When I moved from Africa to the United States at the age of ten, it felt like stepping into an entirely new world. Back home, I was used to the warmth of neighbors who knew my family by name, the rhythm of familiar languages in the streets, and meals that always seemed to bring people together. Suddenly, I was in America, where the houses looked like something from TV, everyone spoke so quickly I felt like I was listening to a song on fast-forward, and even the food smelled different.
The rules of this culture weren’t posted anywhere, but they were everywhere. People expected you to say “please” and “thank you” for everything even when asking for ketchup packets at lunch. Kids my age seemed to already understand how to navigate things like school dances, cafeteria lines, and friendships formed over pop music references I didn’t know.
The roles were also clear: students formed groups athletes, gamers, and kids who loved fashion.
I had to figure out where, or if, I fit in.
The norms fascinated me. Back home, greetings were big, warm, and personal. In America, a quick “hey” or a wave from across the hall was considered enough. Meals were different too. Instead of hearty dishes full of rich spices, I was suddenly eating peanut butter sandwiches and pizza every week.
It felt both exciting and strange- like living in a movie but not yet knowing my lines.
Over time, I learned to adapt, blending my own culture with this new one. But I’ll never forget that first feeling of stepping into America: the thrill, the confusion, and the sense that I was learning an entirely new language even though I already spoke English.
