I’ve read so many African migrant stories that open very similar to this one. African migrant arrives in newly adopted country, penniless, but full of hopes and dreams for themselves and for the people back home. Jacques Sebisaho blogs his story at Huffington Post:
In 2002, we came to the United States with no possessions, no money, and no English, and eventually made a new life for ourselves in New York. But the pull of Idjwi is strong. We visited whenever we could afford to and treated patients for free. This helped, but the people of Idjwi needed more than occasional visits by a fly-in doctor.
But somewhere along the way, either the dream is lost or we are lost along the way to chasing that dream. Our story sputters and becomes stuck in the gutter of the pursuit of a better life. Perhaps more tragic, is that we go silent in our struggle. We, as Africans, need to be vigilant in the telling our stories, of our struggles, failures and of victories. We need more endings like this:
Today, that’s no longer the case. Since my wife and I returned to open a clinic in northern Idjwi in 2009, we haven’t recorded any maternal or child deaths. Four years ago 50 percent of people suffering from cholera would die; all 129 cases we treated for cholera survived. We have been serving 150 children from more than 100 families in our nutrition program. The program, coupled with the introduction of “one garden per family”, has decreased malnutrion [sic] in the two villages we serve; in fact, we haven’t recorded any severe malnutrition cases in the last eight months.