Ties That Tether

by Jane Igharo

hear it.” She never did understand or care to understand what it was like for Efe and me to move to Canada. Efe was ten. I was twelve. In Nigeria, I had already established a clear understanding of who I was. There was never any question or doubt until I moved to Canada. When I first entered my sixth-grade class, at a school where the majority were Caucasians, the difference between myself and my peers became apparent. There was a clear definition of normal, and I didn’t fit it. The kids wore T-shirts, jeans, and sneakers. I wore my favorite dashiki dress and brown strappy sandals. The kids spoke fast; their Canadian accent and slang made me feel inferior. At lunch, they ate sandwiches cut in neat triangles. My lunch of yam pottage made eyebrows raise and noses scrunch. The kids were cruel. And the only way to stop their cruelty was to conform. It was a survival mechanism—alter the way I speak, so I don’t stand out; ask for a turkey sandwich for lunch, so the smell of Nigerian food doesn’t attract attention and notify people of my difference; wear Levi’s jeans and an American Apparel T-shirt, so I fit in with the group of girls who are finally starting to like me. My mother didn’t understand the struggle of trying to reconcile my heritage with my new environment at such a young age. She didn’t understand I had to survive middle school and high school, not as a Nigerian but as a Canadian. To her, I compromised and lost parts of my identity. To myself, I made room in my life...