I remember my first day of college on my campus at Skidmore College.
It was Monday, September 7th 2015 and I was ready to be independent and conquer the world.
I worked so hard to be here. I earned my spot I said to myself. I was going to make myself proud.
I knew some students from the summer I spent with my HEOP group. I was excited and nervous because I did not know what to expect.
My parents dropped me off, helped me settle and prayed for me. I was ready.
I smelled the fresh crisp air of upstate New York. I knew it was going to be a different experience.
I was finally away from the cacophony that was New York City. No sirens blaring, no firetrucks blaring. It was just the sound of trees, birds chirping and the sounds of excited and nervous students chattering away.
Tuesday was my first day of class officially as a college student. I was so excited I barely slept.
I walked into my Spanish class and I was stunned. I was the only Black woman in my class. I stood out like a sore thumb.
I was aware I was going to a Predominantly White Institution, but no one prepared me for my first day of class.
My deep Bronx accent sprinkled with my Ghanaian accent went unnoticed. I was sure to stand out with my curly hair and full figure.
My Spanish professor and classmates looked at me with such curiosity. I began to shrink in fear. I sat down and looked down the whole class period. Then in the middle of class I looked at my arm and then the arms of everyone in my class and that is when I noticed my Blackness for the first time in my life.
Growing up in the Bronx in an immigrant community where everyone was dark or brown, I never felt out of place, but here I knew I was different. Very different.
I did not know my first experience in my first class of college would end becoming a precedent for suffering from imposter syndrome for the next four years.
The day went by and each of my four classes of the day, I was the only Black woman in my class.
I would sign in relief in between classes when I spotted someone from afar who resembled me.
The semester went by, the trees turned gold, brown and bare. The infamous upstate cold was upon us.
Every day, I would begin to question myself if I truly earned my place or I was part of a grand plan to make my college seem more inclusive. Maybe my acceptance here was affirmative action in bows and ribbons.
Everywhere I went, I was embarrassed for being myself. I was embarrassed for not having wealthy parents who could afford to purchase ridiculous items. Every day when I confirmed to a white peer I was an HEOP student, it confirmed some openly held bias that most if not all the minority students at Skidmore were products of affirmative action.
In the coming years, I would distance myself from HEOP and its students. I was determined to not be defined by my low-income background, but everywhere I went and conversation in class reminded me of what I did not have. I was embarrassed for being low-income while Black. I felt I was a walking reinforcement of every stereotype possible
Towards the end of my first semester in college, In Spanish class, my professor said, "Okay class write in a few sentences in Spanish about who mows the lawn at your home" I looked up bewildered and raised my hand and in absolute mortification I said "I don't have a lawn" I could feel the whole class tense up and my professor subsequently asked "where do you live" as if living in a place without a lawn was ludicrous and I replied "I live in an apartment in the South Bronx" The silence and discomfort I sensed from the class and my professor would remind me never to say I was from the South Bronx for the next four years but instead keep it short by saying I was from the "city". I felt saying I was from the "city" would invoke memories of the highrises of Soho or the Upper East Side instead of places like the South Bronx. I reaffirmed to myself that conforming to what the norm at my school amd my new life would make my white peers in a predominantly white school feel more comfortable which will then make it easier to maneuver the new world of college.
It was quite normal for me to conform and make others comfortable because I come from a culture where we are taught to think about others before ourselves. My parents never forgot to remind me that as long as I was darker, I would never be seen as a true American. I will always be asked "but no I mean where are you really from" In their eyes I would always be foreign.
Today if I were to do it all over again, I would bask in my truth every single day. I am a proud Ghanaian girl from the South Bronx. I am who I am. Take it or leave it. Now, I am comfortable in sharing who I am not but who I strive to become. I am the product of the Bronx, the familiar smell of Bacon, egg and cheese wafting from the bodegas. I am a product of the Bachata music and Dembow music blasting through the hot summers. I am the product of a hard-working community in which the people in it strive to give themselves and their children a better quality of life as well as opportunities.
I am very grateful for my experiences since it continues to help shape who I am becoming. I am grateful for all the professors who saw my potential before I saw mine. I grateful to friends I made whom I still call brothers and sisters today. I am grateful for my experience at a PWI. It was a change I needed. These days I can sit outside or in a train and struck up conversation with an absolute stranger from a different background and feel comfortable in who I am.
I have friends from China, India, France, Ukraine, Honduras, Senegal, South Africa, Malawi, Canada and the list goes on.
I am thankful for the academic opportunities and support Skidmore offered me. Through Skidmore, I was able to study abroad in Paris and meet great people which has inspired me to launch my male skincare line next year.
Challenges and doubts came with my experiences at Skidmore but so did hope, perseverance and understanding . I wouldn’t be the young woman I am today if it wasn’t for my experiences at Skidmore.
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