The Grass Is Greeener The Other Side!
I heard from friends that my old college mate, Sanders, had moved to live permanently in America. Everyone in our neighbourhood was talking about it. He had reportedly built a beautiful, modern mansion for his parents. People noticed how their lifestyle had completely changed. They were now considered part of the wealthiest in the area.
Some people who knew Sanders well said he also owned a popular restaurant at Norton Centre. But he was clever—he put the Z-Brothers in charge so it wouldn’t be linked to him directly.
Looking at what Sanders had achieved, I could now see why leaving his home country had made sense. Even though it must have been a hard decision, it was clearly the best one he ever made.
When I told others that Sanders and I studied Psychology together at the University of Zimbabwe, most didn’t believe me. Our lives were now very different. Despite having a good education, I had nothing to show for it. Fifteen years of working had left me without even a decent house or car. Many of us who graduated at the same time were not earning salaries that matched our qualifications. Life was tough, and only a few seemed to succeed—possibly through dishonest ways.
Now that Sanders was earning in US dollars, nothing could stop him from chasing his dreams. In our society, money gives you power and influence. That made me realise I had to act fast or risk dying poor.
So I decided to reach out to Sanders’s parents. I asked for his contact details in America. They didn’t hesitate to help me; we had known each other since college.
Soon after, I contacted Sanders. Things moved quickly. I sorted out my visa and bought my plane ticket. I gave away most of my few belongings to my brothers before leaving. I wasn’t married yet, and I felt there was no point in holding on to anything.
I held a farewell party in an old city council hall—the only venue I could afford. But many people came, making it a memorable event.
When I arrived at Philadelphia International Airport, Sanders was waiting for me. Before hugging him, I knelt and kissed the ground—a symbolic act I had heard about. It was said to bring good luck in a new land. I believed it would help me start my life well.
But I didn’t know that I was entering a new kind of struggle. For the first three months, I stayed with Sanders in his rented apartment. That helped me settle in, but I knew I needed to find my own place soon, especially since he was living with his partner. Three people in one small flat was too much.
Even though I spoke English well back home, people here often didn’t understand me. They kept saying, “Pardon?” I realised my accent was a problem. I had to work hard to improve it or face constant embarrassment.
I read once that it’s hard to change your accent after the age of thirteen. But I wasn’t ready to give up.
This year marks my eleventh year in America. I still can’t survive on one job. Living here is expensive. Every month I pay for rent, gas, car insurance, health care, and more. And back home, I also support my large family.
I’m the one looking after our parents. I even help my four married brothers with school fees for their children and maternity bills for their wives. It’s like the entire family depends on me.
People back home think life is easy abroad—that we live in luxury. But they don’t know how hard we work here. Most immigrants don’t have the freedom to choose the jobs they want. Helping others sometimes feels like carrying a heavy chain around my neck. It never ends.
When I moved to America, I thought I had escaped my financial struggles. But I’ve worked day and night without rest. I’ve sacrificed my social life. I barely have time for dates, and relationships haven’t worked for me. Maintaining a relationship requires time, effort, and money—things I don’t have.
I’ve tried dating, but the pressure of work and family responsibilities always got in the way. Even with two jobs, I couldn’t afford the lifestyle needed to build a strong relationship.
It’s been ten years, and I still haven’t found a life partner. I came here full of energy and dreams. Now, I feel tired and unsure about the future.
Ironically, my brothers back home are doing well. Their kids go to private schools. They live in nice homes. All of this is because I helped them. But sometimes I wonder—was it all worth it?
In America, I can’t afford the house I dreamed of. I do own a car, but that’s common here. Everyone has one.
If I had known how hard life would be here, I might have stayed in Zimbabwe. Maybe I would have married, started a family, and passed my name on to my children. Now I understand—money alone is not enough. If you chase it without balance, it can bring sadness instead of happiness.
