July 23, 2006

The plane flight to New York was the scariest I have ever been on. People stared at me, and the clerk stared at my small, dirty bag of clothes. I walked quickly to customs, ignoring the small shops along the way. I handed the customs officer my papers. He took them with a grunt, and sat there shuffling through them. I began to sweat, thinking that something was wrong. Finally, he pushed them back to me. I grabbed them and almost ran to the terminal. When they opened the gate, I was the first one on the plane, and couldn’t wait for takeoff. I kept thinking the customs man would come onto the plane, call out my name, and take me back to Sierra Leone. Finally, after what seemed like a year, the plane took off. I breathed a sigh of relief. I was headed to America, where the war couldn’t touch me.