"Will you take me with you to the US?"
When obnoxious men ask me this question, I brush it off. If I'm in a good mood I'll brush it off with a laugh and a change of subject. If I'm tired, I reply by giving them the cold shoulder and walking away.
But when the seventeen-year-old captain of my girls' soccer team, Ladi, asked me the same question as we were walking home from a practice, I didn't know how to respond. I could answer her honestly that while I might like to take her to the US, that's not really the issue. Receiving a visa to live in the US is like winning the lottery here. But actually - there is a lottery system to receive US visas.
I remember getting the same question from friends on my soccer team when I lived in Russia. And those girls lived in a huge city, studied at the country's best university and ate at McDonald's. When they asked me about coming to the US I could actually picture them living there. They spoke a little English, and they were all majoring in math or engineering and would be able to pursue graduate degrees before finding jobs.
Other PCVs struggle with this question, and some hear it more often than I do. One told me that she wants to snap people back to reality. They don't speak English and have few skills that would help them to get a job in the US. Do they really want that life? Far away from friends and family and the vibrant community life they are used to, in a land whose language they don't speak, with difficult prospects for employment... Many do not want to live permanently outside of Togo; they envision working in the U.S. for five to ten years, earning loads of money and then coming back to live like kings in Togo.
When Ladi asked me, it made me more sad than annoyed. Sad because living in the US would give her so many more opportunities to pursue her dreams, including playing competitive girls' soccer, but also for study and employment. And sad ultimately that such a bright and dynamic young person dreams of leaving her country and not staying to work for the social change the country needs so much. Granted, the members of my youth group are promising young leaders dedicated to the sustainable development of their country, whether in health and medicine or the environment. Togo simply can't avoid a brain drain.
American privilege is just as real as white or class privilege. And as much as I've struggled with being an American abroad, that little blue passport means that I get to enjoy a whole lot of American privilege. Recognizing American neoimperialism doesn't change the fact that I get to enjoy its benefits - few restrictions on travel, having the means to travel. Growing up with unbelievable opportunities to study and work and play didn't exactly hurt either.
"Will you take me back to the US?" The question underlines the reality that no matter how well-integrated I am in my community, no matter how much tchakpa I sell at the marche or how well I speak local language, my American privilege marks me as different. After two years I have both the choice and the ability to leave.
It's not that I fault Ladi for her dream of moving to the US. I guess confronting privilege is always awkward. Ultimately, it's part of why I'm interested in working to alleviate global poverty instead of focusing on domestic social issues. Inequity in access to education and healthcare certainly exists in the US. But until young people elsewhere in the world have the opportunities for basic education and health that we take for granted as part of American privilege, I can't help but look beyond the border.