Another Day at a PWI

There was a program from graduate students to ask Police Officers questions about their new environment (VTech) I sat in the room of mostly international students. I listened as we heard about crimes and ways to stay safe. Then came the questions of how do you call the police in your country. The question went around the room and people called out the numbers they used to contact the police in their home country. When it was my turn, I said 911. I got a weird look from the police officer and some folks in the room. Police: Where are you from? me: America Police: oooh okay! Another Day....

Greystones

(Post from 2013) Today we drove past the old U.S Embassy in Liberia. As we took a turn, I couldn't help but notice a building with the sign GreyStone on it. If you went to Google Greystone in Liberia, the first photo that came up was this. Let me tell you something -This photo just like my memory brings back some parts of my childhood that were almost erase by bullets...

Greystones was one of those places people ran for shelter during the Liberian Civil war. I was almost 8 years old during the 96' crises. I remembered the sounds of bullets, my family packing, my older sister having to dress "dress down" so she was not sexually appealing to the rebels- Whatever that look like. 

It seem just like yesterday when people were moving in opposite directions with mattresses on their heads. It was always an interesting sight to see. People never knew where they were fleeing to, but they always brought their mattresses. I guess knowing where you are sleeping was not as important as having something to sleep on.

My family and I were some of the few blessed to survive the civil wars and migrate to the Great United States for a chance of a better life. At 25 years old with a Masters degree, running my own not-for-profit organization and actively advocating for little changes in our big world, I was grateful for migration. Even in my gratitude, driving by that day, I couldn't help, but think about those horrific things I saw waiting outside the gates of Greystones. It could have been me or a member of my family that I saw during the war laying on the side of the road lifeless. I saw a child bleeding in the arms of a crying mother as my mother held me closer while we awaited our chance to get into the shelters at Greystones. To this day, I still remember my very first sight of a dead body. I saw the body laying on his left side with a hole where his right ear used to be. I felt the need to hold my little ears at the time as we escape to safety. 

Life at those moment had a whole different meaning. We try to survive each day only to get to another day of survival. Today, I like to think that life is much more appreciated. I have come to understand and appreciate migration in a way that most might not. I know the power of spaces that open their doors, borders and opportunities to me and my family. I am forever thankful for mothers and their survival instincts that kept us going. I do not take for granted any opportunity afforded to me to make a better life for myself and those around me. Why am I sharing all this? I just wanted someone out there to know it doesn't matter where you come from as long as you can use that as a road map to get you to where you want to be. Thanks for the reminder Greystones. You and other images of Liberia will always be my motivation for bigger and brighter things. Peace & Love.

Zuleka~

An Immigrant Cry

I want to go home I want to go back there Where is home you ask? It is the place of my birth It is where my mother also call home I want to walk the streets that are familiar to my grand parents Bring back the usual “bus stop- bus stop” and “hole it, hole it in” from bus sations I don’t want that processed coconut water from a box on  shelf I want to relax under the cool shade as "grona boys" climb the trees and pick me coconut Ahhhhh the sweet taste of the coconut water straight out of the shell

I can almost taste it I want to partake in the celebration of what we call “26” I want to tell people my “26” on you and hear them say “I way take bath and move it” These fireworks and BBQ celebration is not how I want to celebrate independence I want the noisy waterside market few days before the “26” celebration Oh those little kids that walk about dressed up in their Sunday’s best Everyday I wake up to an alarm clock ringing I rather wake up to  those roosters and early morning sellers I miss knowing that because a rooster woke me up, I will be having it for dinner Take away this coffee maker and gave me my coal pot-

Throw some fire coal in there and boil my water for my morning ovaltine Who asked for this silent train ride to work? I want to say “hello oooooh my people” as I walk to the main roads for work People here don’t want to communicate with each other Everyone seems to be too busy with their devices for a quick “hello ooooh bah” At lunch they gave me sandwiches- bread with slices of meat and leaves inside This is not what we call "real food" I want my bowl of rice top with that sweet cassava leaf spilling on top!

At night, people turn to the TV for news, stories, updates, weather, or just to have noise in their homes I want to go back to when night meant story time! Bring back those “Once upon a time, there live spider and rabbit” kind of nights Here, when it is bed time I put what they call a night light on I miss seeing the light from the mosquito coil as I lay on my mattress on the floor

I fall asleep with hopes that I can dream about a place A place where I once call home; Liberia I miss you, but my cry is that I can be better when I see you again