My Identity Crisis

It was about 12 pm local time when we approached the Juba International Airport. The plane landed on a small runway surrounded with grass. We accelerated and the plane made something like a U-turn and I felt like we were to take off again. I wondered what was about to happen! But I learned, in the end, that as the plane landed, it offshoots a little bit passing the area it was supposed to pull over. So we came back to that place and pulled over. We sprang out of the plane toward the airport security’s building. Even though this was supposed to be cold season in Sudan, it felt so hot! And as I walked toward the building, an airport security official recognized that I was a Sudanese and started talking to me in Juba Arabic. I politely told him I don’t know much but I knew just to say hello. So we exchanged few words with me mixing English with Arabic. He seemed far too understanding of my situation and was so happy that I was back anyways. He guided me to the building and left me in a line. There, there were several sheets of paper to login. Apparently, people login differently. There were sheets for foreigners and that of Sudanese. So when I approached the desk and handed in my passport to the desk’s attendant, he looked at it and said to me “are you not Sudanese?” With sense of agitation, I replied “why?” The guy just wanted to know. But there is something about identity that agitates me. It appeared to me like he was questioning my patriotism and sense of belonging. Sure I am now American national. But I will always be a Sudanese-American. This is the reason when we took off at Kenyatta International Airport and the pilot announced the flight time was one hour fifteen minutes, I anxiously stared the window in the air throughout the flight. I wanted to see at which point I cross the border and now sit back and relax in Sudanese air! It has been about twenty years since I left this country. But I don’t feel a bit of resentment to this land. I have a sense of anguish to those who made it impossible for me to grow up here where I belong! Yes, I belong here! Everything about me belongs here! So write me down in the sheet that you think is right for me. I won’t be offended however if you chose to log me in as a foreigner. After all, America is the country that can claim my legal human existence. I was never a citizen of any country—not even of my own place of birth for the most parts of my lifetime. And man! I proudly hold this passport covered with stars and stripes because this is now my country—so go ahead please, write me down as a foreigner—in fact write American!