When were those lost? The first drips of the sense of belonging I had built all of my life, among peers back in my hometown, Abidjan, economic capital of Ivory Coast, a west African country bordering the Atlantic ocean. When were those lost? The peaceful moments when I had not to think about the color of my skin, the accent of my speech and the making of my hair. When were those lost? The infallible conversation starters which were not the last ditch efforts of a man who tirelessly ruminated the last few pop culture items on the American menu before making his way over to a gathering. When were those moments lost?
When did it start? Intensely watching my tongue for fear to enunciate words which would damn me permanently to be remembered by the color of my skin and the vulgarity synonym with the making of a race of long lost distant cousins who are racially profiled everyday. When did it start? Cowardly avoiding to raise my voice an octave higher feeling anxious that I will be categorized as one of the so known and stereo-typically called "loud ones". When did it start? Externally laughing yet internally contemplating will I ever find it easy to fit in. When did it start? Avoiding making eye contact on the street in fear of being thought of as aggressive and violent, words which have come to describe the largest minority in this country. When did it start? Denying myself access to stores, restaurants, bars and specific gatherings, for fear of standing out as the only black individual in the crowd and specifically tracked on a monitor screen to "catch me in the act". When did these thoughts start occupying my mind?
Was it after coming to New York City or did I always had them buried in my subconscious yet growing by the day? The answer is unassailably ambiguous at best. While I have been in the United States for now a total of five years, having lived mostly on a college campus, I always and strongly identified myself as an international student, African or Ivorian ( a term denoting a citizen of Ivory Coast); a term which, in my mind, signified pride, scholarship and "goodness of character". Although undeniably black, I had reservations about being grouped with African Americans for reasons which were unbeknownst to me for some time. I came to later found out that my fear of being called an African American rather than an international student, resided in what I held as "goodness of character". In fact, subconsciously I had come to accept that being called an African American meant a lack in character, whether it be as a result of poor education, manners, and/or willingness to do good.
Indeed, this willingness to do good always became a motto. If I was good in the eyes of others (whether white Americans or not), I would differentiate myself from the African American fellow who despite his best intentions would always be reprimanded for an action he undertook with good intentions which ended in a poor result. In fact, who was to believed he could ever be good at heart? Nonetheless, after doing good by others and for others, I never came to belong. Strangely enough, riding the NYC subway while on the Upper east side (a predominantly white neighborhood) I never felt like I belonged among the majorly white populated wagons. Likewise, I never felt like I belonged riding the subway towards Queens or Harlem with predominantly black Hispanic and African Americans.
While life in the hospital has been marked with a serious step forward, following the start of my project assessing the performance of the new Kidney allocation system used by the OPTN (Organ Procurement and Transplantation Network), I have come to face the fact that without my work, I have yet to find a place I belong. Thanks to the wonderful friends in the BME program, I have had the easiest time putting away my restlessness failing to renew my sense of belonging before the time I spent in NYC brought it all back. It has truly been a battle and will continue being a battle because like others of my diaspora sharing my fate, returning home would feel even more heartbreaking since we now do not belong there anymore, having "missed out". Thus, undoubtedly, I am a man without a Home.
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