Twelve years ago, I took the leap and came to America.
On the train from Coventry to Heathrow, my big sister Ann
stopped at the cashpoint, what we called the ATM here withdrew £100. She
pressed it into my hand to add to the $100 I already carried. Together, that
became £100 and $100, about $220 to start a new life in the unknown.
I had left some money in my Ugandan account, but I couldn’t
count on it. Within the first week, I bought running shoes, and with time my
small stash dwindled quickly. I chose not to get a phone line, reasoning that I
lived with the only people I knew in America and could reach others through
WhatsApp and Skype, which was the hit back then.
One month in, my friend Charlotte called from London via
Skype. She asked if I still used my HSBC account. I said yes, though it held
little. Charlotte, being who she is, sent £100 to that account. After living
off just $200 for a month, her gift felt like a million dollars, unexpected,
thoughtful, and deeply sustaining.
Fast forward to this year. After years of blogging, I
finally took the advice of friends and family and plunged into writing a book. With
dedication and a few helping hands, Sojourning in America became
a reality this November. On a minimal budget, I researched self-publishing,
designed the cover, and wrestled with formatting that nearly had me pulling out
my hair.
I learned it was wise to publish first with an independent
press before Amazon, so I chose Book Vault in the UK. Once I had the link, I
shared it with friends and family there. And who were my first buyers? Ann and
Charlotte, the same two who had blessed me with the money that carried me
through my first months in America.
The coincidence was not lost on me. Their generosity had
once helped me begin a life in a new land. Now, it helped me begin a new
chapter as an author.
What began with £100 and $100 has come full circle. Ann and
Charlotte’s gifts remind me that journeys are sustained not only by courage,
but by the quiet generosity of others. Sojourning in America is more
than my book, it is a testament to the circles of care that make belonging
possible.
PS
Before I published this story, I asked Charlotte if she
could send me a photo. She isn’t even on social media, but she still agreed cheerfully
to take one during her train commute. When I asked who took the picture, she
simply said, “Oh, I asked a stranger.” And that is Charlotte in one sentence:
an introverted, quietly generous soul willing to step outside her comfort zone
just to make her friends happy.
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