California is the only home I've ever know. My family emigrated from Sudan 23 years ago when I was 10 and I immediately fell in love with American culture. I take surf lessons and spend my Saturdays going to movies. I'll graduate college in February with a degree in Computer Information Systems. I've always felt welcome, invited, and totally American.
That is, until four days after Trump announced an executive order on January 27, 2017 banning immigrants from seven countries from entering the U.S. I was flying back from my sister's wedding in Sudan, one of the seven countries targeted, when customs and border protection agents stopped me in Saudi Arabia for 14 hours and again in Los Angeles for almost five hours. They told my mom, a U.S. citizen, she could return to California, but I, a green card holder, would need to go back to Sudan.
"I'm American, I'm American!" I kept saying. "I just want to go home!" But my plea fell on deaf ears. I had every right to be in the U.S., but I was treated like a criminal, a threat to society and an outsider in my own country.
It's like I wasn't human.
My parents are from Khartoum, the capital of Sudan, but we grew up in Dubai, surrounded by the sounds of the Gulf War. I remember sirens and bombs going off during my childhood, and not quite understanding what it all meant. But I knew it was a difficult time for us.
On October 27, 1993, we moved to Upland, California, and never left. We faced challenges coming to a new country, especially when none of us spoke English, but we felt right at home. I would think to myself: "This is where I'm supposed to be."
In 1998, at age 15, I got my green card and I'd never felt so proud, so American. I was on my way to becoming a citizen! In school I had great teachers that made me feel welcome and, although I might have looked different from many of my peers, I never felt different. I joined my high school cross country team and made lots of friends. My dad worked as a truck driver, and my mom stayed home taking care of us.
We were living the American dream.
But while I was studying at Chaffey College in Rancho Cucamonga, my dad got seriously sick. His health became my only priority and I put everything on hold — including my education and pursuit of U.S. citizenship, which requires a wait time of five years after getting a green card.
In the past few years, as my father recovered, I began looking into getting my citizenship, only to find out I'd need to travel to Sudan and obtain a Sudanese passport to apply.
But when my sister, Abeer, got engaged in April 2016 and decided to have her wedding in Sudan, everything seemed to fall into place. I'd make the trip for her wedding, see all of our extended family that still lives there and obtain my passport all at the same time.
It was the first time I'd visited the country in 23 years, and it was the very first time my brother, Abdulrahman, had been there. Needless to say, it was a special trip for us and a beautiful experience to share with our whole family. More than 1,000 people came to the lavish wedding on December 26. There were traditional dancers, endless flowers, and tons of amazing food.
Never once did it cross my mind that in the next few days I'd face the most humiliating moment of my life. Never once did I think I'd be prevented from returning home.
But that's exactly what happened.
I wasn't planning on returning to California until February 2, but when my sister called with news of Trump's ban, we started to panic. Would they let us back? Should we be worried? My mom and I booked return tickets as soon as we could.
On a layover in Saudi Arabia, I was asked for my papers. An agent pulled me aside and told my mom she could go to the U.S., but I wouldn't be able to board the plane. I had to go back to Sudan, he said. I kept thinking I'd be stuck overseas forever.
Terrified, I thought: "This is it for me, I will be stuck here with I have no way back and I'll never see my parents or siblings ever again."
It was like I'd entered a nightmare that I couldn't wake up from.
Almost 14 hours later, my lawyer sent a letter to the agent noting I had every right to board a plane to the U.S. They let me go, but I had no idea what was in store for me when I landed at LAX.
In the U.S., I was, again, stopped by agents and my mom wasn't. I felt so humiliated and scared but I didn't show it. I wanted to feel brave. Everyone in the airport was staring at me, like What did that girl do?
They held me in a room for five hours, and questioned me about where I was coming from and why I was returning. I don't know what they were looking for, but eventually I was set free.
I met my family outside the airport with tears and warm embraces.
It took me a while to go public with my story, because I didn't know if agents were tracking me or if I was in trouble. I was scared for my future and didn't leave my house for 3 months. But I eventually worked up the courage to speak out and become an activist.
On September 23, I spoke at an event hosted by Harness focused on ways we can push our country in the right direction.
Sudan has since been taken off of the travel ban list, but we need to keep moving forward. It's time to join together as one nation and there should be no ban on any country.
My story is just one among many, but if we continue to speak out against injustice, we can make a huge difference.
