A Page From My Diary

August 12, 1998: I was granted a six-month stay.

By early September 1998, I had learnt that completing my Green Card process would take longer than my valid stay. I didn’t want to travel back to Zimbabwe only to return to the U.S. a few months later. I knew someone who, two years earlier, had been deported for overstaying and stamped with a 10-year restriction from applying for a U.S. visa.

I panicked.

Five sleepless nights.

My face broke into a pool of acne.

Hair dull and limb.

I lost my appepetite.

What if my family and friends in Zimbabwe would see me now? "Is this what America does to An African Immigrant? To any Immigrant?" I could hear mom's voice.

"No," I would reply.

"This is the America I dreamt about. Consternation is only a small part of the experience. A necessary evil!"

That is what I would say about the experience, breaking the dead air. My silent (no), heartbroken siblings listening on in the background, looking for hope, because they too have secretly dreamt of America.

But panicking wasn’t getting me anywhere.

I don’t claim to be clairvoyant, but I knew everything would be alright. There was an option and I had to find it.

And now I'm motivated daily to share my experiences and my understanding of the U.S. immigration system on An African Immigrant's Diary.