Emeagwali

It was 7 a.m. Saturday March 23, 1974. I stood at the Midwest Line Bus Station in Onitsha. Besides me were my mother and aunt "Mama Felicia." I felt strange because I had received my visa 36 hours ago and I am taking the first step towards my longest journey. The reality is slowing sinking in and I found myself in deep thoughts, for the first time. I could hear Mama Felicia wondering aloud. "Chukwurah (Philip Emeagwali) is a child. He is too young to travel to the white man's land alone. But he has a strong spirit. Ife nee ne di na aka la aka." "When a man says yes, his chi, or spirit, says yes also," she said, restating a a saying popular among the Igbos. In Igbo spirituality, the Chi is the guardian spirit assigned to each person. Mama Felicia is illiterate and did not know where or how far the United States is. But she understood that going to the white man's land is a momentous event. She pointed out that I am following the footsteps of Nnamdi Azikiwe. I thought to myself: "Six months earlier, I had no money, no contact, no passport, no visa, no boat ticket." I knew so little that I even believed that I will travel to America by boat. I knew that I wanted to study in America. The saying "When a man says yes, his chi says yes," now has more meaning. If I had said no, my chi would have said no also. I would have sabotaged myself before I even begin. ... TO BE CONTINUED ... IN MY BIOGRAPHY I was an 18-year-old with six years of formal education who earned a University of London diploma through self-study. Strangely, I earned the Advanced Level certificate before earning this Ordinary Level certificate. This is sort of like earning a masters degree before the bachelors. The lizard that jumped from the high iroko tree to the ground said he would praise himself if no one else did (Achebe, Things Fall Apart.). I praise myself for earning this diploma through self-study. The day I received this result (May 1973), I decided to continue my studies in the United States. With the exception of Nnamdi Azikiwe (the first African president of Nigeria), I could not name one person who had visited the United States. I did not know the place, people and way of life. A few years earlier, the word America conjectured only images of John Wayne and the Western World. I was shocked when my friend, Felix Ukpabi, took me to seen the movie Shaft. That movie was an eye opener. I saw cars, big houses, cities and even black people America. My nearly perfect scores in SAT and achievement tests helped me secure this scholarship. The scholarship was awarded before my I applied for admission. Later Bill Clinton referred to this scholarship when he said: "He won a scholarship to university and went on to invent a formula that lets computers make 3.1 billion calculations per second." Inspired by my new scholarship, I took this photo for my Nigerian travel passport (Christos Photo, near Venn Road & Iweka Road, Onitsha, Nigeria. Circa September 1973) Three students were waiting for me when I arrived in Salem, at about 4:00 p.m. There were sent by, Helen, the resident manager of Oregon College of Education. I was surprised by the size of their car --- a Chevy Impala. I was also surprised to learn that many teenagers own and a driver's license. It was the first time I travelled in a car driven by a teenager or female. I was deeply impressed. Again, I had difficulty understanding the American English and the 25 minute ride to Monmouth was made with little conversation. Monmouth was a charming college town of population 8,000. The town was founded by pioneers in the mid-1800's. It is located in a country side called Williamette Valley. It is also a residential bedroom community for people that commute to work in Salem and Corvallis. The college, later renamed Western Oregon University, is Oregon's oldest public university. I was shocked when I spoke to African-Americans and learned that they have lost their language, including their African accent. I joke that my passport number proves that I am the 220648-th Nigerian to travel outside Nigeria. The ride through Ikeja to the airport was quite an experience in itself. To say that I was impressed with the affluence of the neighborhoods will be an understatement. I was a country boy. We arrived at Ikeja airport at about 3:00 p.m. It was the only functional airport in Nigeria. Back then not many people fly and the airport was not very crowded. It was my first trip to an airport and the first time I saw an airplane on the ground. With the exception of the British bomber aircraft that bombed our house during the Biafra War, all aircrafts that I saw were 30,000 feet in the air and developed the misconception that airplanes were the size of a car. I was amazed at the size and wondered how such a massive object could fly all the way to the United States. After gaining a scholarship, another seemingly impossible obstacle cropped up: getting the Nigerian government to issue me a travel passport. I lost count of the number of arduous trips I made from Onitsha to Lagos on rickety lorries called Mammy-wagons. These wagons are actually farm trucks. It was explained to me that I must bribe government officials to get my passport. The Nigerian passport office was teeming with fraudsters who accept your passport fee on the false pretext that they can assist you in obtaining your travel document. I refused to give a bribe for the for three months. Then the reality sunk into my head. First, I had to give a bribe to receive the passport application form alone. Then the clerks will lie to me that my file was lost. I had to give another bribe for them to search for my file. I