Beautiful reading Rene. It leaves one hopeful that Omadi has just perceived 
 the missing link in his new life in America and that when harnessed 
properly,  should set the stage for a bright academic future. I look forward to 
more.  Anecdotes such as this could be compiled in a book to further enrich 
the  experiences of International students who find themselves between two 
cultures.  Ambiance can often be a determinant of success in life.
 
Thanx Rene for sharing.
Haruna.
 
 
In a message dated 5/10/2010 3:29:06 A.M. Eastern Daylight Time,  
[log in to unmask] writes:

Janet Greenwood called Omadi at the intercom in  his room to 
find out how he was doing. She had taken it upon herself to  help him. 
She was fascinated with the idea that he left a wife, and three  
children to come to America, and pursue this dream of a higher  
education. She found Omadi’s situation to be very unusual, an encounter  
she had not experienced for the last ten years that she was the  
director of International students. Most of the international students  
who came to the school were form wealthy Arab countries in the Middle  
East, and also from upper and middle class families in Asia. Omadi was  
a kind of enigma to her. She tried everything she could to make life  
less miserable for him on campus. When she noticed that Omadi was  
deeply depressed, she arranged for him to see one of the school’s  
counselors. She harbored this fear that Omadi might be too distraught  
to harm himself.

When Omadi started to  attend his classes he did not have the 
money to buy his books. He  developed a habit of befriending his wealthy 
classmates so that he could  share and borrow their books. When his 
English teacher observed that he  was always sharing a book with his 
Indonesian classmate, she told him to  try and get a book of his own.

“There is no  way you can learn in this class if you don’t have a 
book of your own,” the  teacher chided Omadi.

Omadi felt so  embarrassed that the teacher rebuked him in front 
of the whole class. He  was determined not to go back to her class until 
he could get a book of  his own. With his earnings from the Marina 
dinning hall, where he worked  as a student waitress, he bought all his 
English books. Notwithstanding,  the teacher mentioned Omadi's problem 
of not having books in her class to  Janet Greenwood, when the two met 
at the faculty dinning hall for  lunch.

“One of your teachers told me that  you are not having the books 
you need in class,” Janet told Omadi, when  she saw him later that week. 
Omadi knew that it was the English teacher  who told her.

One day Janet called  Omadi to her office. Not only did she 
wanted  to know how he was  doing, but she also wanted to give him a 
free ticket to attend the  International student’s festival at the 
university’s gymnasium. The  International student’s festival, she told 
Omadi, was a yearly event in  which all the international students 
organized cultural activities from  their home countries. There were 
different cultural foods on sale,  different cultural dancing from the 
different countries that were  represented, as well as a competition for 
the best cultural dress of the  evening. It was a very big event for the 
university community, well  attended by students, lecturers and 
administrators. While Janet was  discussing this event with Omadi, her 
assistant Dawn, entered the  office.

Dawn was a ravishing brunette; she  had a slender body, piercing 
blue eyes, and was in her late twenties. She  had an infectious smile 
that buoyed Omadi’s spirits.

“Why don’t we hook up Omadi to Mr. Winfrey” Janet said,  
offhandedly.

“I guess we should,” Dawn  replied.

“Call him up and inform him that we have  an African student who is 
now in the school,” Janet told Dawn. She then  turned to Omadi and said:

“Mr.  Winfrey is a very important man. He is an African American 
executive who  is interested in an African student as part of the 
University’s family  hospitality program. The program matches foreign 
students with members of  the professional and business community within 
the area, who help the  students to acclimatize. I am going to give you 
Mr. Winfrey’s number. Call  him.”

Janet gave Omadi Mr.  Winfrey’s number. Unknowingly, she had 
facilitated a process that had far  reaching consequences in shaping 
Omadi’s academic pursuits. Mr. Winfrey  became very instrumental in 
Omadi’s quest for higher education. He  vigorously pursued the 
possibilities of obtaining a tuition scholarship  for him at the 
university, when the prospects of continuing his education  became 
hopelessly remote.

Omadi  called Mr. Winfrey the following day at noon. His 
secretary answered the  phone and told him that he was out for lunch. He 
should call again at 2  p.m. When Omadi called again, Mr. Winfrey picked 
up the  phone.

“Winfrey,” the voice on the  other end said.

