I was born in Tanzania and then moved to Mozambique, where I grew up. It was my father’s decision for us to come to America. There was fighting in Mozambique, and twice I almost got killed. I thank God I’m still alive. I could have died, because friends who were defending me died. My father wanted us to have education. In Africa, I’d stopped going to school. The school was three miles away, and I’d have to walk. There was no homework and I’d have to sit on the ground all day. I knew that even if I had a degree I wouldn’t get a good job, so I didn’t care. We came to America last year. When I arrived, I had no idea how to speak English, or minus or plus, or do division or multiplication. I was almost sixteen, but I felt like I was in Kindergarten. My teacher at school had to use sign language with me. To everything I just said, “Yes, yes.” People asked my name and I said, “Yeah.” I couldn’t say “I am Etienne.” They laughed at me and I had no idea why. At my public school, it was impossible to meet new people. No one ever came to talk to me. I remember sitting at lunch in the cafeteria by myself, waiting to see if someone would say hi. I thought that BRYTE Camp would be the same. But it was completely different. Everyone is from different countries, continents, cultures… from Burundi, Congo, Tanzania, Mexico, Nepal, Iraq, Burma. I made friends. After my first summer at BRYTE Camp, I could say, “Hi, how are you, my name is Etienne.” When school started, I knew what was going on instead of saying “yes, yes, yes” and then going home without any idea of what I learned that day. My English is still not quite there, but I can explain myself well enough. If I get stopped by the police, I can defend myself. I come back to BRYTE Camp because I don’t want to lose the opportunity to get some knowledge.
