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"Welcome to America." This is the evening of June 19, 2019, and no three words have ever aroused a plethora of conflicting emotions in my life like these, and for a moment I stood transfixed and unable to comprehend what the gentlemen in a neat, black American immigration uniform had said. Looking at him with what I imagine is a blank "lost at sea or fish out water or just plain first time out of Africa" kind of stare he repeated, "Welcome to America" and this time my brain actually processed this information and I smiled, said " thank you", and proceeded out of immigration. 45 hours before this, I had stood at the Joshua Mqabuko International Airport in Bulawayo with a clan of relatives coming to see me off, my whole body quivering with anticipation. I am just a township girl with big dreams and I had recently received an award to go for leadership training in the United States of America. The United States of America! Even saying this still gives me tingles. My journey rolled out with a short flight from Bulawayo to Harare where I had a grueling 11-hour layover before proceeding to Dubai. Whatever vexation I had felt from this wait disappeared the moment I stepped into a massive Emirates aircraft, which was an experience on its own. From where I stood, it seemed this airbus had no end, and looking at the passengers all with their luxurious carry-on bags and donut pillows gave me a somewhat sense of accomplishment. I was one of them now. I was the girl who travels with luggage-on-wheels and donut pillows. I located my seat and immediately started working out how to fasten my seatbelt, navigate the screen in front of me, and how to fold and unfold the table where in-flight meals are served. I do not know whether to call it pride, or stubbornness or just good old adventure spirit but I wasn't about to ask anyone, including the stewardesses how to do it. I also do not know if synchronized air freshening is a real term, but that is what accurately describes the way the stewardesses sprayed perfumed air freshener with the aerosol cans held above their heads, walking so in tune with each other on the aircraft's 2 isles, not missing a single beat. Have I mentioned that these stewardesses are regal looking, with hair sleeked back into tight buns and wear matching red lipstick? Anyway, after what seemed like an eternity, we arrived in Dubai. It was early morning but the Dubai heat was already searing. For me, a first-time international traveler, the Dubai airport felt less like an airport and more like an intricate puzzle with lots of artsy water features. From the shuttle that takes you from the airplane into the airport to the beautiful elevators with glass walls and waterfall views taking you from one floor to the next to being ferried by rail from one terminal to the other, this was all too much beauty to take in. And it is sad that I had to absorb all this on the go because I had a Greece-bound plane to catch. I landed in rainy Greece some hours later, stretches of olive vineyards, visible from the airport grounds. With a couple of hours to kill before embarking on the final stretch to the US, I treated myself to some Greek cuisine; decadent almond pastries called amygdalota, which I downed with fragrant Greek coffee and soon it was time to go. My heart was pounding as I navigated the queue at the US immigration entry point. Just one stamp from an immigration official is what stood between me and my dream. I watched him intently as he scanned my passport, his face giving away nothing. The words 'Welcome to America" fell into my ears so leisurely as if in slow motion. Luggage in hand, I stepped into the warm, humid Newark summer air. On this night I stood for the dreams of a clan, a descendant of King Mzilikazi, who never knew his people would step on the white man's land. On this night, I was my ancestors' wildest dream.