Moments that altered my brain chemistry as an international student

1. For the first time, truly being international.

If I really think about it, I actually have been an ‘international student’, by definition, for much longer than I realized, having attended international schools and a UWC longer than I attended Ghanaian schools. But coming to university, this was the first time “international” was a defining feature of my perception of the world. For the first time I wasn’t just different, different in the way I spoke, different in the way I thought, different in my ideals, I was one of the few who were different. For the first time, “international” became my brand so to speak, an imprint that glossed over everything I did.

And in fact, to be international in America, I realized, is to be in constant awareness of your race, your class, your international status. To be a non-American in America is to constantly have to accommodate, to attempt to understand, the ‘American’ way of living, a way which tries tirelessly to be different from the ways of the rest of the world. To be a Ghanaian in America, often means being the only Ghanaian an American will ever meet, placing an indescribable burden, a reminder, to avoid any behaviour that may reflect negatively on the perception of your country. To be an international student, a Ghanaian in America, and not a Ghanaian-American (see #9 for more) is to have to find my ‘home’ as quickly as possible, wherever and with whomever I can, because actually going home was an endeavour that was often too far to pursue.

2. Redefining my relationship with my name.

“Awurade-ayeyi”: God’s praise: one who praises/uplifts others, one whose work is to be praised; my name has been something that’s been so central to the way I navigated the world, a legacy being set for me before I embark on it. Going to an American university has reaffirmed how distinct my name is; the power, and the challenges it wields. There have been days where I wondered what my life would’ve been like if I had gone by “Alex” or “Kevin”, or any other basic, innocuous name (no offense to all the Kevins and Alex’s out there), and I realized it would have transformed it entirely.

But by having such a distinct name, especially now in a world of Alex’s and Kevins, I found myself constantly having to go the extra mile for it: saying “Ayeyi, that's A-Y-E-Y-I”, pronouncing it, numerous times, spelling it, enunciating it; it was a burden I had unknowingly placed on myself. So while I felt I was honouring the name by ensuring it is said the way it's supposed to be, I also felt that, in doing so, I was almost overcompensating for my name. Surely, I reasoned, I should be able to just say my name, without people being on edge, as they asked me if I was pronouncing it right. Surely I should be able to say my name, without people asking me if there was another one I could use instead. Surely I should not be so ecstatic, beaming from cheek to cheek, when someone says my name correctly, something so simple and so frugal. And am I in the wrong for referring to it as a ‘burden’, something that I viewed with so much value?

These are all questions that have swirled during my time here, particularly because of how often I had to introduce myself when I met people. But in searching for the answer to these questions, I found rather, an even deeper appreciation for my name, commanding attention before I even uttered a word.

3. The weather in the Midwest.

The sun set at 5 pm for the first time on 8th November 2022. And yes, I did document this date because it was the first day I immediately felt a dark gloom loom over me (the coveted “seasonal depression”, a term I have grown to understand fully). Now, coming from South Africa/ eSwatini, weather changes are not something that are so foreign to me. There’s the jacarandas falling in November, the hot dezemba, the pretty autumn April, the chilly June-July, the nourishing spring September and the cycle continues. But the seasons, have always felt gradual, summer transitioned into autumn and then into winter.

But since Coming to America, pun fully intended, I have seen a fall day on a Tuesday, followed by a winter day on a Friday, and a summer weekend after that. Seasons more so oscillated unpredictably, than progressed from one to the next. Not to mention, temperatures I was already not used to, had now taken on a completely new form, the notorious Fahrenheit scale, where 34 and -13*C bore similar lengths as 102F to 6F (their similarities I have yet to understand). But this has shown me why Americans adored the summer season, soaking in the summer sun for as long and as much as they could. Having seen only a glimmer of Michigan winter, I understand the appeal.

4. Watching Americans and their American football

The epitome of Americans only consuming American entertainment. Such a sight to see.

5, Having Ghanaians immediately recognize I was Ghanaian, whenever I introduced myself.

Now, regardless of what moment #2 described, introducing myself with an unapologetically and indelibly Ghanaian name, has also been a blessing in disguise. Wherever I went, in the airport, in a Starbucks cafe, at a college rave (and yes these are all instances where it has happened), Ghanaians spotted it immediately, divulging where I came from entirely. This instant recognition, even extended beyond Ghanaians, with Nigerians and other West Africans, immediately detecting the intonation of my name and noting I was from somewhere in the region. There was such comfort in these interactions, knowing I did not need to prove my Ghanaian or West African-ness, something I was akin to do growing up in diaspora, that my identity was solidified without me needing to justify it. I realized my name, was not just a distinct marker that I was different, but it also immediately told the story of who I was, and where I came from.

