I knew that I was meant to travel the world since I was a little girl! Lost in the many romance novels that I devoured throughout my teens, I felt pulled into a world far beyond my imagination, a far cry from the little village town where I grew up. One day, I knew that I would see that big world, but I dared not share my crazy dream with anyone yet, so I buried it deep in my heart, until the right time.

When I completed university, for the first time, I told my family what I planned to do with my life – to go to America. The first question I got was how in the world I planned to pay for it. I boldly told them that they would raise the money for me. One of my brothers told me that our family was not that kind of family. We were not highly connected and had never participated in community events. I did not give up, I pressed on.

Against all odds, my family came together and managed to raise three thousand dollars for me. It was barely enough to pay for one semester of graduate school, not to mention my air ticket and living expenses, but it was a good start.

The next hurdle was obtaining a passport. After a grueling four-month wait and daily visit to the immigration office, the day of getting my passport finally came. Waiting outside the office of the immigration boss, a young woman about my age stood by me and we started chatting. I will call her Jane. She told me that she had filled out her passport application forms just the day before and that she was there to pick up her passport twenty-four hours later. I asked her how that had happened, and she went on to tell me about her aunt who was at that very time in the in the office of the top immigration boss.

This aunt was apparently highly connected in the country and lived in the United States and was an American citizen. Jane told me that she was planning to go to the US to join her many cousins who all had been living there for years.

A few minutes later, we got our passports, and the aunt joined us outside. I remember how elegant and well groomed she looked. As we walked out of the office building together, she asked me what I was going to do in the US. I boldly stated that I was going to graduate school. Then she bluntly asked me how much money I had. I innocently said that I had three thousand dollars. She looked at me directly and condescendingly said,

“My dear, you need at least ten thousand dollars in order to get an America visa”.

I shrugged and just kept walking with them. We said our goodbyes and I went on to the American Embassy to get information on what I needed. As I watched them leave, I remember wishing that I too had a special ‘godmother’ who was that highly connected.

When I got to the Embassy, I went to the information desk and asked what I needed in order to obtain a visa. The consular officer gave me a checklist form detailing all the documents required. She then said that I needed at least ten thousand dollars in my bank account. I left the building dejected and wondering why I had deceived myself into believing that I could pull off this whole going to America fantasy.

For the next week, I frantically got my family members to send me their confidential bank statements as proof that they had money to pay for my education in America. They agreed to send them to me but stated clearly that they could not afford to pay my tuition. This was true as they were just getting their own careers started and had young families. My mom also traveled to Nairobi to bring me the title deed for the family farm where she lived.

The night before I went to the American Embassy, I told my mother that I really wanted to go to America and that I did not see a future for myself in my home country.

“Please pray for me mom,” I pleaded.

Then I went to bed. At five in the morning, my mother woke me up. She asked me to get on my knees. We both knelt down, and she prayed, a long prayer asking God to come through for me. I remember thinking that the prayer was too long. Then I got dressed and went to the American Embassy.

As luck would have it, Jane was right in front of me, with her brother and the elegant woman, whom I nicknamed ‘the godmother’. She continued with her condescension, clearly indicating that I was wasting my time and effort and that it was impossible for me to get a visa with only three thousand dollars. My heart sank even deeper, but I told her that I would try anyway.

Jane was right in front of me as we lined up to hand over our passports for processing. She was confident and bubbly, as the godmother whispered in her ear, as if giving her the secrets of America. I sat close to them, trying to ignore them in silent prayer. I remember the room being so cold and full of others like me, eager to leave a country that had no promise and longing for a world unknown, seen only in books and movies, and on CNN.

Jane’s name was called, and she and her godmother went to the counter. The consular officer asked Jane if she could speak English, when she said she could, the godmother was asked to sit down. I thought the officer was rather rude. Jane was asked two or three questions and in less than 2 minutes, she got the infamous ‘denied stamp’, meaning she would not get a US entry visa. She turned around, looked at us and broke down crying. Her brother and the godmother rushed up to hold her and comfort her as they walked out.

I knew it was over for me! If they, with all their connections, were denied a visa, I knew that I would have no chance. I started shaking and praying quietly.

My name was called next and as I walked to the counter, I hoped that the officer that I had seen a week earlier, the one that had said that I needed ten thousand dollars, would not be the one to see me. But as luck would have it, she was the one at the counter, and worse still, she remembered me.

“Hello, welcome back, did you bring what I asked you to?” she asked me as she started to go over the checklist. I had everything in order, well, almost everything!

“Now, to the most important, where is your bank statement?” she asked, knowing well that this would be the catch. She was not at all interested in the bank statements from my family and did not even look at them.

I hesitantly slid it to her.

When she saw that I only had three thousand dollars, she slid it back to me, shaking her head sadly, saying she was so sorry that she could not give me a visa. She went ahead to explain that life in California was very expensive and that I would drop out of school after one semester and that I could even be homeless. Of course, I had no idea what that all meant, how could one be homeless in the richest country in the world?  

Then as if someone else was in me, I started speaking. I told her that I had well educated brothers and sisters, that two of my brothers were medical doctors and two of my sisters worked for international organizations. I then proceeded to give her a plan for my life, which I had never thought of until that moment. That I would go to the US, complete my studies, and return home to help children. I shared my concerns on the plight of children and the need for education for all. I advocated for myself like I had never done before, wondering who was speaking.

She looked at me deeply and told me that she liked me, and even believed me, which surprised me, because I didn’t believe me. She went on to say that it would be unfair and even cruel for her to send me to America to suffer. Then to my greatest surprise she said that she would take a chance on me and asked me to go and see her when I returned home to help children.

And that is how I got my visa.

As I walked out of the embassy, I had a big smile on my face that I could not wipe off. I was still trying to make sense of what had just transpired. As I crossed the street, I saw Jane with her gang, they asked me what had happened, I told them that I got the visa. Then the godmother looked at me, as if she was seeing me – my humanity – for the first time.

“What did you tell them?” she asked sincerely.  

“The truth,” I answered.

The following day, I said goodbye to my family and left for America.

Life in America was hard and brutal as the consular officer had promised it would be. It took me ten long years to complete my graduate studies. But despite the many challenges, I lived the American dream. I got married and started a family and even bought a home with a picket fence. A year after completing graduate school, we sold our home, packed up our bags and relocated back home and I started an organization to help children which is still operational to this day, more than 15 years later.

I have since traveled the world and have been to too many countries to count. The little girl who dreamt of traveling the world did it.

Today, when I go the American embassy, I am not even interviewed or asked any questions. When I look around me, I see myself in the faces of the young people who just need a chance at a new life. My greatest fear is to be like the godmother, thinking that I am somehow better than them.

I look at them and hope that they had someone who prayed for them like my mother did.