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We lived in a rural village about an hour’s drive from Banjul, the capital, and had limited access to many educational opportunities. The few we did have gave us an advantage over our parents, who could not read or write — or even speak English. While our father was deeply suspicious of traditional schooling — calling it a construct of the White man — our mother quietly supported our efforts to get educated and broaden our horizons.
But even as we learned in primary and high school, we knew we were still disadvantaged. We did not have access to college or university-level education, and good-paying jobs were scarce. The best positions went to those most connected to the men already in power.
In contrast, America was a symbol of progress and mobility. And American pop culture only reinforced our idealized notion of the US. Gambians all listened to American music — be it Whitney Houston, Janet Jackson or Mariah Carey — and we followed American fashion trends closely. We knew the names of most American actors and routinely argue over our favorites. Sylvester Stallone and Chuck Norris remain two of the most popular.
Based on the American media personalities we came to know, we thought of Americans as some of the most empowered people on earth. If they willed it, they could reach any educational or professional heights.
America also looked massive and diverse. Each state seemed like its own country — and yet American democracy appeared to somehow hold all of them together. We did not care about Democrats or Republicans or their political squabbles — we only cared that American democracy seemed to bring peace, wealth and independence. And, more to the point, we believed that wherever there was trouble in the world, America would take the lead in addressing it.
While our impression of America led my brother and I to dream of moving there, it also led us to imagine a better future for Gambia. I did not yet know the fragility of America’s own democracy. But I did…
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Source : cnn