“Is that Mr.  Winfrey?” Omadi asked.

“Speaking,”  he replied.

“I am an African  Student at the University of ,,, and the 
Director of International  students, Janet Greenwood gave me your number 
to call,” Omadi  said.

“That is right,” Mr. Winfrey  said.  “She called me. Let me 
talk to my wife and I will get back to  you. We will arrange to have you 
spend the weekend with us. Is there a  number where I can reach you?”

“There is a pay phone booth across the lobby on the first 
floor of my  dormitory,” Omadi said. “You can call me on that number. 
Let me give you  the number.”

The next day Mr. Winfrey  called Omadi. The security guard who 
was on duty answered the phone. Mr.  Winfrey gave him Omadi’s room 
number and kindly asked that he called him  to the phone. Five minutes 
later Omadi came to the phone.

“Listen,” Mr. Winfrey told Omadi. “I have talked  to my wife, 
and we will pick you up tomorrow at 5.00 p.m.”

“ I will wait outside,” Omadi said. Tomorrow would be on  a 
Friday, and Omadi was just excited to get out of the residence  hall.

The next day at exactly 5.00 p.m. a  brown Jaguar screeched to a 
halt in front of the Bodine hall. An African   American man, impeccably 
dressed in a light blue suit, tall, light skinned  and awesomely 
handsome, slowly got out of the car. He was in his late  fifties or 
early sixties. He had a broad smile on his face, and an  appealing 
gesture that put Omadi at ease. Looking at him, he knew  instinctively 
that he was Mr. Winfrey.

“He is a very important man; an African American executive,” 
Omadi  remember Janet telling him.

Mr  Winfery got out of his car, and walked up to Omadi where he 
was standing  at the bottom of the stairs. He was the only person 
around.

“You must be Omadi?” Mr. Winfrey said, offering  his hand for a 
handshake.

“Yes,  I am,” Omadi replied.

“Mr.  Winfrey. I talked to you yesterday,” Mr. Winfrey said. 
“Come on, let’s get  to the car.”

Omadi  walked with Mr. Winfrey to his car. A white woman, 
with a blonde hair, was  sitting in the front seat of the car. She 
opened the door, got out of the  car,  and greeted Omadi excitedly.

“This is my wife, Vivian,” Mr. Winfrey said.

Vivian Winfrey was an elegant and attractive  woman in her 
middle fifties. She was of  medium height, had a slim  waist, and was 
remarkably dressed. She had blue inquisitive eyes and a  penchant for 
asking too many questions.

As soon as the car pulled off the curb, Vivian Winfrey  
started the conversation. She was a very amicable person and wanted to  
know everything.

“We have bought  a map of Africa,” she told Omadi. “We have 
located the Gambia on the map.  It looks like a very small country, the 
size of Rhode  Island.”

“It is indeed a very  small country,” Omadi said.

“We are going to a seafood restaurant in Milford,” Mr. 
Winfrey told Omadi.  “We go to this restaurant occasionally to eat.”

There was a light rainfall, and the traffic on the I-95  going 
north was heavy. Everybody was rushing to get home from  work.

“How did you like it  here so far?” Vivian Winfrey asked 
Omadi.  “It is much different from  home.”

“Yes, it is much  different,” Omadi said. “A little bit lonely 
at times.”

“You will get used to it. What kinds of  vegetables do you 
have in The Gambia?” Vivian Winfrey asked.

“I guess the same kinds of vegetables that  are here,” Omadi 
replied. “But I don’t think we have  Broccoli.”

“People eat a lot  of Broccoli here,” Vivian said. “We eat a 
lot of Broccoli in our  house.”

“I heard the interview  in which the President said he did not 
like Broccoli,” Omadi said. “He  said he was forced to eat Broccoli, but 
now that he was the president he  was not going to eat any more  
Broccoli.”

“You heard that interview?” Vivian asked. “I wonder if  the 
first lady Barbara Bush likes Broccoli.”

“We would one day like to visit Africa. My husband is  dying 
to go to Africa. We will come and visit when you go back home,”  Vivian 
said.

“It would be my  pleasure to welcome you,” Omadi said.

“What language do you speak besides English?” Mr. Winfrey  
asked. “Your English is very fluent.”

