Here in the United States where I live, it is not too often that you get a phone call and someone tells you: “I am desperate to go back home.” So when I got the call a few days ago, my reaction was for rather being inquisitive: “Excuse me?” On the other end of the line was Samson Hakizimana, a Rwandan primary school teacher who had come to the U.S under the framework of a Rwandan Teacher’s Training Programme at Hartford University, in Connecticut. America is a promised land – or so we have been led to believe. It is a place if you are willing to work hard, success will find you half way. Elon Musk from South Africa, now the CEO of SpaceX, Tesla Motocars and Founder of PayPal, symbolises the greatness of America. This belief is what hungers people to leave all else with no regrets but faith in the unseen. Like all of us, Samson’s coming to America was a perfect storm of imaginary possibilities. It started like this: two days before the end of the month-long training, he and three of his friends decided to sneak out, to chase the American Dream. He began the journey with $50 to his name and a bank of uncertainty. That night, Samson spent nine hours on the bus to Portland, Maine. From the comfort of his hotel room, he sought a place to sleep at a local homeless shelter. At this point, I had stopped taking notes but listening dearly. “I now live with drug addict people – they curse, smoke and fight for no reason,” he told me on the phone.I didn’t know how to console him but listen on. Samson and his friends pursued asylum to the U.S as a path to permanent residency. This process is gruesome and needs a good, coherent story to prove fear of prosecution by your government. Whether Samson was able to hire an immigration lawyer or not, whatever happened doesn’t matter now. He pleaded to the U.S immigration office asking for a ticket – they told him to contact his embassy. On the phone, I felt guilt in his voice, but the pride to come out and seek assistance with the embassy was daring. The erosion of hope pushed him on the brink of self-destruction. “Everywhere I go during the day, I have to have my luggage with me.” Why? I asked, “The shelter does not allow us to leave our belongings there. You seek permission for everything: to eat; to walk in, out of the facility; your basic freedoms are stripped away. You live like a prisoner in addition to being homeless. I need help.” In that moment, listening is all I could give. Unlike Samson, my first introduction to America was the 1988 movie “Coming to America” by Eddie Murphy. It depicts America then and now. So wealthy it is; rich and homeless live next to one another. Over the years, l learned that America is a giant machine… each moving pieces are carefully coordinated, one wrong move, you could easily fall in a ditch. Samson was born and raised in Kibingo, in Nyamasheke District. Like most Rwandans, his family does not have much of anything, except what money cannot buy: “Agaciro.” These are the same values that held him together and refused to become another homeless on American soil. When I met Samson, his smile was shy but apologetic. He had traveled for days from Portland to Washington D.C to ask for a ticket back home from Rwandan Embassy. Once here, he was composed, at peace and finally home away from home. When I asked how it would feel like to go home, he sighed…raised his gaze and looked away…whether it was relief or not, he surrendered himself to a long comfortable silence. In what would seem like no time at all, Fidelis Mironko, the embassy second counselor, booked him on the next flight to Rwanda. The news liberated Samson from all the chains horror. He sank back in his chair as the weight of shame escaped off of his shoulders. When I took Samson to the airport, his admiration for America dripped from his lips. “The roads, skyscrapers, architecture, cars and art represent the America we all desire.” What we don’t see, he added, “is the system that holds everything together.” His return to Rwanda is not a new beginning but a continuation with certainty. As he calls himself, “teacher by profession” six years of teaching in a primary school, coupled with four brutal months in America, will for sure serve him well. Stories like his enrich my life with enduring faith. Having a country that accepts you wears no price tag. The Rwandan embassy in Washington D.C, with the support of the Rwandan government has responded. A life has been saved – one at a time. The writer is a Rwandan based in the United States.
