About to leave Kenya to seek my American dream. Preparations and more turns and twists...

The year now is 1998. The magical believe in self and bold alignment to the universe is about to be revealed to me. At hand, is an admission letter to the Joseph Korbel School of International studies, at the University of Denver, Colorado. A school that is my very own beloved alma mater. The tuition? Very high! And do I have a penny towards the tuition? Nope! Am I convinced that I will be a graduate at the University of Denver? Yes? How? I don’t know how at this point either.

But first things first... I needed a travel visa, money for an air ticket and at least little money for food and accommodation albeit for one month. At this point I was working as a Marketing Manager at a cosmetics manufacturing company in Nairobi, my first corporate job besides working in the farms picking coffee berries and flowers. Besides supporting my family and myself in my new life in Nairobi, I had managed to save some money enough for the air ticket and a balance change of 500 dollars to my name. I thought that if I can get the travel visa approved, that’s all I needed to begin my journey to the United States of America.

But things are not that easy even though nothing could stand between me and my American dream in my mind. I got my travel visa and soon contacted the university of Denver prior to traveling and requested that they find me a host family to live with for the one month before school began. It’s now 5th August 1998 and school was opening in the following month, September for the fall semester. Now I have this letter in my hands….I have a student travel visa…and a temporally place to live for a month before school opens. Rent for the month was 400 dollars! I have 500 dollars in my pocket and not a penny for tuition. See the picture?

I have a fond memory of getting onto a Lufthansa air-craft from Nairobi headed to the United States of America on August 12, 1998. In my pocket was a folded stash of American dollars that counted up to 500 dollars. This was enough rent of 400 dollars payable to my host family, leaving me with 100 dollars for whatever immediate needs. I thought it was enough. At least for now. Yes, enough.

And just like that, soon it was 11pm in Nairobi. Time to board and take off. I bid a tearful good-bye to an “entourage” of family, friends and whole bunch of villagers who had hired a bus to take me to the airport! Yes, a bus people! I get goose bumps thinking about that night as the emotional streaks of energy that rushed through my entire body left an indelible impression, the sounds, smells, textures of things at the airport all looked strange, the teary eyes of my mother and the softened looks in my siblings eyes spoke a language I couldn’t fathom. But it was a language of hope and faith in better things ahead. The awe and amazement written all over the faces of those villagers?, wow!

And this is including some of them that have never been to Nairobi city before let alone the airport, all became the fuel that pumped my boldness. I had to go. I had to represent some hope for all that loved me and wanted me to bring back to my village education from “ruraya rua America” (Kikuyu translated: over-seas in America). And just like that, I was about to leave my country to a foreign country with little money in my pocket, a light suitcase and a lofty dream and yet I felt bold enough and determined that it was the right thing to do.

It's Aug 12, 1998. I am on board a Lufthansa aircraft , Seated on Couch cabin seat 17F headed to Frunkfurt, on my way to my dream land, United States of America. Nestled amidst other traveller's luggage on the belly of the Lufthansa aircraft is also my little 40 pounds suitcase packed with everything I called mine on this planet and yet inside the small suitcase lay a lofty dream; My American dream. I am now feeling a hand of the divine, as my childhood home of Kibagare slums and my native homeland of central Kenya disappears below. Up and Up the boeing jet slithered and navigated throw the clouds. I felt my angels next to me.  I felt amazing grace next to me. I felt a soft voice reassuring ....the clouds assumed shapes of little angels that flew alongside the jet like co-pilots..and off the vessel became part of the skies. I left Kenya. This was and will always be a magical divine moment.  Soon I doozed off into dream land. (The picture above not the actual aircraft, you silly!)

Now Iam quite hopeful I should say. I looked through the glass oval windows of the aircraft and Nairobi was fast disappearing behind me and I could see the flickering city lights get dimmer and dimmer as we fast climbed higher and higher into the skies. My eyes swelled with tears as I huddled myself together on a window seat, 17F. I could see the wings of this airline vessel spread out like a man made giant eagle, souring determinedly into great heights. All this was soaking into my entire being as a symbolic flight to freedom. Freedom from poverty. Freedom from Kibagare slums. Freedom to higher education. Freedom. My freedom.  An escape to unknown foreign lands. A journey to hope-land. And I bid goodbye to my beloved African homeland in a hopeful search for the American dream.

