Upon arrival however, I find the last thing I want is junk food. I wander the supermarkets in search of whole grains and plump vegetables. It might be the heat here in Miami, but the last thing I want is to eat. I feel in need of health and cleansing. Carrot sticks and sunflower seeds. These things are just as hard to find in Kinshasa as cookie dough ice cream.
As I make my way to the grocery store, I am blinded by the sun glaring off the concrete. Miami is hot, sunny and full of beautiful people. South Florida is a place that has always struck me as being well thought out. It is so managed in its beauty. It is a place meant to cater to humans seeking comfort. There seems an abundance of art and cultural activities, a myriad of ways to become involved with the local community, and manicured lawns, roadways and store fronts facing you from every direction.
The streets are filled with new looking cars, shiny and glossy, dripping with color. The grass remains the only give away. South Florida grass is sharp and unyeilding. It does not invite one to run barefoot or tumble down a (nonexistent) hill. But the image remains of a place full of potential, possibility and future acheivement. It is an image of America that seems taken straight from an immigrant's dream.
I am well acquainted with the images and dreams of the newly arrived or of those aspiring to come to America. I am well acquainted with the slightly skewed physcology that seems to insist America is truly a place of freedom--and more importantly, capitalism, where all can acheive. I've held strong opinions about the potential of America for new immigrants. I've begun many conversations with the purpose of shining true light on the real situation in the U.S. Not too long ago, I would have been among those saying that life is not easy in America- there are hungry and homeless there too. Yes, I've frequently tried to persuade others that one cannot simply show up on the shores of the United States and be guaranteed a cushy life style complete with apartment, job and three meals a day. I've fought frustration as I tried to counter balance unrealistic ideas with the fast, harsh pace of American life. We don't take time to eat sitting down or to finish a cup of tea before heading out the door. We don't have time for conversations with our family members who are scattered across the country and we tend to do a lot of things alone. We don't have time for mistakes. We don't have patience. We expect buses to be on time and sales people to cater to our every whine. We want smiles....but not too many questions. We want friendliness but respect for our privacy. It always seemed a trade off to me, coming to America. Gain material comforts but lose all of the family ties and emotional support of home.
This visit back to the US has opened my eyes to what must have been a subtle shifting of my perspective. It's like I am viewing America with immigrant eyes. All I can see is color and abundance everywhere. Even the waitress who showed up at the diner next door to our hotel arrived in a sleek new vehicle, shining in the Flroida sun. She was small, dark-haired, older and of foreign decent. Immediately I felt if she could do it, why not I? And I've been overwhelmed with these new eyes ever since.
I see the cramped, soiled walkway running bewteen houses in Guinee where we visited the boys' uncle and grandmother. I see the children bathing outside, grinning and joyous. I see how the joy changes to restelssness in their 16 year old cousin....hoping for a chance at life, a future. And I finally see how nothing I could ever say would convince him that suffering America's hardships, difficulties and lonliness could ever be worse than waiting around Africa, waiting for change. I can't even convince myself.
