take whatever I wanted. It was as if no real money was involved. She also saidI did not have to pay right away. Imagine that!
My smaller apartment became full, boxes of all sizes now sat in myliving room. They did not move or talk to me. Shopping and unpackingand reorganizing my apartment took up all my time. But what else did Ihave to do? Things instead of people filled my life.
MusicMost of the people I worked with were much younger than I was. Theyhad just finished college. They all hoped to get other jobs doing whatthey really wanna to do. Michael wrote screenplays for movies, but hehad not sold any of his screenplays yet. John, Lily and Tuwana tookacting classes. They said someday they would act in movies or at leastin television. And what about me, they asked. Why did I come to LosAngeles? I said I was looking for a better life, to make more moneyand be independent. "And of course you have found it." Lily said.
"That's great!" Michael added, "You are very lucky to be in the UnitedStates. Everybody wants to come here."Later that evening, I was having dinner alone with my boxes. I askedmyself, "Had I found a better life?" I realized that I had never eatena meal by myself before I came to America. My co-workers got used tome, and I got used to them. They often invited me to eat and drinkwith them after work. Lily, Michael and Peter talked about their bigplans for the future most of the time. They kept asking me, "What doyou really want?" "You mean if I had a choice." I asked. They laughed.
"Of course you have a choice." Lily said. "It's your life." They allsaid together. To tell the truth, I had not really thought about mylife that way. I'd always done what was necessary, not what I wanted.
Now I had nothing to stop me. What did I really want? I could go backto school and study nursing, teaching, business management, or art. Icould read my secret poems in coffee shops all over the city. I couldget along to open a business for African hairstyling. I could startdreaming of a future that I could design. Imagine that......
MusicYou have just heard the American Story "Lost and Found in LosAngeles". Your storyteller was Gwen Outen. This story was written andadapted for Special English by Doreen Baingana. Listen again next weekat this time for another American Story in Special English on theVoice of America. |