When I Came To America

I am Nelly Ndayikengurukiye from Butare, Rwanda.
I was born in Rwanda is a little country in sub-Saharan Africa. Butare, Rwanda is my “hometown.” My parents are Burundian; due to the devastation’s of 1994 we are refugees. I came to the United States when I was three years old. For Thirteen years, I have been a Burundian, a Rwandan and a refugee in America. My culture is an enormous part of who I am; every aspect of my life is entwined with my culture be: education, entertainment, food, and even my friends. My culture touches every aspect of my life and will hopefully continue to be a part of my life, but I can’t resist feeling that the culture I love is slowly dissipating.
My parents always speak Kirundi, Kinyarwanda, and Swahili- sometimes

My mother, my father, my sister and my brothers, all our foci was to integrate our culture with the American way of life- immersion was never our desire- none of us wanting to lose our heritage. Our focus was to understand and incorporate the American culture so that we were not so isolated, not so different. When I was younger, I would attempt to understand the way of the “Americans”- did what they did- a lot of it I never understood. I did not understand the music, I did not understand the food, and I did not even understand the school system, granted, I was merely a child trying to unlock the secrets of a 238- years- old nation, a nursing compared to Burundi and Rwanda.
I remember for a while, all the Africans lived in one area, but we have long since separated. I barely see Burundians or Rwandans or any Africans really. I spent much of my life trying to be “American” that I did not realize that I was losing what made me, me. My languages have always been my indicator; they are symbolic, a metaphor for my whole culture. If I know my languages and speak them fluently, I know that my culture is safe. Unfortunately, this is not the case, I constantly forget words and my grammar is inconsistent, at best. For this reason, I know that I am losing my