Fresh Air

“If you can’t fly, then run. If you can’t run, then walk. If you can’t walk, then crawl. But whatever you do, you have to keep moving forward” -Martin Luther King Jr.

As I wrap up this year, I am still processing what a whirlwind of a year it’s been for me. I moved to New York five months ago, and I am deeply in love with this city. I feel very in tune with this continuous flow of creativity, energy, and constant movement, even with the looming shadow of Omicron. I am still blissfully in the honeymoon phase. Of course, I am aware of the many problems-rapid gentrification, startling inequality, and the incredible filth of the subway stations. The rats are fit, healthy, and living their best lives, and the city is appallingly expensive. Strangely, this is where my body has felt the most at ease in the last five years.

I’ve tried several times to put emotions into words about the last five years I spent back home in Sierra Leone. I’ve replaced many soul-baring paragraphs with a single emoji on Instagram posts because I can’t fully encapsulate what it felt like to truly see my country for what it is after going back in 2016.  

When I went back home at 24, I wasn’t quite prepared and felt quite out of place. My first job was with the global health NGO Partners In Health-which was a revealing experience. I got to see the inner workings of development -a theory I had learned in college played out in real life. It was a good start to a career in international development and felt like I was doing good work. My next professional gig was at Cordaid, a Dutch INGO, and that’s when I truly found my niche in development- storytelling. Eventually, I branched off into consulting -which promised more income and flexible time. With more income and time to work on creative projects, I started to feel somewhat in place again.

However, by October last year, I realized I was both exhausted and restless, a weird juxtaposition on my mind and body. Development was a lucrative way to earn money in an aid-run country like mine, but I felt like something in me was dying, like I was losing an inner light-and losing it fast. I wanted to move, physically and figuratively. I also wanted to dedicate more time to storytelling, and I wanted to be better at it. It was a weird time to apply for a master’s degree in the US. COVID-19 was raging. I wasn’t sure if Donald Trump would be reelected, and his administration had banned Sierra Leoneans from traveling to the US (long story). However, I decided to try. The day I got the acceptance email from Columbia J-School (and checked the scholarship portal), I was so relieved I cried.

I am happy that I spent the last five years back home because I saw Sierra Leone for truly what it is, all its beauty, complexities, failure, needs, possibilities and decided to make informed decisions about my relationship with my country. I am happy that I was able to give back in a way that was meaningful to me, however small it was. I truly grew up in Sierra Leone within those five years.

When I came to New York in August, I remember telling a friend that I felt so light that I was almost overcome with guilt. I was almost scared to try out things, like just getting on the bus and seeing where the last stop was. Going to Times Square on weekends to people-watch and soak in the “aliveness” of it all. Exploring museums, galleries, bookstores and absorbing the diversity of things to do.

Even though grad school at Columbia is stressful, I feel very in tune with what I’m doing. I enjoy what I’m learning. I always knew journalism would be a pleasure for me to do , but now I see it as a privilege. I’ve had the honor of interviewing people on so many interesting topics, and my professors have been kind and supportive. Every day I feel like I am learning and growing.

As I wrap up 2021, I am thankful. Yes, I still hold some anxiety in my body about the unending surge of Covid, the erratic effects of climate change, but I remain hopeful, while being very thankful.