I am sitting here, listening to track 10 on 8701, and I start thinking, “It’s almost over.” Why am I thinking like this? The song goes on, solemn, and it makes me feel the same way. I begin to think about the fact that I’m going to miss this school. I’m going to miss the people that I’ve met here. Then I think some more. “I don’t usually miss anybody.” The song stops and reality sets in.

Over spring break, I visited my aunt in Atlanta. The thing about my aunt is that, when I was a baby, she loved to carry me everywhere. Back in Nigeria she was a schoolteacher, and every time she got a chance, she took me to her classes. I hadn’t seen her for two years, but things haven’t changed. The only difference is that now she just drags me everywhere. During the weekend in Atlanta, Aunty Tori took me to a traditional Edo wedding where the groom and bride’s families would bless the marriage.

Some background information is needed here. I was born and raised in Nigeria, West Africa, where my hometown is Benin City, a remnant of the ancient Benin kingdom. A person from Benin City is recognized as an Edo.

Now back to the wedding. Though some Edos have the popular church wedding, an Edo marriage is not recognized without a traditional wedding. This wedding entails a meeting between the bride and groom’s families. They meet at a sort of negotiation table and discuss the marriage. There are formalities, paying of the dowry, warnings from each family to the other, and eventually the union. Normally, only the bride and groom’s families are allowed to attend this meeting, but that wasn’t the case here. The foremost thing I noticed was a large crowd watching the wedding, which was in a living room. I asked my aunt, “are these all family members?” She replied, “No, actually they are just other Edos from Atlanta who wanted to show their support for the marriage.” In fact, though most of these people had never met the couple before, still they helped to prepare for the wedding, cook and even provided the venue.

This is Edo culture. We’re all far away from home and so we stick together. There’s an understanding that we support each other because we’re from the same tribe.

After 13 years, I moved to the United States. I went to a high school in Virginia, and after my experience there, I was not looking forward to college. I went to a high school with a 1% black population. Though the black population was small, there was no camaraderie. Why was this? I complained to my family about this situation and they appeased me by saying that, “this was American culture; they don’t take care of their own.” Therefore, I was not expecting anyone to open his or her door to me at Brown.

At Brown, I missed the fact that I could connect with someone just because of a common background. Still, during my freshman year, I did not attempt to reach out to the black community and kept to myself due to my preconceived notions. This all changed when, for the first time, I decided to go to Harambee house for the Black Family Reunion Picnic. There I met other black students at Brown, with whom I spoke and began to understand. This was when I realized that I wanted to live in Harambee house, and I can honestly say that living there for two years was one of the best things I ever did. It changed my views on African American culture.

No doubt, college is tough, along with the fact that I’m also a long way from home. Being involved with the black community here has made things a lot easier. Since I opened up, people here have done things for me that I will never forget. It’s the little things like simply saying hello, offering advice, randomly giving someone a bag of peanuts (trust me, it has happened) or going to watch the small group of black football players on game day. These are some of the things that have made me more comfortable at Brown and around its black community.

I guess that’s why I’m going to miss Brown. I’m leaving my home, my home away from home. I’m leaving my brothers and sisters. Still, I always think for the future and I know that this camaraderie will last.

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