One Girl, Two Worlds

Art by Tracy Jackson | VOX Staff

By Modupe Alabi | VOX Staff

In 2003, Nigerians were reported to be the “happiest people in the world.” That was according to a survey published in New Scientist magazine. The United States was the 16th happiest nation. If that was the case, I wondered why my family left Nigeria for the United States in 1999.
I spent the first few years of my life living in an upper-class community in the cities of Lagos and Ibadan, Nigeria. My mother was Owo royalty (Owo is the Nigerian city-state that my mother’s family governs), and my father was a well-respected military veteran who ran very successful companies. My older brother and sister and I went to good private schools. We even had maids and guards who worked for us. But a little before I turned 6, my father decided to move our family to America. If we already lived a pretty privileged life then in Nigeria, why were we leaving? I wondered.
I didn’t come to appreciate the differences and opportunities I have in the States until a few years ago.

Cold Welcome
When our plane landed in late March, it was very cold. All I could think about was why the weather was so different and where we were going to stay. Nigeria has basically two seasons, wet and dry, during which it can be really hot or pleasantly cool. When we arrived in Atlanta, it was freezing. My face hurt, my eyes stung from the cold winds, and I expected to see snow. I was disappointed that I only saw a dark midnight sky. My older sister thought that we should get back on our plane.
“Mom, is the weather always like this?” she asked.
“No, America has different seasons.” Our mother answered. Different seasons? I thought, what’s that like? I came to realize that every three to four months, clothing would change, temperatures would change, even food changed. Winter was and is still my favorite season. I get excited knowing that I get to experience cold Christmases like the ones I only saw on “Dexter’s Lab” and “Scooby Doo” holiday specials back in Nigeria.
When we got to my uncle’s house in Lithonia, we met his wife and some of his neighbors. One of them was a boy who was about my age, so I started talking to him.
“Why do you talk so weird?” he asked in reference to my thick accent. I almost asked him the same thing, but that’s when it really hit me. I was in a whole different world.

First Impressions
On our first day of school, my older sister, brother and I wore our matching uniforms from our schools back home. We stood out like sore thumbs. I walked into my kindergarten classroom and didn’t know what to think of the place. I wondered, why’s this room so colorful? Why are there round tables? What the heck is naptime? When does the daily assembly start? And last but not least, why isn’t anyone else wearing a uniform?
Also, I’d been reading and writing since I was 2, but some of my classmates here could barely recognize the letters of the alphabet. Back home this was almost unacceptable. I was definitely confused.
I still had a good time with the well-to-do-with students at Rock Chapel Elementary in Lithonia. But there were also moments when the teachers would speak and my classmates wouldn’t listen and got out of hand.
At my school back in Ibadan, children had to do what they were told, when they were told or else face being physically disciplined. That meant punishments like spankings or canings with a wooden cane. They were normal for me to see and seemed much more effective than “time-out.” It wasn’t like the Nigerian school system was all about military style. We did have playtime, but that was saved for the end of the day. It was just that if we had the privilege of attending school, our family must have money to afford school, so we had to respect for our teachers, behave and obey. Public schools were rare, and if you couldn’t afford school, you worked.
Every day here, I saw classmates overlook just how many privileges they received. They didn’t care what people went through for equal opportunities among races and sexes and the freedoms listed in the First Amendment. Public schools offer free books, free food and the right to be educated. Millions of children around the world would give an arm and a leg for teachers to help them become somebody and achieve their dreams. Here teachers can get talked backed to, mistreated and downright disrespected. Sometimes, it makes me very disappointed to admit that this is the generation I grew up with.
One thing I do like is the diversity here. My elementary schoolmates looked like children from “Problem Child,” “Power Rangers” and “Barney.” It’s not like Nigeria didn’t have other races; I just wasn’t used to seeing them all at once and my age. It’s probably my favorite thing about America.

Same Differences
It’s been hard to keep up with my Yoruba heritage (Yoruba is the tribe that my family is from) because I’ve gotten accustomed to speaking a different way, dressing a different way and eating a different way than I would have if we’d stayed in Nigeria. Of course, my family doesn’t have the huge mansion and house staff that we did back in Nigeria. Since we moved here, my parents have had two more daughters. So now I’m part of an eight-person family, and that’s never easy. There are some other major differences between lifestyles. And sometimes these lifestyles conflict.
When my siblings and I scream “pizza!” my mom says “fried rice” (the Nigerian version has a buttery flavor and lighter color than Chinese fried rice). When it’s time for church and I’m eyeing a pencil skirt and an adorable blouse, my mom is eyeing an iro and buba set (traditional Nigerian wear, known here in the States as African attire).
In Nigeria, we spoke British-influenced English and our native language of Yoruba. But since I came here very young, I barely had time to develop my Yoruba. So when it’s time for one of our many family get-togethers and my relatives speak Yoruba to me, I just smile and nod until someone translates. My mom gets disappointed because our language is one of the things that the Yoruba are most proud of. My parents speak it, my older sister and brother do, too. I’m trying to learn, but Yoruba is very complex, and I feel left out when I can’t understand a joke or talk about an issue that everyone else knows about.

What’s that Word?
Some people talk about the language barriers between cultures. For me it was more about the vocabulary. In other words, I spoke English but not the kind of English my peers spoke.
“Ah-choo!” I sneezed in the lunch line one winter during first grade. The boy in front of me turned slowly and looked at me.
“Didn’t you get your floo-shah yet?” he demanded, sounding shocked. That definitely wasn’t the “Bless You” I was expecting.
“What’s that?” I asked. He gave me a look like he’d bit on a lemon, and then he made a huge deal about it. I walked away, very confused because I still didn’t know what the hell a floo-shah was. I didn’t realize he’d meant flu shot. Whatever, I figured. It wasn’t my fault that he didn’t pronounce all of the letters in the word.
That wasn’t the first or last miscommunication or trouble I faced because I was from a different place. It happens when I use words like siesta instead of naptime, Father Christmas instead of Santa Claus, lorry instead of truck, dustbin instead of trashcan and rubbish instead of garbage. I used to get teased for being extremely tall, “skinny,” and especially for being dark skinned – the norm in Africa. I felt bad at first. But a couple years ago, I stopped caring about my differences because I realized they make me who I am today. I’m happy that I’m not like everyone else.

Getting It
It can be hard sometimes to deal with where I am now, where I’m going or where I plan to go. But I know one thing will always stay the same – where I came from, even if I haven’t been back to Nigeria since I moved. Though others my age can be indifferent about opportunities here, I’m able to say that I know what they are worth, and I take advantage of my chances at achievement, because I’m aware of how far they can take me.
It was difficult at first to adjust to my new lifestyle, but I’m very happy that my family moved to the United States simply because I can’t imagine life without an array of friends, temperature changes, and open options and choices. Being in America allows me to be unafraid of being different because practically no one is the same. I’ll always love and appreciate being here, but it doesn’t affect my love for Nigeria, my homeland.