A few days ago I got my American passport. And I finally completed this poem I had been writing since I began the process of dual citizenship. Enjoy!

Becoming American: a poem on identity
13 years ago
I embarked on a trans-Atlantic journey
With no intentions of getting a new passport.
I didn’t know what it meant to be
Nigerian until I was physically situated
outside of Nigeria.
Did not know of passport hierarchies and travel bans. Of international organizations that influenced the price of Garri in my local market. Did not know I too would work for these organizations to try and “create change” but in reality would just be an African face to soften the blow of violence neocolonialism.
13 years ago I was just a teen who packed her favorite clothes, books, and photos into some suitcases and embarked on a journey.
13 years later
I’m sitting at the biometrics office.
Scanning fingerprints to forever enshrine my dna in the American story.
Still wrestling with self
Conflicted.
The allure of having two passports has seduced me. I can no longer go back to applying for visas. A green card feels too restrictive. The residency requirement of being a green card holder feels like the policing of movement. I will not be policed.
Freedom is a blue passport.
Freedom is taking on my colonizers name.
American?
Nigerian-American?
Trying it on for size.
They feel weird on my tongue.
My aunties say no one can take Nigerian from me. It’s inside of me. This is a good idea. My ancestors tell me this is a path I must decide on for myself. They’ll support whatever choice I make. They don’t feel betrayed by my considerings.
Options are good.
My heart is pounding
I have an interview date
Must take a test
To prove my loyalty.
My knowledge of revisionist history
Cannot be a communist
Must not have committed a crime
The irony of the most violent nation
demanding “no criminal background”
is not lost on me.
The irony of being pan African in my politics and arming myself with a blue passport is not lost on me.
Life is a series of contradictions.
I know this now.
If I could say something at my swearing in this is what I would want the world to know:
I didn’t flee a war
I didn’t come to America in search of a better life.
I came to prove that I could be globally competitive.
I stayed because I was seduced
I stayed because my African ancestors who were stolen had a stronger pull on me than my ancestors who were left behind on the continent.
I stayed because the idea of a melting pot where I could still self segregate felt like home.
I stayed for constant electricity
I stayed because I could wear short shorts without being considered a disgrace to my family.
I stayed because it was easier choice of two impossible choices.
13 years ago
I embarked on a trans-Atlantic journey
With no intentions of getting a new passport.
And now here I stand with a blue passport and a knowing that sometimes the detour is the destination.