will be told that the chief clerk needs three days to work on my application. When I return on the third day, I will again be informed that my file was lost. We are back to square one and a repetition of the bribing process. About December 20, 1973, I started making threats to the lives of the clerks at the passport office. Apparently they took my threats seriously for on the eve of Christmas 1973 my file was re-discovered and my passport was issued. Even then, I was told that I must pay my return flight ticket even though I knew I was not going to return again to Nigeria. The Nigerian Ministry of External Affairs discouraged me from studying abroad. As a pre-condition for issueing me a Nigerian passport, I was forced to pay, in advance, the anticipated airline cost of repatriating me from the United States to Nigeria. When we landed, the door was flung open and I found myself indoors and inside the airport. I was impressed and excited, like the proverbial young antelope who danced himself lame when the main dance was yet to come. Americans looked affluent, well-fed, and sophisticated. The first major surprise was that I could barely understand the English language when it is spoken with an American accent. So this is America! I was told that I had three hours layover before my flight proceeds to Oregon, via Chicago. Now that I am already in the United States, I felt safe enough to explore beyond the airport terminal. I decided to take a brief walk with an Ethiopian passenger that I met at the airport. The whole place was very cold and little foggy. I was blown away at the size of the people, cars and buildings in New York. Not in my wildest dreams could I have imagined that such a place existed. In fact, it was such an emotional experience that I had to wipe tears from my eyes. I made another transfer at Chicago before arriving in Portland, Oregon. The airport officials explained to me that I need to take a limousine to Salem, Oregon. So this is Oregon! "Oregon smells different from Nigeria," I said to myself. The Oregonian air was pleasant and faintly scented. The scenerary was beautiful and green. It was extremely cold but my adrenaline was flowing and I was excited. I was quiet during the 60-minute ride from Portland to Salem. My attention was focused on the houses which seems so beautiful. The lawns were well-manicured and perfect. The tension and excitement is now increasing as I realize that I am minutes away from my final destination. "What will Oregon College of Education look like?" I wondered aloud. On the morning of March 20 (wednesday), 1974, I arrived at the United States Embassy for my interview. I felt strange that day. It was the first time I had a one-on-one conversation with an American. The consular officer spend most of the time reviewing my scholarship offer and my academic transcript. He seemed impressed with my transcripts, which contained spectacular scores for teenager with my background. Moments later he extended his hands and said "Congratulations, you are getting your visa to the United States." I heard his words but I did not believe them. Oregon College of Education was later renamed Western Oregon University. (This photo taken in 2000) I received a warm welcome from Helen, the resident manager. She instructed Jim, her student assistant, to house me in Room 36 of Butler Hall. It seemed palatial to me --- a living/study room, one large bedroom with four twin beds, a bath room with two showers and two sinks. The electricity didn't go on and off as was the case in Nigeria. A room similar to my first dorm room. I went to take my first bath and saw two faucets in both the sinks and showers. I thought to myself: "Two faucets. What a stupid idea!" When I turned on the first bath faucet, I was nearly scolded with hot water. I never heard of hot baths before. I was amazed to learn that hot water could be brought to the bathroom. Helen told me that I had a telephone call. I accompanied her to her living room to receive my first call. When she handed the receiver to me, I paused and stared at her. I had never used a telephone before, never watched someone talk on the telephone and didn't know which end is the mouthpiece. I took my chances and spoke into one end. "Hello, Hello, Hello," I said repeatedly. Helen grabbed the receiver from my hands and turned it around. I was embarrased by the whole incident. An American cannot remember how she learned to use the telephone. It seem like they came into the world knowing how to use a telephone. In a sense, I was like the kid that grew up in a community without mirrors. He failed to recognize himself when he saw his reflection for the first time. (Visa stamp on my passport dated March 20, 1974) My first visit to the caferia was quit an experience. It was a sea of young white faces, clad in blue jeans, tee shirts and/or winter coat. They all looked and sounded alike to me. I could not understand their conversations. It was quite an eerie experience. That morning, I was the only black in huge hall of one thousand students. [Later, I met two other black students and I learned that I was the fourth Nigerian student to ever attend that school. The first, Boniface N. Madubom, graduated shortly before I enrolled. The other two, Julius A. Ogunlake and Amos, were still enrolled.] The choice of food was unbelievable. I stood in line. Then I asked a fellow next to me: "How much food am I allowed to eat?" "As much as you want," he answered, looking puzzled. In Nigeria, we rationed food and I assumed that was how it was done everywhere else. "Wonders will never end!" I said to myself. I spent the first night alone. When I