Walk Towards The Rising Sun
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North American (General) US African AmericanTranscript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Each evening in Milan, we gather to drink cheap wine, talk and dance. I became friends with an african american model named Ibrahim Bath, who had a black panthers background and he always got deep trying to focus a conversation on the need for more consciousness in the world, mainly about slavery, the ills of capitalism and the oppression of black people across the world. Ibrahim like asking me about Africa and Sudan wanted me to take more of an interest in what was happening there. We were usually the only blacks present at these nightly outings. And Ibrahim always focused his attention on my journey from Africa, emphasizing how far I had traveled as a refugee to be a part of the fashion industry. Our conversations let us spark inside me and gave me a sense of direction in my search for a meaningful life. Ibrahim returned to new york about a week later and in his absence, I cut down on the late night cheap behind drinking routine and spend more time working out in public parks where I would see black people mostly immigrants with nowhere to stay. Sometimes during my public workout, small crowds would gather around to watch me. That's how I started speaking and opening up to black people more a saw firsthand the hard lives lived by these African refugees in Italy, many of whom were homeless and shared stories of how they endured terrible racism on the italian streets here. It was out in the open and on the surface. Whereas in America, the racism is big into the earth woven into its fabric. To the point where you can overlook it if you don't know how to spot the threads. These people who look so similar to me squatted in the streets, sleeping on cardboard while my fellow models whisked past such scenes, minding their business on the way to the next party or runway show. I couldn't help but think of my late brother's show who possibly suffered the same fate in addis Ababa before dying a miserable lonely death. There was a thin line separating me from these less fortunate refugees. A fact that made me to test a self centered life I had thrived in for most of my 20s. It had come to an end. I also felt the burning desire to lift up other refugees the way by aunt and uncle had done for me the combination of the suffering I saw Milan and my cousin new constantly mentioning our homeland inspired me to want to turn my life's focus towards activism for the benefit of those who have traveled journeys like mine. But maybe you've gone off the rails at that point at an incredible career high. I realized how lucky I had been. I understood on a deep level that even as the refugee settlement program has saved the lives of innumerable people like myself, we still suffered crippling emotional damage as a result of being cut off from our past and cultures. I had always felt an incredible sense of kinship whenever I spent time with other refugees, a feeling of affiliation and I wanted to preserve and share that with the entire african diaspora, emotionally removed from his roots. I reached out to my suit and his friend Nigel Deng from our Lost boys team in Connecticut who now lived in London and I asked him whether I could stop over on my way to new york. I bought a one way ticket to London. I landed at the Gatwick Airport and received the shock of my life. Immigration officials pulled me aside as if I were a criminal and started interrogating me and check in my luggage. Immigration of fizzle. What's your name? Me Gary Delaney. Where are you from? I'm originally from Sudan. Why are you traveling around europe and carrying an american passport? I'm an american citizen of Sudanese origin. I'm a model. I'm coming from doing modeling gigs in Milan. What are you in London Boy? I'm here to visit my friend Adieu. We don't believe anything you say. You must return to Milan on the next flight out of London. I couldn't believe it. Back in Milan. Airport authorities picked me off the plane as if I was some high profile international criminal. I explained to them what I had been doing him a long before flying out to London and gave them the address of where I had been staying. So they let me go. I went back to the apartment the agency had rented for me, but it was already late at night. The landlord couldn't hear me knock that night. I slept outside on the streets at a bus stop. The following morning I returned to the apartment landlord. Yeah. I thought you had left for London.