"Class this is our new student Margaret Udo, she's also new to America. Margaret is from Africa, say hello everyone." These were the words my new teacher Mrs. Spainmen said as I stood in front of my first grade class. My family had only been in America a little over one year. They figured moving to America would be a better place to raise kids than Nigeria and we would have more opportunities here. Leaving Nigeria was hard on all of us; we all left behind friends and family.
Once I was settled, I turned to my left and a little girl with curly twisted hair said, "Hi I'm Joy." The feeling of loneliness seemed to vanish in that moment; I didn't know if we were friends yet, but at least someone was talking to me besides my teacher. After introducing myself to the girl, Joy invited me to color with her. I said "yes" right away. While we were coloring she said the words that even after ten years I still remember as clear as can be. "I'm sorry you're from Africa, I feel so bad for you, all Africans are poor I heard," she said it as if it was a simple fact and not a complete lie that hurt my feelings. She said it loud enough so the kids across could here but not the teacher. I stopped coloring and went back to my seat. I wasn't really upset at the time; I felt uncomfortable with what allegations she had made about the land I called home.
When recess time came, I didn't have anyone to play with. It hurt being the new girl and not belonging. I missed Nigeria not just because my friends were there, but because over there I didn't feel like an outsider. While sitting on the grass, alone, Joy and her friends came towards me. The endless array of questions began. I was asked things like: "do you guys have bathrooms? Do you eat from the trash? I was so confused and hurt by the questions. Part of me wasn't upset because my classmates didn't seem to have malicious intents by asking the questions. But another part of me was devastated I felt ashamed as well as embarrassed for being from a third world country.
That night when I went home, I didn't tell my parents about what had happened. They had bigger problems to worry about then a seven year old with hurt feelings. But I did ask my sister why so many people believe Africans were poor. She didn't give me much of an answer except; "ignore ignorance" which was all she said. At the time, I never understood what that meant. It's been ten years since the incident occurred. Throughout those years, I've tried very hard to avoid claiming to be Nigerian. Learning about how Africa is a poverty stricken country was my least favorite topic in school, until the Ebola epidemic occurred.
When word about the Ebola outbreak spread, I was accused at school by students of having Ebola because I'm Nigerian. Instantly, I felt like I was seven again and being accused of being poor because of my heritage. But this time I wasn't just going to ignore the ignorant comments made by my peers. I was going to stand up for myself and for my country. It took me ten years to realize my sister was wrong, you can't "ignore ignorance" you must inform to eliminate ignorance. For years I've been ashamed to admit being Nigerian, but now I'm proud to have such a rich culture. I've learned to be proud of where I come from and to never ignore ignorance. I don't know if I'll ever be able to change the world's view of Africa a poverty stricken country, but I intend to start by informing my friends and peers about Africa from my eyes.
Once I was settled
I was asked things like
But However, another part of me was devastated ...
Learning about how Africa is a poverty stricken country was my least ...
But Nevertheless, this time I wasn't just going to ignore ...
