Plenty of African immigrant children or first-generation Americans know the internal struggle that comes with finding a comfortable middle ground of where they fit in. These are usually children who didn’t fit in with the white kids but would find themselves not fitting in with the black kids either. They felt like Africans in America more so than they felt like African Americans. Many times, their culture, their traditions manifested in completely different ways than for African Americans.
The Trump administration has expanded its travel ban to six more countries, including Nigeria — the largest economy in Africa. While Nigerian students and travelers are still welcome to visit — it’s family members immigrating to the U.S. who are blocked from coming here.
Immigrants who obtain legal permanent resident status in the United States and those who, later, become naturalized U.S. citizens, often long for their close relatives — both abroad and inside the country — to follow their successful immigration journey.
There are several ways to help an eligible family member to immigrate to the U.S., but almost always this complex process begins with the submission of an essential form to establish the relationship between the applicant and the beneficiary.
I was a sophomore at Bowdoin when Donald Trump was gaining momentum in the presidential election in spite of his xenophobic rhetoric. Anxiously dreading a near-fascist regime in the event of a Trump presidency, I talked with my mother about getting reacquainted with Nigeria, my mother’s native country.
The talk did not go well and after debating the idea for an hour, my mother finally admitted, “We have no place to go! The Nigeria I knew in childhood doesn’t exist anymore. I would be a foreigner in my own country.”
What I initially took for exasperation in her tone was actually broken-heartedness. She had fond childhood memories of Nigeria as a beautiful and safe black country, so it pained her to know that I did not feel at home in America—my country—and that she could not provide me with an alternative.
When I read or hear stories about the current immigration crisis on the U.S. southern border, the word “cacophony” frequently comes to mind: an “unpleasant mixture of loud sounds,” as one dictionary defines it.
The same dictionary then provides a list of synonyms: bedlam, clash, commotion, salvo, thunder, and uproar.
The Nigerian Diaspora Movement (NDM) in the U.S. says President Donald Trump’s new immigration policy will, over time, reduce the number of Nigerians in strategic professional positions in that country.
Chairman of the movement, Prof. Apollos Nwauwa, made this known in an interview with the News Agency of Nigeria (NAN).
Another 200 migrants were rescued on the Mediterranean Sea on Wednesday, this time as they attempted to make the crossing from Morocco into Spain. These migrants from sub-Saharan countries, traveling in three boats, are the latest in the all-too-familiar story of Africans who travel through Libya and other nations, desperately seeking to reach Europe, even as the European Union crafts policies to prevent them from crossing the sea.
The same principle is at work along the southern border of the United States, where immigration policies and enforcement under President Donald Trump have become increasingly draconian.
Kenyan-born Dr. Godriver Odhiambo, a professor, at Le Moyne was among immigrants sworn in as American at the grounds of the New York Fair.
To honor New Americans day, nearly 100 immigrants were sworn in on Friday during a naturalization ceremony at Daniella’s, formerly the Empire Room. This is the fifth year the State Fair has held the ceremony and each one carries a lasting impact.
Most African asylum-seekers who made the perilous journey through Central America to the southern US border and flooded shelters in Maine’s largest city have new homes.
Thursday marked the closing of an emergency shelter set up in a basketball arena in Portland after several hundred African immigrants arrived from Texas. All told, the city has found homes for more than 200 people since the first families arrived in June.
A Dayton man, Saheed Saleh, killed in the Sunday shooting at the Oregon District was an Eritrea native.Yahya Khamis, president of the Dayton Sudanese community, who spoke on behalf of Saleh’s family, said several members from across the state came to Dayton to pay their respects.
When Fahmo Abdi and her family immigrated to the United States from Kenya, they lost contact with all of their loved ones. While living in a refugee camp, Abdi’s mother decided to move her family to the United States in search of a better life. “She knew she had to work hard to provide for us and [for] her family back home,” Abdi recalls.