Every immigrant has a story, often terrible stories, about their lives in a strange land where you cannot say hello to the neighbour next door, and friendships flip-flop with changes in weather.
The colleague at work remains a colleague–only at the workplace; they do not expect a hug when you bump into them at the shopping mall.
You are also not invited to their wedding and cannot be too friendly to their children.
The life of the immigrant is a minefield punctuated by wicked events, uncertainties, and certain dangers.
You could die alone in your room, and nobody will find you, until the smell of your decomposed body gives up your ghost.
Half a life for immigrants
In America, the immigrants has only half a life while they are living, and when they die, they are twice dead, because they never really lived.
Ghanaians in Ohio are presently mourning Getty, a beautiful Ghanaian lady who is alleged to have died in her apartment.
It is reported she lived alone and never made friends in the Ghanaian community.
It is also alleged she dealt in real estate in Ghana and appeared to be doing quite well for herself in Ohio, where she recently completed a masters degree.
As the police carted away her body from her apartment, Ghanaians were reminded of the perilous journey the lady undertook in Ohio, and were also given a prime view of the life of immigrants in North America and elsewhere.
It is a worrying portrait of a difficult life, and many immigrants can relate to it.
In the same week Getty’s mortal remains were evacuated from her lonely apartment, I was summoned to a hospice in peri-urban Ottawa, to join the family of a friend I called a brother, nurses, and funeral home executives, to walk out the body of my friend. It is a ritual that is observed at the hospice when a person dies.
The walk out marked the end of a difficult life.
I had met him at a community event, where he shared uncomfortable details about life abroad.
We also shared a few jokes about friends and family who make careless demands from people abroad.
It was in winter and the weather was punishing.
Soon, sickness struck and kept him away–from work, life and pleasure–until he breathed his last.
No friends here
It is said the best dreams, accolades, and achievements are buried in cemeteries.
This is true for cemeteries in Ghana, but it may be truer for cemeteries in America and Europe, where some Ghanaian immigrants are buried.
In the midst of heavily- resourced hospitals, good-paying jobs, and free food, the death of an immigrant provokes more questions beyond the painful loss of precious human life.
In an environment of plenty where a cleaner could buy a car and rent a decent house, why do immigrants live miserable lives and die alone in their rooms?
It is reported that Getty was lonely. It is possible nobody ever visited her in a year or two, and that is very normal in North America and Europe.
Friends are only for fair weather, and the weather is hardly fair. People work shifts and cannot be expected to receive or return a call.
Night is not only when the sky turns dim or black; the night shift worker recalibrates the hours of the day to make them count as night.
They only wake up to start another working night when everybody is asleep.
Even when you work the same hours with a close friend, they do not expect you to visit for beer or fufu. It may be considered rude and too Ghanaian.
Another reason Getty may have kept to herself is the desire to stay away from anything too Ghanaian.
Be wary of the Ghanaian community, new immigrants are often warned.
Gossip is rife and unhealthy competition is the currency of the community.
Like in Ghana, there is wisdom to seek refuge in church when life loses meaning and luster.
Getty may have stayed away from Ghanaian churches in Ohio because of the same suspicions church patrons in Ghana trade in. Getty may need a new pair of shoes and a matching bag every Sunday.
She is not married and that may be interpreted or spiritualised as punishment for failing to pay up her tithes.
Twin dreams or pipedreams
Finding a good partner in freethinking America is as difficult as encountering a Bible in a brothel.
A particularly good-looking and classy lady like Getty may have been propositioned by a few men in Ohio, but many of these men may have wives in Ghana.
Getty is too smart for such sex-hungry fraudsters. Sponsor a boyfriend or husband from Ghana?
Getty may have been discouraged by the many stories of failed marriages among Ghanaians in Ohio, and might have been warned by friends to go white or try a semi-decent Akata, or simply trap any man for child support.
These are personal choices, and Getty could afford not to make any.
There are, however, other choices Getty must make willy-nilly, as an immigrant: The Green Card or Red, which means going back to Ghana, or working with another person’s documents and using their bank details.
Many immigrants go to unthinkable lengths to stay Green. However, legal immigration status does not guarantee the immigrant a decent job; they may be stuck in a care home singing lullabies to septuagenarians while their masters degrees take rest in their bedside drawers.
Getty had big dreams, twin dreams that must manifest in two places: in Ghana and in America.
There are huge expectations from families in Ghana, who expect you to remit them constantly and also save up to build a mansion in Kumasi.
The maths do not add up quite well when you pay rent or mortgage, car insurance, car loan, gas, medical insurance, credit card overspends, groceries, spot fines, and incidental expenditure.
You might drop dead while paying bills, or simply go to bed and never wake up. If your insurance is not friendly, your dead body might even be owing.
And this is a haunting reflection on immigrants life in America — torn between belonging, sacrifice, and the loss of self.
Tissues Of The Issues
bigfrontiers@gmail.com
Ottawa, Canada
.
