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Q&A with Praise
Praise Odigie's poem exquisitely renders her experiences--from being a young girl in Nigeria dreaming of America, to a young woman living as an undocumented immigrant in the U.S.-- in a poignant yet powerful voice.
- Reyna Grande, Author
How an Undocumented Immigrant Looks at America
by Praise Odigie
We used to lay on top of sweat drenched sheets
And make wishes under dead fans
Funny thing is we didn't wish for
NEPA not take away light during the night
Or Hot water to bathe throughout the hamattan season
We wished for long hair
Gave ourselves fake American names
And giggled as we fantasized about what kind of pop stars we would be
We were too young to be lectured by poverty
Too innocent to be educated by pain
I remember the first time my tongue embraced the tip of a red white and blue popsicle stick
Teeth Chasing after the drawn out string of cheese falling from a red triangular shaped bread
This is pizza
Aunty said
Pizza?
I'd never heard of pizza in Africa
America was a treasure box buried under miles of dirt
I had to dig
But I knew that it was there
A treasure waiting for me to unravel
You ever ran for miles and miles to reach your destination
And realized that you didn't have the key
You refused to give up
You knocked until your knuckles bled
And kept knocking And knocking and knocking
hoping someone was listening
Hoping someone was there
Hoping you'd knock so hard you'd eventually break down the wall of indifference that lay ice cold over their conscience
There is something life changing about the moment
When you realize that are no other options
There are no spare keys for the undocumented immigrant
And so you raise your tired knuckles
And you knock you knock and you knock
Hoping that someday
Someone will be kind enough to open the door
We used to lay on top of sweat drenched sheets
And make wishes under dead fans
Funny thing is we didn't wish for
NEPA not take away light during the night
Or Hot water to bathe throughout the hamattan season
We wished for long hair
Gave ourselves fake American names
And giggled as we fantasized about what kind of pop stars we would be
We were too young to be lectured by poverty
Too innocent to be educated by pain
I remember the first time my tongue embraced the tip of a red white and blue popsicle stick
Teeth Chasing after the drawn out string of cheese falling from a red triangular shaped bread
This is pizza
Aunty said
Pizza?
I'd never heard of pizza in Africa
America was a treasure box buried under miles of dirt
I had to dig
But I knew that it was there
A treasure waiting for me to unravel
You ever ran for miles and miles to reach your destination
And realized that you didn't have the key
You refused to give up
You knocked until your knuckles bled
And kept knocking And knocking and knocking
hoping someone was listening
Hoping someone was there
Hoping you'd knock so hard you'd eventually break down the wall of indifference that lay ice cold over their conscience
There is something life changing about the moment
When you realize that are no other options
There are no spare keys for the undocumented immigrant
And so you raise your tired knuckles
And you knock you knock and you knock
Hoping that someday
Someone will be kind enough to open the door