woke up, I walked to the balcony to see the place with my first daylight in Monmouth. It was cold but since I was excited I did not feel cold. The place looked so different and once again I realized that I am no longer in Onitsha, anymore. I am now ten thousand miles away from home, and literally on the opposite side of the Earth. For the first, I realized the implications of what I had done: I will not talk to my mother for eight, or maybe ten, years to come. "Azikiwe must have been a very courageous boy to travel to this country," I thought to myself. (Philip Emeagwali, 36 Butler Hall, Oregon College of Education). March 25, 1974 My first homework assignments at Butler Hall, Oregon College of Education. On my third day, I a new student named Louis Bernavente became my roommate. He 35-years-old and from the island of Micronesia in Guam. We did things together and he took my first set of photos in the United States, including this one. March 26, 1974 I began working in the evenings as a janitor in a school building. Being a janitor was a rude awakening for me. I had expected to obtain a job with dignity. In America, menial jobs are held by uneducated whites and educated blacks. An educated black that refused to accept a menial job is described as lazy. However, I was almost floored when the foreman told me that I will be paid one dollar and sixty cents an hour. I found it hard to believe that anybody, including even the president of the United States, would get paid that amount of money. I remember asking the foreman to repeat what he just told me. A few months ago in Nigeria, my monthly allowance was five cents. (Oregon College of Education, March 28, 1974) My first letter from Nigeria, dated April 16, 1974. It was almost ten years before I made my first telephone call to Nigeria. Also, we had no faxes or email. I treasured letters from home and I will read them over and over and over. An outdoor field trip. (Central Oregon, June 1974) My learning took place outside the classroom. I am having a one-on-one conversation with a professor and team leader of our four-day outdoor camping field trip (July 1974). I (and a party of students) climbed to near the top of Mt. Hood, which is the second most climbed mountain in the world, second only to Japan’s holy Mt. Fujiyama. Mt. Hood is a "sleeping" volcano and significant eruption could occur anytime. (Mt. Hood rises 11,235 ft. above sea level; its base spreads over 92 miles. Oregon, July 1974) On a one-week geologic field trip to the Canadian-Washington border. For the first time, I camped and slept outdoors. It was fun! (September 1974) I took a winter break in Bend, Oregon. Visited with my friend Steve and Mary and their friends who served in the peace corps in Kenya and travelled through Nigeria. (January 1975) I transferred to Oregon State University in March 1975. I commutted to classes on my bicycle (2335 S.E. Ryan Street Corvallis, Oregon 97333-2030 April 1975) Checking my oil level as I get ready for a long distance trip. (2335 S.E. Ryan Street Corvallis, Oregon 97333-2030 April 1975) (15 Edgewood Way, Corvallis, Oregon 97330. May-June 1975) (15 Edgewood Way, Corvallis, Oregon 97330. May-June 1975) (Photo taken between Kidder Hall, then mathematics department, and the main library of Oregon State University. Corvallis, Oregon. July 1975) At the home of Fred and Anne Merryfield. Fred founded the multinational firm CH2M-Hill (ch2m.com). (2540 SW Whiteside Drive Corvallis, Oregon 97330. February 1976) I lived in 518 Callahan Hall of Oregon State University from March-May 1976. I found myself adjusting to new surroundings and meeting new people. I started making friends with black students and athletes. My white roommate had found it difficult to share a room with a black student and I re-assigned to Bloss Hall. Callahan Hall I lived in 206 Bloss Hall of Oregon State University from May-June 1976. My room mate was an Iranian whose father was a colonel in the Iranian army and a close associate of the Shah of Iran. He had more money than he could spend and was perplexed that I had to get up at 3 a.m. to do my janitorial job. I believed that he later dropped out of college. I lived in 237 Wilson Hall of Oregon State University from June-August 1976. Half of the students were basketball and football athletes undergoing their summer training. I learned that white women were attracted to black athletes whom they perceived as young studs and attractive physical specimens. They feel like a queen to be seen in the arms of an athletic star. These were young white girls looking for a good time or one-night stand of unprotected sex. The earn the right to brag: 'Oh, I slept with Michael Jordan.' I was'nt surprised when I learned that basketball superstar Magic Johnson tested HIV-positive. Inside Wilson Hall I enjoyed washing and polishing my '67 Buick Electra 225, On some Friday evenings, I will pick up eight African-American female students and take them to a party. I was teased and given the nickname "player" because of I cruise around town with my "eight girl friends." (4060 N.W. Houston Place, Corvallis, Oregon 97330-1722 August-September 1976) My yearbook photo (Beaver, Oregon State University Yearbook, early 1977) Two Nigerian friends and myself (center). A few hours later, I boarded the Greyhound Bus (153 NW 4th, Corvallis) and rode non-stop to Washington, D.C. I arrived in Washington, D.C. on about 9:30 a.m. on June 8, 1977. I spent my next 14 nights at the International Youth Hostel located at the corner of 16th and P Street of N.W. Washington, D.C. (Oregon State University, June 5, 1977) Click on emeagwali.com for more information.