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BEMIDJI, Minnesota — As destinations go, Bemidji is not New York and it is not the Twin Cities.
This fact was not lost on me, having traveled the physical miles. But it was also reinforced by the exclamations that followed introductions. And not just one.
Molly: Uhhh Robby … this is Loy from Uganda. She’s visiting us for a week.
Robby: Uganda! Oh my God! What are you doing in Bemidji? That’s a long way from home!
Since Bemidji has not been the destination of first choice for most African travelers to the United States, it has made me feel like the explorer John Hannington Speke. Only I won’t claim that I discovered the source of the Mississippi, as he claimed of the Nile.
I have been dazzled by the fact that many residents of Bemidji do not know where my country is located. But it is also a source of pride to be the first person they will always remember from that little East African country.
When you grow up in Africa, America pervades your whole being. It is in your dreams and your entertainment.
We have American movies and American music and we survived secondary school on American food aid. Uncle Sam donates to our government and he gets to dictate the politics. So you can’t avoid anything American, just as you can’t escape the Mississippi in Minnesota.
In Bemidji, people can certainly live out their lives without knowing Uganda, or even meeting anyone from that country. I have had to explain carefully about East Africa and who my neighbors are, hoping that someone will eventually recognize that part of the world.
Some do, eventually. Some don’t. In some cases invoking the name of Idi Amin has helped, but no one wants her country to be remembered by the name of a bloodthirsty dictator 20 years after he left power.
I do know some reasons why an American taxpayer should feel compelled to know about Uganda. Piles of American taxpayers’ cash are sent there to redeem AIDS sufferers, eradicate polio, fight malaria and keep the government afloat.
There’s a fully-staffed, state-of-the-art American embassy there, too. And American Peace Corps volunteers are often sent to Uganda where they work in the midst of dangers presented by the conflict.
All said, I have found Bemidji unique in other ways. Doors have swung open for me in the short time I have been here and this was almost overwhelming.
I went to church and after the service an elderly gentleman walked up to me and asked if I could go and have coffee with them. I have been to the Bemidji Bureau of Criminal Apprehension where the director, Terry Smith, himself led me on a tour of the unit. As did Capt. Ron Koetter and Kelly Skime at the Bemidji Fire Department.
At the Rotary luncheon, members appeared genuine as they told the guest from the furthest point “we are happy to have you here.” I have no reason to disbelieve them, especially when a day later I ran into a Rotarian jeweler who gave me a beautiful silver ring that he had cut by himself.
There is always a sense of security people feel amongst their kin. So, I was a bit apprehensive about what I would find in a small city like Bemidji. I did put the question to my host, Molly, as regards the population of African Americans in Bemidji. In spite of her answer (“a few”), I still haven’t found any black person on the streets.
However, I have found more smiles and nods along the way than I encounter on any single normal day back home. And this is what I take away with me when I return to the Twin Cities — and to Africa eventually. After all, didn’t someone once say that it is first impressions that last?
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Notebook
By Loy Nabeta