“The official language in The Gambia is English,” Omadi said. 
“We  were colonized by the British. There are many other local 
languages, but I  speak Wollof and a little bit Mandinka..”

Mr. Winfrey drove the car into the parking lot of the  
restaurant. The restaurant was small and sat comfortably near the  
waterfront. The walls inside the restaurant had a beautiful woodwork  
with images of fishes and other seafood. The chairs and tables were all  
wooden. They also served salad on wooden bowls. The atmosphere had a  
middle class appeal and the guests were professionally  attired.

“Hello! Mr. Winfrey, good to  see you today. Hello! Mrs. 
Winfrey, good to see you too. A table for two  and of course non 
smoking,” the owner of the restaurant greeted  them.

“Charlie, I have a guest  today,” Mr. Winfrey said.  “This is 
Omadi. He is from Africa, The  Gambia.”  Mr. Winfrey was beaming as he 
introduced Omadi to the  restaurant owner.

Mr. Winfrey had  this burning desire to associate himself with 
everything African. He  considered himself as an African who was born in 
America. He bought all  kinds of books about Africa, its culture and its 
peoples. He  even organized an African party in his residence and 
invited all his white  friends. He hired an African cultural group in 
New Haven that did the  drumming and dancing. On this day he proudly 
donned the African garb that  Omadi gave him as a present.

“Hello!  Please to meet you,” the restaurant owner greeted 
Omadi. He shook Omadi's  hand. “I have a table for you folks.”  He led 
the party to their  table. A waiter came shortly after to take their 
orders.

“What would you have?” Mr. Winfrey asked Omadi. “They  have steak 
with boiled potatoes, they have lobsters and shrimps, and they  also 
have grilled fish and chips. I think I will have the grilled fish and  
chips.”

“I will have that too,” Omadi  said.

“That is good,” Mr. Winfrey  said. “What do you want to have, 
darling?”

“I will have the lobster and boiled potatoes,” Vivian  said.

First came the salad in those  wooden bowls for the appetizer, 
and while they waited for the main orders  chatted animatedly.

“I understand  you have three kids,” Vivian said to Omadi. “How 
old are  they?”

“My oldest daughter is nine,  my son is four and my little 
daughter is about a year old,” Omadi  replied.

“We also have three kids,”  Vivian said. “The oldest is an 
entertainment lawyer; the second is an  engineer and the last one is a 
pilot.”

“But they don’t look like her,” Mr. Winfrey interjected.  
“They look very much like me.”

“The kids belonged to his first wife,” Vivian said. “Those 
children are  terrific.”

Vivian told Omadi that  Mr. Winfrey’s ex-wife, the mother of 
his three adorable children, was a  black college professor who taught 
at the State University of New  York.

“How did you meet your wife?”  Vivian asked Omadi.

“It was  arranged by her older brother who was my friend and 
classmate,” Omadi  said. “Our families live in close proximity to each 
other. We all lived in  the same street in Banjul.”

“Do you want to tell him, darling, how we meet?” Mr. Winfrey 
quipped. “She  was my neighbor when I was living in Queens,  which is a 
borough in  New York.”  They both laughed heartily.

Vivian Winfrey married Mr. Winfrey a year after she was  
divorced from her ten years marriage to a white American businessman.  
She was born in England, where she attended both public and private  
schools. She held positions as Executive Secretary with few   
corporations in London. She moved to America where she met her first  
husband and became an American citizen five years after her marriage.  
She held a Bachelor of Arts degree, and sat in the board of various  
non-profit organizations, corporations, and foundations.

Mr. Winfrey was born in the South. He was brought  up in a 
strict moral and religious environment. He inculcated the virtues  of 
kindness, respect and a deep love for people. A very unassuming man,  
Mr. Winfrey was humble and caring. He graduated from Lincoln  
University, and became a company executive rising to the position of a  
vice president. He served as chairman and board member in various  
corporations and non-profit organizations. He also had a distinguished  
military career serving in the war in Vietnam. Mr. Winfrey was the  
epitome of a black person who succeeded in America.

“Are we all set?” Mr. Winfrey asked. “We have to get going  now. 
Let’s get our coats.”

Mr.  Winfrey left a hefty tip on the table for the waiter. He 
led Omadi and  Mrs. Winfrey out of the restaurant and to the parking  
lot...


Rene


*

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