I: Kenyan-American

I smell the tilapia stewing in a rich sauce of tomatoes and onions from the kitchen when the door to the living room cracks open momentarily. Abbott Elementary is playing on the TV, which is flanked on both sides by Nerf guns and palm-sized animal sculptures. My lineage traces back to the Luo people of Eastern Africa, a tribe known for their wisdom, work ethic, and devotion to fish consumption, as a consequence of originating around Lake Victoria. Though we are few and far between in the global diaspora, whenever we find each other, we are as good as family. When my parents found out I’d be doing research abroad for the summer, they immediately wanted to make sure I had a point of contact nearby. An old college friend of theirs came to mind. He’s a teacher now and he lives in Braintree, just an hour’s train ride out of London. He’s lived in the UK for about as long as I’ve been alive, and has four kids of his own. Outside of my MISTI cultural training, he helped me adjust to the new environment. As is custom, I had to visit him at least once and get to know his family, who were now my family by association.

I moved away from Kenya when I was eleven years old, and I haven’t seen my blood grandparents, cousins, aunts, and uncles since then. Since assimilating to American culture was the most pressing issue for me at that age, staying connected to my cultural roots became the least of my priorities. I mostly forgot the language, I outgrew my traditional clothes, and I lacked a desire to eat or cook the family recipes.

When a community works, everyone is met where they are with their needs and celebrated for their strengths.

Lyne-Nicole Odhiambo ’25

American culture is more individualistic than most cultures in the world. In the process of assimilation, I was required to define myself in a unique and interesting way that would set me apart from the rest. Being successful meant making smart decisions for yourself and having something special about you. By individualistic standards, making it into an elite private world-class institution like MIT was perfect. You could chalk it up to ambition, originality, and grit. After two years as an MIT student and several years of living through a pandemic, the ideal of hustling to gain individual success has lost its glitter. At the end of the day, people crave community: a place where you are seen, known, nurtured, and afforded grace. When a community works, everyone is met where they are with their needs and celebrated for their strengths. I struggled to find community with most of the Kenyans I know in America because they have lived a greater portion of their lives in Kenya than I have, so I never felt cultured enough to relate to them comfortably and genuinely. When I tried to participate in the language, food, and social customs, it felt like I was only putting on a performance. If I was tired, stressed, or bored, I couldn’t keep up the act anymore and I would go back to being an outsider. I had accepted that this was a complex situation much bigger than me, so I didn’t think things would ever be any different until the day I visited my uncle in Braintree.

Before I hopped on the train, he texted me asking if I wanted ugali (a simple cornmeal-based side dish) and fish for dinner. I said yes to the more traditional home-cooked meal, proud of myself for not choosing rice like I usually do at home. I like rice instead of ugali because the texture of ugali is a sensory issue for me as a neurodivergent person. When I arrived at his house, he introduced me to his kids, one of whom was close to my age and two others who were pre-teens. He went to make dinner while the younger kids curiously considered the new presence in their home. They asked me if I wanted to watch anything, and I thought of Abbott Elementary since it seemed funny and age-appropriate. I quickly realized that they were enamored with the idea of going to school in America. The humor that seemed typical to me was remarkable to them. When dinner was served, my uncle asked if I wanted a fork. I cut a modest slice of ugali and looked at my bony section of fish. Of course I’d be eating this with my hands, I thought.

“Ah! Good. Your parents have raised you well then.”

I started eating, carefully picking out the fish bones and scooping soup with the ugali. He asked me questions about my program and college overall. I explained the way education works in America, and I felt like an insider of two things. For one, I enjoyed the food, except for the texture of fish skins which I set aside, and my uncle had acknowledged me as a real Kenyan. In Swahili, I commented on how delicious the fish was, and it didn’t feel forced at all. I smiled and felt American as ever as I complained about how expensive tuition is before financial aid and scholarships. Kenyan-American. After that day, I finally felt like my Kenyan identity wasn’t in opposition with my American identity.

II: Older Sibling

I’m adjusting the strap of my jumpsuit as I wait between a flower vendor and a coffee shop outside Hammersmith Station, which is just west of my university’s campus in South Kensington. My project is wrapping up, so I finished my work for the day and left early. I’m waiting for my friend Simdi to show up soon. I remember running into her in a dining hall at MIT right before the spring semester ended. The big thing on my mind was how exciting my summer would be in London. She was at the end of her freshman year and mentioned that she might want to become a physics major. It seemed like several stars were aligning. First, she was from London, so I had the chance to get an inside scoop about the city from a familiar face. Second, I could give her advice and encouragement on joining the physics department as a Black person.

I texted her that I’m at the station and she said she’ll be there soon. I was a little confused because there are multiple exits from the underground subway and we might not come out of the same one. I paced around and considered crossing the street to the other exit, but that’s when I saw Simdi waving at me from the other side of the crosswalk. I waited for the light to change then we met and embraced on the other side of the street.

Simdi is someone with an infectious energy radiating from her. She makes people around her feel comfortable and is easy for me to talk to. The original restaurant she had been thrilled to show me turned out to be closed for a couple weeks. Disappointed, we decided to find a fish and chips place nearby instead. After six and a half weeks, I still hadn’t tried fish and chips, a British essential, so she was eager to hear my review. The place we found was named ‘What the Fish,’ and I liked the chips but the fish didn’t carry any flavor, even with tartar sauce and a lemon squeeze. She told me about her MISTI experience in Armenia and asked me about mine, and I started to understand why I found her so easy and fun to talk to. I’m the oldest sibling, and she’s the youngest. I hadn’t thought of this as an identifying trait before, but I started to notice that I automatically fell into a dynamic with her where she wanted to try something wild, and I chimed in with a dose of realism. I think it’s easier to walk around carefree if you grow up as a younger sibling, whereas an older sibling would develop a constant sense of responsibility.

We walked to a park in a park behind a residential area not far from the restaurant after our meal. It was full of little kids and parents with strollers and dogs. There were carnival rides set up, and I glanced over at it periodically as we chatted on a bench. This was the most surrounded by kids I had been in a long time. It reminded me of how much I’d grown up, from being so small in the world to taking care of my brother and sister, and now looking out for Simdi as well. She explained her decision to go to MIT instead of staying in the UK for university, and the main factor was that education in the UK requires a more focused track toward your degree than MIT does. I remembered how much I love my humanities classes and how much more mindful I’ve become in engaging with the world because of them. We talked about places we had found community in college, but the other side of the coin was finding places where we could take time for ourselves individually. Sometimes you need a shoulder to cry on, other times you need a room to cry in. Sometimes you support the group activity, other times you do your own thing. I’ve been looking for the balance, and I’m happy in between.