Parmanand

The Flag of Guyana

Coming to New York: An Immigrant’s Story

The following short story is told in the perspective of my uncle, who immigrated to the United States in 1987 from the South American country of Guyana. It depicts his first day and first few weeks in New York City.

Beep. “Welcome to John F. Kennedy International Airport,” said the pilot over the speaker. I looked out of the window at the clear blue sky, happy that the flight was over and I was finally in New York. My brother sat beside me, happy that his goal of bringing me to America was finally over. “Congratulations, brother. You’re finally in New York. And it took only four years.” He was referring to the grueling process of obtaining a visa.

Minutes later, in the busy terminal, we were overwhelmed by the crowds of passengers and the airport officials. Since my brother was already an American citizen, he walked through the smaller line and showed his passport to the official. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you on the other side,” he told me as he left. I was sent to the immigration officials on the other side of the room. As I walked to the line, I felt nervous. Were they going to send me back to Guyana? I didn’t come this far to be sent back. I approached the officials and met an elderly couple, who appeared to be Guyanese, crying and pleading with officials to let them through. “My son is here, outside. He’s here to pick us up. I need to see me granpickne [1]. They grow big already and me haven’t seen them,” cried the lady. However, the official repeatedly told her that their visas were no good. I looked on, feeling more worried and anxious. I tried to calm the lady, saying, “Aunty, it’s okay. Don’t cry.” I was hoping I wouldn’t be crying like her soon. “What is your name and destination?” asked the official next to me. I answered as confidently as I could and tried to mask my Guyanese accent. She took a look at my visa and asked me more personal questions, all of which I answered quickly. After what seemed to be an eternity, she stamped the visa and said go to the next area to collect your belongings. “Welcome to America,” she said smiling.

Elated and full of energy, I rushed to the luggage area and picked up my bag on the rotating carousel. I looked for the exit sign and rushed out of the terminal and into the chilly American air. It was cold here compared to the hot, eighty-degrees weather we have in Guyana. I was lucky I brought a jacket with me. I looked around the parking lot, where my brother said he would be waiting for me, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. After walking through almost halfway around the lot like a madman, I saw someone waving at me and yelling my name. I ran with my bag towards my brother, who met up with his wife, children and our parents. They rushed into my arms, happy that I was cleared and out of the airport. “I thought they sent you back. You had us worried, buddy,” exclaimed my brother. After more smiles, hugs and greetings, we all went home to meet with the rest of my family. We had a large dinner of hot chicken curry, dhal [2] and rice.

I always remember the crying old Guyanese lady and her husband at the airport, wondering if they’re okay and if they ever got admitted. The first couple of weeks after I arrived were very busy. I made arrangements to live with my brother and his family in their beautiful house in Richmond Hill, Queens, where the rest of our family lived.

I recall the first time I went to the market on Liberty Avenue, seeing many Guyanese shoppers and thinking that maybe this won’t be so bad. I went into one of the stores, wanting to buy some salt-fish [3] and bigan [4] that my sister-in-law was going to cook with some roti [5] for tomorrow’s breakfast. I asked the clerk where they were and he said take a look at the right side in the back of the store. I just stood there, surprised. He was going to just let me take the things myself? Was he out of his mind? I didn’t want him to call the police on me, saying I was stealing. In Guyana, you just tell the clerk what you wanted and they get it for you themselves. I asked the clerk, “Aren’t you gonna get them for me?” He said, “You can get it for yourself. They’re in the corner over there by the soda and chips.” Puzzled, I went to pick up a pack of salt-fish and a couple of nice shiny eggplants. On my way, I saw many familiar products, just like back home in Guyana: cream soda, mauby and sorrel drinks, pepper sauce, achaar [6] and lots more. I smiled and went back to the clerk to cash out. “Have a nice day,” he said. After asking my brother about it later at home, I found out that in America, you get your own things in the store and take it to the cashier to pay for it. I guessed the cashiers don’t want to leave their money alone at all. That or they were lazy. This was the first of many new things I would have to get used to.

My first year in New York had many eventful moments. I recall meeting many from my school friends who had come here before me. Each time I met one of my close friends, they would invite me to their house or apartment and we would talk and drink some beer or rum. It was nice of them. I couldn’t wait until I had a place of my own to invite them over to my house. My brother found me a job at a local furniture factory, packing boxes and operating a forklift. It was a nice job, but a lot of hard work. I met many Spanish workers and one or two Guyanese workers. When I went to the company’s main office to pick up my first paycheck at the end of my first week, I was the happiest man in the world. I took the check, my hard-earned money, and went straight to the bank to open an account. I used some of the money to buy a lot of food at a Chinese food store near my brother’s house and took it home to treat them to a nice dinner. We laughed and talked and enjoyed the delicious fried rice, chow mein and chicken.

My hard-earned work at the factory and other jobs gave me enough money to get married two years later, buy my own home a year after that, and finally start my own family in America. I was now able to fully embark on my own American dream.

Map of Guyana

Kaieteur Falls on the Potaro River in central Guyana, Potaro-Siparuni region