14 Emily Creery

Narrative Summary

The Price of Freedom

Across the tiny table in the rotunda of the Adler Journalism Building sat a 22-year-old Wilungula Sadi. A charismatic and gentle man, he has endured more in his few years than many have in an entire lifetime. Accompanied by two of his brothers who spoke very little English, Sadi discussed the collision of his family’s two worlds as his brothers lingered in silent admiration.

“I don’t know where my country is,” Sadi said. “I have never been there before.”

Sadi was born and raised in a refugee camp in the African country of Tanzania, where his family endured for more than 20 years during the migration process — a camp where several of his siblings still remain today. Having spent his years growing, learning, and surviving in a place where inadequate food was the norm and French was the language, Sadi was eventually able to leave where “people live like animals,” he said. At the age of 19, he found his way to the United States of America. Yet, what Sadi thought he knew of the U.S. — free food, free money, and freedom — was a far cry from what everyone in the camp referred to as heaven.

“It’s so hard to live here,” he said. “The people think we just need food, water, a place to rest our heads. No. What we need is opportunity.”

First arriving in California, Sadi quickly made his way to Iowa City because he learned of friends who resided in the area. But even during his brief time on the West Coast, the home of Hollywood and make-believe, he immediately knew that the media had severely skewed the American Dream.

Sadi always imagined the country to be “the most beautiful place on Earth,” he said. Yet he paid $2,017 for a plane ticket to a home where he was met with nothing but intolerance and uniformity.

“When we got here, they tried to treat us like Americans,” he said. “But we’re not Americans. We have our own culture, our own way to live.”

It was during these first several weeks when Sadi worked closely with his social worker in hopes of returning to the only other place he had ever known: Tanzania. But through the relationships he cultivated in Iowa City, Sadi was able to learn basic English within four short months, renewing the confidence to continue moving forward. His perception of America started to shift because his “intelligence started to shift,” he said.

However, Sadi does not believe that his dreams will ever come to fruition under the red, white, and blue. His experiences migrating to the country were far from welcoming, and this is a process that he intends to amend. Although he wishes to return to Africa, Sadi will not rest until he can be the change that he wants to see in the world.

“We don’t need people to pick us up at the airport,” he said. “We need people to know our culture. We need freedom.”

Sadi admits that a formal education within the United States is out of the question, believing that he is too old to start while looking after his family and working a full-time job. But in an ideal world, he would like to earn the degrees necessary to become a social worker. He ultimately wants to utilize his personal immigration experience and ties to Africa to build a bridge for all those who wish to walk into the land of the “free.”

“People believe that it’s like hell to live here,” Sadi said. “Just being placed randomly. It’s like giving someone a prison. But when you give everyone all of the opportunities, you have all that you need to succeed.”

He intends to teach classes in both Africa and the United States for refugees in order to help demystify the illusion that surrounds America. He recognizes firsthand just how beneficial it is to understand that migration does not solve everything. In Africa, his family told him of the horrors that waited outside of the camp: no food in the home and no knowledge as to what the next day will bring. But Sadi, on his worst days, has a hard time deciphering whether or not that fate is worse than a life in the United States.

But until the day comes for him to fly back home, Sadi wants to earn citizenship and start a business in America. He believes this will provide him with enough financial stability and social clout to go back-and-forth between Africa and the States, branching out his business and educating people on what awaits them across the Atlantic. The responsibility, however, does not rest solely in the hands of those coming to America.

“The immigration system doesn’t understand my people or respect my culture,” Sadi said. “It needs to give opportunities for the freedom of what we really want in life. It needs to ask us first.”

Despite the hardships Sadi has experienced, he looks forward to the day when he can call himself an American, a privilege that will finally grant him the opportunity to live how he deems fit.

“No one will treat me bad,” he said. “I won’t be a refugee anymore, just a normal person who lives my own way.”

Before parting, Sadi shared that if you put a goat on a ship, the goat is still a goat and the ship is still a ship. He equates this to his experience migrating to the United States: he will always be a man of the African people, a soul of its culture. Sadi crossed the ocean to live a better life, but even “heaven” looks like hell to those who are deemed outsiders.

Personal Reflection

I found this experience to be incredibly illuminating but also slightly frustrating. It was fascinating to learn of a life that I have not — nor will ever — live. I will never know the struggles of a home where I do not know when my next meal will be, nor have to question the safety and structure of my environment. To hear this firsthand from a man who is the same age as me — sitting in the room where I have grown and thrived as a college student — was so incredibly humbling. Yet, I pride myself on connection and my ability to build that with all people, and it was an evident struggle to engage meaningfully with Wilungula Sadi.

I learned so many things from him, such as the point of view from a refugee who not only believes that the United States is a far cry from the land of opportunity, but a prison. It was also incredibly eye-opening to hear a story of migration when the person in question only knew of his country from within the boundaries of a refugee camp. Lastly, another key element of my interview with Sadi was his understanding of the privilege that comes from being an American, despite his deeply rooted despise toward the country.

The first takeaway was the most shocking, yet unsurprising find from our discussion. I have no doubt that the United States consistently fails to live up to the hype that is “the greatest country in the world.” Even its citizens have a hard time understanding the rationale behind this crumbling status. But it was a harder pill to swallow when Sadi claimed that this nation provides little opportunity, which through retrospection, proves a glaring case of privilege on my end.

In all honesty, it must be a subtle sense of pride toward all of the freedoms I believe America has. But this, of course, is through the eyes of a white, straight, cis-gender woman of an affluent socioeconomic class. I live a drastically different life within these borders than Sadi, an African refugee seeking a home. Thus, through this privilege, I had a hard time understanding how this country is comparable to the experiences he faced in Tanzania.

This leads into the second element where Sadi’s only home in Africa was in a refugee camp. This was incredibly powerful, which is why I decided to use the quote of not knowing his own country in the introduction of my narrative. How awful to have such a skewed and negative view of an entire country for 19 years of his life. That was all he knew of Africa, his people, and his purpose for existing. It was also a very resounding fact because that was all he had to equate to the United States, and he still wants to go back.

The final highlight that left me pondering was Sadi’s understanding of American privilege. It was a true point of confliction and sadness in his own story, but also an informative lesson, again, on my status in this world. It seems so cruel for him to have to stay in a place — where he finds no happiness — long enough to earn citizenship just so he can finally pursue his dreams. While I, on the other hand, am currently living my dream and constantly striving toward the next one. I could not imagine the misery in waiting to start my life when that seems to be all that Sadi has been doing.

But, as I mentioned before, I struggled to find a connection with Sadi. Not because of the reasons already stated nor the million other factors at play as to why we do not share the same life, but because I have a hard time with the half-empty thinkers of the world. I do not think it is Sadi’s responsibility to be positive about his situation, but 22 years is a long time to be bitter with the world. It was evident that he did not want to speak with me, and it pains me that he is so anti-American. Sadi’s life has been an uphill battle, but I have to believe that there have been so many “little” things that have shaped who he is and for the better. We cannot go through live hating everything about it because then we will never truly live.