My Immigrant Story

Growing up it was just me, my parents and my little sisters. We lived in a 2 bedroom apartment with minimal space and no elevator, just stairs. My immigrant story that I tell will be different. Instead of talking about the experience I had in America, I will talk about the experience I had traveling to my parents’ country and how it made me explore more of my language, culture and traditions.

As we went into my dad’s country in Aboisso, Ivory Coast I was greeted by a familiar face that I don’t remember since I was a child and it was my grand uncle Tonton Sekou. He took us to our rented house where we were going to stay for 3 weeks. The next day we went to see our cousins for the first time but they were only able to speak French to us. In this situation I relate to what David had gone through with language when he was fluent speaking his parents language but was imperfect speaking english. I would say its the say but in my situation it was the opposite my sisters and I were able to speak or native language Bambara and English however our cousins from our fathers side were only able to speak french because that was the official language of Ivory coast which cause a language barrier between me and my cousins. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case when we went to my mothers hometown Bamako, Mali. We were able to have more fun and socialize with our cousins because they spoke Bamara. During this time Ramadan came so my aunts Tante Fliny and Tante Madina bought and handmade traditional clothing called bazains for us to wear during Ramadan.

Me and my family went to stay at my Uncle’s house in Abidjan, Ivory Coast for a few days from the remaining time we had staying in Africa. For dinner, my family sat around a large circular table. In the middle of the table, there was a plate of tiny pieces of dark brown meat, which we called dibi. I scooped some onto my plate with some salatee(salad). As soon as I bit into it, the savory and salty flavor spread in my mouth. The meat felt juicy and tender as it melted in my mouth. The smell and taste of the dibi gave me a nostalgic feeling of mommy’s cooking. My family and I continued eating as my cousins came along and at a separate dining table next to us. As they were about to start eating they were racing with each other on who would get the most amount of food on their plate, they had dibi too but with salad. After they filled their plates full they began to dig in the food as I heard their chewing of the dibi and the crushing of the lettuce. A smile came across my face as I appreciated the food that came from my parents’ country.

After dinner my sisters wanted to go to the dance room with the rest of our cousins but I decided to go back to our room because I was tired. As soon as I sat on the bed a yawn came out of my mouth by the soothing comfort and coolness of the bed. “So this must be how it feels to live in such a luxurious place,” I said to myself. My mother sat next to me and asked, “Did you have fun in Africa?”. “Yes it was so much fun, especially in Bamako,” I replied. It was the truth because when we were in Aboisso we stayed in a rented house for most of the time meaning that we couldn’t really socialize with our relatives and also my dad’s village was very religious. There were certain things that we couldn’t do there that we did when we went to Bamako. We were able to see our cousins so many times that I couldn’t count how many. Because we were able to see our cousins so much and go to so many places I was able to become closer with my family than from facetimes from whatsapp. This also made me explore more cultural dishes like fufu, chege (fish with small white rice), African bread, and traditional things such as a tea pot with a bowl next to it which they use to wash their hands before eating and a hand sweeping broom.