hidden immigrant

Hi, I'm Leila, and I'm a recovering third culture kid. As I try to navigate options and American customs, I become more and more aware that I have no idea what I'm doing.

I always stuck out in Uganda; being a mzungu will do that for you. Still, I was comfortable. I could navigate potholes and talk my way out of paying bribes. Now, I'm in America, and I think I blend in rather nicely when I'm wearing shoes and going along with everything, but I feel clueless so much of the time. I think the official term is "hidden immigrant"--I look and sound like I fit, but I'm not really from here.

It's the little things that get me. It feels so rude to me to shake hands with only one hand and without bending forward in respect. I still have a strangely hard time maintaining eye contact with men. It's an everyday conscious effort. I say things like "sorry please" without even thinking about how weird they sound. I thought that after nine months this would all be much easier; the truth is, it isn't. I can usually go through all the right motions now, but none of them feel real.

Sijui. Si rahisi. Bwana asifiwe.