I saw nairobi get dimmer and dimmer. Peered keenly through the night fog. Tears rolled down my eyes as I thought of my mother perhaps still gazing into the skies guessing which planes taking off is the daughter in. I thought of my sisters Njoki, Mary and Becky and wondered what would become of them while I was away. The image of their soft brown eyes at the departure gate haunted me while I remembered our childhood playing and being best friend sisters while growing up at Kibagare slums. I remembered us chasing each other into the corn fields in our Kandara rural home, I remembered all those days when we hurdled together for warmth when we had no food. I thought of my little brothers. They were my people. I was leaving them behind for a new place and a new life. I closed my eyes and pulled the light plastic window, adjusted my seat and braced for my travels to the new foreign home. I had to go.

Never had I been on an aircraft before. It was fascinating looking down at the tiny lights that marked the city boundaries. I looked down amidst the darkness and wondered whether I could spot the Kibagare slums, nestled chaotically between Nairobi high school and the relatively wealthy Nairobi Loresho neighborhood. I could not see anything; besides my eyes had swelled with tears that I was fighting with a white handkerchief that my grandmother gave me for good luck. LOL! It felt like a symbolic flight escape to wonder land despite the fear of what will become of me in America.

Well, 18-22 hours on the friendly skies and boom we landed. The deep voice that boomed across the intercom at the Denver International airport announcing “welcome to the United States of America”! indeed felt surreal. The smells, the sounds, the helter skelter movement of travelers and their luggage scattered all over the airport was a spectacle to behold. Taking a deep breath and smiling with a nervous goofy grin, I felt good to be standing on the American soil. I am now in America. Wooooo! Hoooo!

If Denver International airport was a symbolic mini America, I loved the sight as the plane hit the ground with a thunderous sound as if to announce the arrival of an important guest. Me! LOL.

The airport's distinctive unique white tensile architecture with unique fabric white roof is aesthetically designed to be reminiscent of the snow-capped Rocky Mountains during snowy  winter. You look from an aerial view and you see this magnificient steel cables similar to those on the Brooklyn Bridge wedged on the roof. You are met by a lovely pedestrian bridge connecting the terminals to the Concourses A, B,C,D,E..blah! blah! blah!..... I took a long look beneath the bridge as I walked to the baggage claim terminals and felt  elevated with hope...a strong deep surge of hope swept through my entire being. Here on top of the bridge one can see planes taxiing directly underneath providing a glorious sweeping view of the Rocky Mountains to the West and the high plains to the East. I marvelled at the majestic white roof tops that looks like a huge canopy of huge tents, beckoning a weary traveller to refreshments and rest, almost like they are speaking an alien language saying; come- on- my- child-welcome- home.Come my child-Denver-knew-you-will-be-coming. Or at least I felt that way as I walked inside the main terminal. The roof and walkways stood still like holy temples of travel, I am not kidding. As I glided off the escalator onto the main floor leading to baggage claim, around the corner of the security cordon I got myself to an an area with pure black leather seats. All I wanted to do is sink my black bottoms into one, throw my head back, throw my shoes into the air, lift my face up into the filtered light underneath the tents and let out a loud screaming ululations of joy. It was so cool. It felt like a point of no return, And I was like, oh, dear God! if this is America, then I am already loving it. This is where I belong. This feels like home. And I will stay.

Luckily for me, the university of Denver had arranged for my host family to pick me up. I hoped Mr. Duffy and his wife would be there to pick me up.  Armed with light suitcase that I love to remember as my light luggage carrying a lofty dream; inside was a few pants, couple blouses and three pairs of open toes shoes, my family album, school certificates, and with me a soft well spoken personality, articulate, eloquent grammar punctuated with quite a heavy accent that announced boldly no matter what… I am a foreigner! I am a foreigner! Can you at least understand my manner of articulation? Well, my kind of accent? But that was the least of my problems at this time…..follow me onto PART II OF MY JOURNEY TO AMERICA AND TO DENVER UNIVERSITY. Coming up next.......