4 This American Life (1/2)

You come to America, young and das.h.i.+ng, on a full scholars.h.i.+p, nish school, get a great job, marry a glamorous spouse, have cute children, and retire at a young age with a great pension, portfolio and posture.

…And live happily ever after. Yes champ; rub it in. For the rest of you, life abroad is a crest of trajectories.

You come into America, by air, by sea, or via a midnight sneak-in across the Mexican border; fooling the Minute Men and Lou Dobbs all at once. You come to school, to join your spouse, to work after winning the Green Card Lottery, or to raise your hand at the airport and claim persecution in your own country because you are a Mormon as well as a leader in MEND.

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You behold America the beautiful. The triple-decker burgers and the giant cup of c.o.ke and cars that are wider than your village road and you wonder what took you so long to get here. You get on with schooling. For now any cheap school will do. You study the things people who came before you say brings money – the things Americans do not want to study- to prepare you for the job Americans do not want to do. You hear nursing, b.l.o.o.d.y, nursing. You say, bring it on. You get on with marriage - convenience marriage- discovering that you married three persons at once; the person you thought you married, the person your spouse really is and the person your spouse becomes because you got married in this America. For work, you do

Rudolf Ogoo Okonkwo

anything for a dollar; cut meat in fast food restaurants, drive a cab, guard the parking lot of company executives younger than you, even care for the disabled, breaking your back to pay the bills.

Then reality hits. The dollar is not adding up. There's more going out than there is coming in. Time is running. Letters, emails and phone calls are enveloping you from home. School is done; where is the job? Your accent is a problem. Racism is real. You're nally squeezed in. Then comes a Corporate job at last. Work place politics really sucks. Meanwhile, the American spouse is gone but your residency is established. Now where do you nd someone to marry for real? A blind date? E-harmony.com? Town conventions? What of picking up someone from your village? But these are all packages which content you cannot ascertain. Somehow, you settle with one. Honeymoon over, now what is the state of the marriage? First mission accomplished, now what next?

You start a house in your village. A big house. You sink in any money you can get. Some of it goes to the building of the house but most of it goes to your family member who is supervising the construction. It costs more than it would to buy a comparable house in America. You are afraid to calculate how many days you will sleep in this house in your lifetime. You say, Tu akwa. It will not be your portion. You need to do it not just because everyone is doing it – your daddy is demanding it. He's asking you to wipe away the shame on the family's face.

Your daddy dies. Your dentist extracts a tooth.

Then America begins to reveal itself quietly. Oh tribalism again; discrimination at the workplace. Your head touches the virtual ceiling for immigrants. You now understand a rmative action. Kids come, but housemaids are tagged slavery, who will care for them?

Now you have day care, mortgage, after school sport activities, mid-life career crisis, more phone calls from home, and marital problems. If only some of these can wait. You can call marital problems by its real name- money problems entangled with control problems, decision-making disagreements, tasks and privileges, status problems and in-law problems. Maybe you will stay home with the kids. Maybe your mother will come and help … and incense your spouse.

With caning banished, you raise teens with your hands tied to your back. Marital problems persist because as your fortune falls, that of your spouse rises. You have done your calculation. Something has to give. You try selling real estate. You prepare taxes. You sell insurance. You run out of contacts. You buy cars from the auction and s.h.i.+p them home. You get duped by friends and family. Nothing is adding up.