6. Meeting Trevor Noah, and not feeling in the slightest bit intimidated.

I’d like to think it’s because one day I hope to see myself in the height/ impact he’s found himself in, but I believe it was more than that. In this rapidly changing transitionary period, I think I found myself so relaxed around Trevor because he was a familiar face, the first ‘familiar’ thing I had experienced in months. Trevor was a reminder of the life I lived back in South Africa, he almost felt like someone I knew, someone I could connect with. So despite his fame or his name, Trevor was a home, one that I was grateful to have experienced again.

7. Seeing my dad on campus, held a similar but oddly different feeling to meeting Trevor.

Though he was also definitely a breath of fresh air, a staunch reminder of my life back in South Africa, his was a deeper, more vivid feeling. While my father was around, I kept telling him how surreal it was to see him walk across my halls, sit on my bed, sit in my classroom. Since I moved to my dorms on my own, my perception of university has always been separate from my parents. With Trevor, it was easy(er) to imagine meeting him, because I knew he was in the US at the same time I was. But with my family, I have always known them to be living separate lives in Johannesburg, while I lived mine in Ann Arbor. The two have always been mutually exclusive. So having my father, a representation of my life in JHB, in my new life in A2, was such an out-of-body experience. It was like seeing your teacher at the mall, or your school friend at church, we’re so used to keeping the worlds separate that once they collide, it almost feels unreal. And unreal is the perfect word to explain the weekend my father was around.

8. Seeing snow for the first time.

The flurries fluttering as they land softly on the floor? Breath-taking.

9. This conversation:

“So where are you from”, to which I reply “Ghana”. The general “Oh cool”/ “Nice” comment follows before, and this is where it turns interesting, the follow-up question “so where do you live in the US?” arises.

I always found this question so interesting, because it’s the complete opposite of the “where are you really from” conversation I was accustomed to hearing. No, this conversation, and this question in particular, reflects an understanding that most people that are born/ live in the US are not simply American. Most may have ‘American’ written under nationality but their ethnicity will tell a different story. So when I reveal I am actually not American at all and do not live in the country, a response that is met with genuine shock and intrigue, I realized that this is rather unique here in America. To be simply American, in a matter of speaking, almost did not exist, as most people came from both an American state and an entirely different country altogether. It’s been so refreshing to see, this change of direction, this rewriting of story, where an immigrant’s origin is acknowledged first, before the state they are living in, where one can be Ghanaian, Korean, Jamaican, Nigerian, Indian, Haitian, Polish, Mexican etc, before attaching the hyphenated “-American” to it.

10. Being in more than 3+ hours time difference away from my parents.

Now, let me preface by saying this, I know how to live on my own. I’ve been to boarding schools, to festivals, and even back to Ghana on my own, so time differences were not something that was completely foreign to me. But I have now realized that in all those travels, I was always within a ±3 hr radius with my family, being able to call or video call whenever I felt the need. But in leaving home I experienced, for the first time, a huge disconnect, from them. The 6, turned 7, hour difference really limited our conversations and interactions- there were days I would call my mom or dad, eager to tell them about my day, or loaded with something to get off my chest, where I would hear the phone ring before canceling because it was too late/too early for them to speak. So it was hard, feeling a wave of guilt for calling them in the wee hours of their morning, knowing that they had their own lives to live, as I with mine. But the limited time together taught me to truly savour it, that quality time, truly is, quality time…

And I must say, despite what might come across, being in America is an experience that has been brimming with colour. I’ve experienced things for the first time: snow, pumpkin spice lattes, thanksgiving turkey, the quintessential college experience, the college raves, the block parties, the tailgates. I have loved, and been loved; I have laughed, cried; I’ve been taught to dream, seen dreams come true, and these are all experiences I do not take for granted. So while I don’t mean to be an exemplifier of the supposed ‘American Dream’, or to add more fan to America’s self-obsessed flame, this dream of a better tomorrow, this American Dream, is a phenomenon that I can confidently say is kindled and alive. A dream I, too, have grown to appreciate.