2 hours ago
7 
I was seated at the kitchen table in Kenya one Friday evening in November last year, anxiously sipping coffee and incessantly refreshing my online portal which I’d used to apply for the Autumn 2025 admission at a university in the USA.
An email soon popped up on my notification bar.
It was an offer. I had been accepted into Columbia University in New York City to pursue a Masters of Arts in sociology.
It had always been my dream, since my late dad had pursued his undergraduate there.
I grabbed my phone and called my mum to tell her. We cried together on the phone for what seemed like an eternity.
Years of late nights studying for the American exams, endless redrafts of essays, and countless calls chasing after reluctant teachers for references had finally paid off.
For the first time, the American Dream I’d carried for so long didn’t feel like an abstract idea. It was real. I began picturing the places I’d explore, the friends I’d meet, and of course, the quality education I’d worked so hard to earn.
But now, that American Dream feels like a nightmare – and with my F-1 student visa being threatened and free speech being attacked across the country, I’m considering staying at home in Kenya.
Almost a year has passed since I received that first email, shortly before Donald Trump won the US Presidential election.
And now those feelings of joy have curdled into something else. I’m still admitted to but I had to defer my place to the Spring 2026 intake because securing an interview date at the US embassy took longer than expected.
Lately, though, I’m not sure if I can imagine going at all. I keep thinking of my acceptance email and, with the same clarity, of the headlines that followed under Donald Trump’s presidency: travel bans for nationals from certain countries, revoked visas, politicians promising mass deportations.
America, the place I once loved for its promise of free speech and opportunity, now feels like a country where I’m not welcome.
Growing up as a dual citizen of Kenya and South Sudan, free speech was only something I could dream of.
In Kenya, where I was mostly raised, criticism of anyone in power has always carried significant risks, and over the years, even something as small as mocking the president could easily land you in jail.
So when my teachers and older relatives who’d been to the United States described it as a place where you could shout your opinion from the rooftops and debate your views, no matter how controversial, without being silenced or at risk of being detained, it sounded like liberation.
But under Donald Trump, America is starting to feel just as unsafe a place to speak your mind as Kenya.
Trying to live the American dream has been a long process. At 18, I had to sit for the SATs – standardized college admission tests used in the US – to increase my chances of being accepted into an American university, all while juggling my final year of local school.
I also spent nights reworking application essays, hunting for scholarships, filling out forms, and proving my English proficiency.
When I finally received the offer from Columbia University, I felt like the work had paid off, thinking I really could reach that dream I had clung to since childhood.
But securing a place in an American classroom was only the first step.
Once I had the offer of admission, the visa process itself was another whole hurdle that involved lots of paperwork, intense interviews, and the constant fear that one wrong answer to the consular officer could derail everything.
However, after months of paperwork and embassy appointments, I finally got the student visa stamped into my passport in the first week of September this year – almost a year since getting my admission letter.
I hold dual Kenyan–South Sudanese citizenship, which means I have two passports.
This April, as my initial autumn 2025 deadline loomed, the state department stated that it would revoke all existing visas for South Sudanese passport holders and bar new arrivals.
As a dual citizen, that news hit me hard because it meant the South Sudanese passport I inherited from my father’s side could potentially one day close doors.
My own visa hasn’t been revoked yet, but that possibility now hangs over me like a shadow, because I hold the passport of a banned country – and the dream I thought I had finally touched feels like it could be ripped away by politics far beyond my control.
Since my US visa was issued through my Kenyan passport, my university’s international office reassured me that my status was not directly under threat. That said, there’s always a lingering ‘what if’ for me, given how fluid these policies can be and how fast they can change.
But being a dual citizen of South Sudan as well means there’s always uncertainty. It feels like a thin shield: today I might be ‘protected’ by my Kenyan nationality, tomorrow the rules could change.
In the last few months that unease has hardened.
Earlier this year, Secretary of State Marco Rubio confirmed that the visas of more than 300 people have been revoked as a result for speaking out on campuses about Palestine.
I’m even writing this anonymously to protect my identity in the event I do move to the US – so as not to risk my visa getting revoked or face any other potential repercussions from immigration.
Now, as my departure date approaches, I’m asking myself a question I never imagined through all my years of planning – should I cancel?
I’ve browsed flights, saved links to student housing near campus, and even received my preliminary class timetable.
Everything is almost ready to go – well, except me.
Most of all, I need to know that the country I’m going to really means what it says about free speech. If not, then unfortunately that means that what I chased for years was never real.
At the moment, my desire is tangled with fear. The acceptance email still lies in my inbox. I keep opening it, imagining the life it promised, and then closing it again, not sure whether to step through that door or stick with what I know, no matter how unpleasant.
One thing’s for sure – the American Dream is under threat from Trump.
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