I woke up on Aug. 11 to celebrate my eighth anniversary of leaving refugee life in Kenya and moving to Maine. Sometimes I find it hard to believe this much time has gone by since I departed Kenya carrying only a refugee document and a U.S. visa printed on a piece of paper.
Abdi Nor Iftin is a Somali-American writer, radio journalist and public speaker. He lives in Yarmouth.
I remember the overwhelming emotion as I pressed my forehead against the window on the airplane, looking down to the first glimpse of America during the descent into Boston. I arrived at night on Aug. 11 and the shimmers of Logan airport were the first sights of the big dream ahead – the dream to breathe and find peace. Eight years have passed and I still carry those memories with me as the years add up.
During the first few weeks things felt different, the air smelled different, the size of houses and cars looked as if I had arrived in a land of the giants. In Yarmouth, it was quiet, except for the whoosh of cars on the roads, the midnight cow moos or the train horns. On my first walk around Royal River Park, a cyclist coming from behind yelled, “Coming on the left.” I remember standing there and wondering what to do with what I heard. I later learned Mainers kindly and peacefully let you know they want to pass by you. In my years in Kenya and Somalia people would shove you to the side and, without saying any “sorries,” they’d move on.
For the first five years I was not able to participate in the democracy of this country since I did not have U.S. citizenship. It takes five years of waiting and passing a civics and English test to become a naturalized citizen. No matter how good my English is, or how many American music lyrics I can say, the immigrant who doesn’t speak English and I have to wait the same length of time to be citizens. The true test of American democracy only began a couple years ago when I registered as a Maine voter and a proud new Mainer.
The hardest part in the past eight years, of course, was trying to fit in. I’ve been through phases of loving Maine and being frustrated.
For the first couple of years Maine was such a difficult place to adjust to. It felt too strange and I felt like a stranger every day. It was not a popular destination for many refugees and there was not a deep connection between the native Mainers and the new Mainers. I had to join my East African community in Maine to find a safe place. I was a participant in the Qaaraan system – a traditional community contribution system rooted in Somalia’s system of kinship where social relations are conducted according to customary law. The Qaaraan mobilizes resources for use by the community based on need. But I did not leave Somalia and Kenya to come here and only live in the same Qaaraan system I had known my whole life. While it is a system that works for so many, I thought finding my own way even in a town with not much diversity was a better option.
This is a country with some individual freedom. I thought not to worry about the etiquette of ordering food and eating with my hands, or about not being quiet inside a movie theater since I grew up with friends talking and laughing during movies. Eight years ago I was not a skier, a hiker or a lobster fan. I didn’t even know how to twist off and crack the claws of the delicious Maine lobster but now I do.
Maine, thank you for giving me a space to express myself. I look forward to many more years of being a Mainer.
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