What does it mean to be a refugee? Does one choose to become a refugee or a stranger to their home country?
For the longest time, I knew that I was Burundian, practiced Burundian traditions and cultures. Everything I knew and know now is of Burundian background; the language, food and the way I carry myself.
As children, we often see life as it comes and goes, we eat, play, and are clothed, but rarely do we sit and think of how those things are possible.
Growing up, I played non-stop; life was simple and beautiful, and till this day, nothing can compare to that feeling. I can not think of a day where I have enjoyed growth the same as I did in the refugee camp. I remember life being beautiful in its purest form. Children ran the streets barefoot! We played soccer with soccer balls made out of plastic bags with no shoes on. We played tennis, jump ropes, local games( agapira) where we would use bottles and fill it with dust while agapira was thrown in the air, then empty it.
These games were a massive part of our everyday lives, and we even played them at school. Our school, which was a 30 plus minute walk, felt like it was in the back yard. We walked to school every day, played games, and sang on our way to school. We would go home for lunch around 1 pm; Some students either went back for afternoon classes, and others did not. Either way, we all waited for 5 pm to come about when everyone would be out of school and ready to play which would go on till our parents would call us to go home for dinner.
Much of my memories of the camp consist of children playing days in and out. It was not until I got in the United States and saw a different side of life that I started to realize that not all hardships I saw were typical. Hearing stories of those I lived with the camp, I now see that life is not fair to most people living in refugee camps. We did have running water inside the house, nor did we have bathrooms inside our homes. To get water, we had to walk miles from our homes and sometimes wait in a long line before we could get water. If the pipes weren't working, we had to get water from the river. Bathrooms were outside and not so child-friendly. Imagine having to go out when you have to pee at night; having to use a torch to see where you're going and hope no loose dogs are running outside! These are things we take for granted here. Some people had no food and would drink buyi to get through the night; this saddens me deeply. How can someone go to sleep without eating when I had something to eat every day? Was I selfish for not noticing that my friends were hungry when we played together? How come they didn't eat at my house when we had plenty of food? These questions ran through my head at nine years old, too young to understand, yet determined to get answers.
When these questions started haunting me, I started looking back to my time in Lukole refugee camp and study the way many refugees live. I first wanted to know why we lived in so much hardship for so long if we had a country of our own. Did Burundi not want us? Why did my parents not go back to Burundi, but kept moving from one country to another?
Till this day, I still ask those questions and again not get answers.
Today, as we celebrate World Refugee Day, I thought a lot about what it meant to me to be a refugee. There's no simple answer or statement to this question, in my opinion. I was born in Lukole refugee camp in Tanzania, and I never thought much of it, to me, it was home. But I always felt as though something was missing; we were not citizens of a country we were born in to, which felt strange. I would hear my parents talk about how the Tanzanian government was planning on sending all the refugees back to their native countries and close off all refugee camps occupied by Burundians. With such comments going on, I wondered if we had a "home" to go back to and if there was even one. If we had a home country to go to, wouldn't we have done so already? Over time, I developed a sense of not belonging anywhere due to the number of times we've moved. Each country brought a new culture, new food, and new languages.
It is crazy how you can gain citizenship and still feel like a refugee without a country to call home. Living in the states for 12 years now, longer than I lived in the refugee camp and becoming an American citizen, you'd think that I call this place home! Yes, I speak English, study here, and do most things that are "normal" to Americans, yet I still feel like I don't belong here.
Today, I hope that refugees around the world know that they are not alone. Life sucks, but we didn't choose to live in such conditions. Today lets celebrate being strong individuals, that can overcome any obstacle that life could ever bring! Today lets hope for a better tomorrow where people won't have to leave behind everything they know and have to search for a new identity.
There's so much I could say about my time as a refugee, the hardship many had to endure, but the story would never end. So I'll leave you with this...
What is your story? What makes you the person you are today; is it your past or your present? Do you feel like you belong?