My Confession
I have a confession to make. Up until 3 months ago, I was one of the millions that lived in constant fear of imminent deportation. From performing at the Kennedy Center, to Platinum Hit, to the Voice, and everything else in between, I’d been living my own version of a double-life. When I turned 18, I found out that I was actually out of any legal immigration status. This meant among other things that I had no government-issued I.D. ,and no way of getting one. I was all but invisible, as far as the government was concerned.
I wish I had been braver. I wish I had spoken up. It takes extraordinary courage to risk legal jeopardy for your convictions. While I have felt that gut-wrenching, heart-racing fear, up until now I’ve had reasons to choose discretion. I’ve read many stories of people who weren't me, telling a story not so different from mine. I wanted so badly to share in the struggle more openly, instead of just sitting in my comfortable apartment reading about it. More recently I’ve had countless opportunities to speak out, but a few things kept me quiet.
Survival and Sharing My Songs
In the beginning it was about survival. I’ve known since I was young that music is all I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to succeed in music more than anything else. Not just for the love of it, but also because this was my own way of helping my family. As a result, my fear of losing that dream overtook my desire to speak up about an issue that is especially critical in these times. I didn’t want people to know my secret, and I didn’t want the issue of immigration to become my whole story. Looking back now, I see all the missed opportunities to use my story to impact real people. Because at the end of the day, the best way to reach one another is to give each other our most authentic stories.
“No. I won’t get married for papers.”
“There’s a difference between being out of status, and being undocumented. You had an F-1 student Visa that didn’t have an expiration date. That’s what is saving you right now.”
My lawyer, Nathan Waxman, saved my life. In the last 10 years I visited 8 different immigration attorneys. The last 7 of them essentially told me to “marry an American and stop worrying”. You know what they say, the 8th time is the charm.
On the night that I sang the National Anthem at Madison Square Garden in front of 20,000 Nix fans, I asked Nathan if it would be okay for me to make a statement in support of Dreamers. He sagely advised that I wait to get my visa, before doing something so “brave”. I meekly accepted his advice. While I am glad that I did, it also hurt to once again put my legal needs before my desire to speak up for people just like me.
Nathan pulled me from legal limbo into status, and gave me the rest of my life back. I’m going to be able to visit my family in Nigeria for the first time in 23 years because of him.
It’s Been Too Long
My Dad has my laugh, or more accurately, I have my Dad’s laugh. I’m reminded of this every time I’m on the phone with him. He makes me feel six years old again. He reminds me to have faith. He makes it feel like 23 years without his hugs can all be forgotten, as soon as I return to Nigeria. My Mom sings me the silly songs she used to sing to me, when I was a child. She promises me she’ll make all my favorite foods when I come back.
My family is my time machine. They are the reason I work hard. I miss them. As much as I wish I could have been more present in the Dreamer’s movement, it’s been long enough. I could not risk my Visa being denied, which was a potential consequence of being more active in this political climate. I hope my fellow Dreamers can forgive me. I know you have your dad’s laugh too.
Stranger Things
As I write this on a foggy Seattle morning, riots broke out in Charlottesville, Virginia last night. Nuclear war seems imminent, and I wish I was exaggerating. The usual political divides seem to be getting wider, and who knows if Barb from Stranger Things is ever coming back.
All this to say, we need each other. Whether it’s over a great song or a great show, we need to learn to reconnect again. We need each other’s stories. At the moment, I’m filming a documentary telling my own story of emigrating from Nigeria to America. The documentary will also follow my experience with the American immigration system, my life as a musician, and most importantly my journey home to see my family for the first time in 23 years. There’s nothing more powerful than the human experience, and sharing it is what we all must do. Even if we never change any minds, we can learn to see each other as human and treat each other that way.
Here’s a little more of my heart in the way I know best:
Music and Lyrics by Blessing Offor
Recorded at Hilltop Studios with Matt Huit
Background vocals: Kyley Phillips