by Chinazo Echezona-Johnson

Created on: February 01, 2007   Last Updated: April 30, 2007

As a health-care professional, a woman and a mother, I thank my lucky stars that I made it to this country. Ask anybody that immigrated to this country why they love it and you will hear many heart-wrenching stories. One of these stories happened to me...

Her name is Nkechi (meaning for God). She is a maternity nurse, married with five children. She studied, works and lives in Nigeria. She is just the same height like me, but slimmer. Her face is beautiful. Her eyes twinkles and her perfect white teeth gleam when she smiles. She looks five years older than me even though we are the same age. She is the third wife of her husband. We were friends when we were in high school in Nigeria. We both had dreams of becoming lawyers, marrying for love and living in fancy houses. However, after our final year in school, my parents shipped me to United States. Nkechi stayed in Nigeria because her family couldn't afford to send her to the United States or anywhere else for further education. I remembered promising her that as soon as I can, I will send for her. We kept in contact with each other. Six months after I left, she wrote to tell me that her parents were forcing her to marry a rich forty-nine-year old businessman because he will help the family with their financial problems. She was 16- year-old. I wrote back and begged her not to do it. Two years later, she told me that she is pregnant with her second child, and that her husband agreed to send her to nursing school. She told me that she is happy because she is helping her family, and that husband and his two other wives were nice to her.

I never heard from her again until I went home to visit my relatives sixteen years later. She came to my father's compound. At first I didn't recognize her. Then when she smiled, memories of childhood fun and pranks, and days of lounging in the sun, came rushing in. As we sat under the shade of the mango tree in the sunny afternoon talking, I realized how much we share in common. I told her about my life as a registered nurse in the USA, and the challenges nurses face everyday. She smiled. She challenged me to follow her around at work for a day. I hesitated, but I accepted the challenge.

I agreed to go with her to work the next day. As she was leaving, she promised to send me something that evening. Later that evening, her sixteen-year-old daughter arrived with a suspicious brown package wrapped with yellow cotton cloth. Inside was a nursing uniform complete with white shoes and

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