December 2002
Every so often I hear stories from people who have had the unfortunate luck of sponsoring a person who refuses to work because he finds his new life in America, and the jobs he is asked to take, beneath him. These stories seem to abound especially this past year as the pool of “acceptable jobs”, whatever they are, has become smaller with the US economy.
I find it striking that, even with so many Ethiopians living in the west, we still have not been able to debunk the myth of the gold paved streets of America. I believe I know why this is the case. It is simply because we, those residing in the west, have failed to inform our family, friends and relatives in Ethiopia about how hard we have to work to live here. For some reason, we also feel the need to continue the myth of the golden streets. Maybe this is because that was what we dreamed of ourselves before our pilgrimage to this land, and since we are not in the business of ruining others’ dreams, we keep our mouths shut about the whole business.
I recently found out that a person I know who just moved to America about nine months ago sent pictures of her brand new Honda Accord home. I found this out during a routine family call to Ethiopia. Of course, everyone in Addis Ababa was happy for her and pleased she has managed to do so well in such a short time. I would have been pleased for her, too, had I not known for sure that the girl did not own a car at all. In fact, it took the girl in question over six months to get a job. Her job search was a harsh and grueling experience for her since she had that shy Ethiopian girl demeanor that says, "I am not going to talk to you unless you talk to me and the whole time I am going to look at the floor." Americans don’t seem very fond of this attitude.
Why would anyone take the time to take a picture of someone else’s car and send it home claiming it as his or her own? This is because those of us here feel we have to feed the giant golden American dream monster who has diamond studded teeth. This monster resides in the consciousness of seemingly every Ethiopian, and we think we must keep it alive with our success stories. It does not matter whether we made up those success stories or not.
I use the word “we” liberally here because, of course, some of us are exceptions. I have been working on being the exception for awhile now. Most of the time, this seems to backfire. The last time I went home, for example, a friend of mine who went home with me and who is from the same neighborhood spent her entire savings to buy gifts for a lot of people who live in our area. I didn’t do this and ended up looking like a seriously greedy person even though I knew that I had needed to save my money in order to avoid a financially disastrous first month upon my return to America.
I also had the unpleasant experience of boarding a minibus in Addis and giving the wrong amount of money to the attendant. When he asked me what the hell I thought I was doing and demanded more money, I apologized and told him I just arrived from abroad and did not know the correct fare. He asked immediately where I came from and I reluctantly told him. He looked at me up and down, and said, “puhleese…you?…from America?” in the most mocking manner only Amharic seems to afford. I apparently did not look anything like what I am supposed to when coming for a visit from America. I didn’t exude the aura of a person whose feet have touched America. I know the ‘netela’ and flip-flops I had on did not help.
After the minibus experience, when I made mistakes, I resigned saying I was from Sudan. People seemed to find that believable. I am sure there were members of my own family who doubted that I went to the “real” America. The fact that my address is in North Carolina, a state with which even people in the US are barley familiar, only fuels the suspicion. My point is that those of us who live in the west have gone too far in displaying consistent images of what people from here should look like. We have conformed so closely to the expectations of our families, friends and relatives in Ethiopia that when an individual does not fit the mold, she is treated as counterfeit.
When I found out that a girl whom I know for a fact does not have a car has informed her friends and family that she has bought one, I decided to say few words in regard to this part of our Ethiopian-ness. Are we really so afraid of what others would think of us that we are willing to live up to an American myth we know is a lie?
When I first arrived in the US, life was very hard for me. I had to learn to support myself. This meant I had to feed, clothe, and shelter myself and on top of that have extra money for school fees. I was only seventeen. As an unskilled worker, I could only do low paying jobs that did not require complicated skills. I also had to take jobs with the most scheduling flexibility so I could fit them between and after my classes.
The jobs that worked best for me were jobs such as babysitting, cooking, cleaning houses, mowing lawns, doing laundry, and feeding and walking dogs. So, I spent the first five years of my American life changing diapers of strangers’ babies, scrubbing bathrooms kneeling on cold tiles, mopping floors for hours at a time, ironing, folding and putting away clothes and making beds in so many houses I can’t even begin to count. I had a series of houses I cleaned, a series of children I babysat, and a series of household pets I fed, groomed and walked. To add to my income, I also mowed lawns and flipped burgers over a hot grill. My jobs taught me what it meant to sweat through life both literally and figuratively.
Although there were times when I did not enjoy to the spoiled kids I babysat or disliked the biggest houses I had to clean, overall, I believe my experience was a positive one and I grew tremendously from it. In fact, I distinctly remember walking on the stage to accept my first bachelor degree, and feeling it was not only a Business Administration degree but also a certificate of my experience in life and the great length I had to go to get my education. There is no doubt that I had to work extremely hard to survive and make something out of myself in America. I find no shame in relaying this fact to my family and friends in Ethiopia. No one should. There is a level of pride and self-respect that comes only with working hard.
So, yes, I am testifying that there are no gold paved streets in America. When an individual moves to the US, he should know that his decision entails endless sacrifices such as separation from family and friends. Life here can be a lonely road. In order to make these sacrifices worthwhile, a person must be prepared to work hard, probably a lot harder than what his mind could ever conjure up when thinking of hard work. The great thing about America is that, in most cases, it allows you to see and enjoy the fruits of your labor. The American dream does exist, but it sure as Hell does not come true for those who wait for it twiddling their thumbs. And it certainly does not come true overnight.
Yemisrach Kifle
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