Immigration Narrative
My Grandmother was born in Puerto Rico. I’m guessing somewhere on the outskirts of San Juan, but I don’t really know, and she can barely remember her own name let alone where she was born. Her name back then was Felipa Diaz. She had three sisters, all of who are now dead. Her mother and father were very poor, and she was sent to work at a very young age. Continue reading Grandma’s Story
Unlike many habitants of New York City, I am not an immigrant. I was born in America and have lived here ever since. My parents, grandparents, and great grandparents were also born and raised in America. No one in my family is or was an immigrant. We were forced migrants from Africa over five hundred years ago. Due to the conditions that accompanied slavery, my family does not own any physical documentation of our history and/or journey to this country. If I want to learn about my family’s history, I usually either have to turn to Google or wait for The Slavery Chapter in history class. What little my family does know however, has only been shared by word of mouth and what I have learned from my father is: my family was brought to America through the slave trade over five hundred years ago, were held in the sates of Georgia and Tennessee, and Continue reading Immigration Narrative
