My Phoenix Story | This Could Be Phoenix - Part 2
-1
archive,paged,category,category-my-phoenix-story,category-80,paged-2,category-paged-2,bridge-core-2.9.6,qode-page-transition-enabled,ajax_leftright,page_not_loaded,,qode-theme-ver-28.0,qode-theme-bridge,disabled_footer_bottom,qode_header_in_grid,wpb-js-composer js-comp-ver-6.7.0,vc_responsive
 

My Phoenix Story

The Beginning

My story starts in a small town in London, England, where I was born. My mother, also born in London, had met my father, originally from Nigeria, while he was passing through on his way to America. His dreams to reach the land of opportunity were quickly delayed. My early childhood was spent traveling back and forth from London and Nigeria, which gave me a good idea of what I liked and didn’t like about the two countries. When I was nine, we finally made it to America the beautiful, the great, the desert…

Where is America?

It wasn’t until I was in high school that I realized we were really in America. We had been living in the place my father spoke so highly of. I couldn’t believe that this was it. The weather was hot. It never rained. I couldn’t wear my rain coats that I adored in England. There was no canal like the Regent’s Canal by my grandmother’s. No Broadway Market. I didn’t feel the freedom like I felt in Nigeria. The food wasn’t nearly as good as the food I was used to. The only thing we did downtown was to go to Woolworth's, a general store...what fun.

Ten years ago, I left the San Francisco Bay Area and moved to Phoenix to live closer to my parents. They had retired to the Verde Valley from Michigan and I hadn’t lived near them in sixteen years. As beautiful as it is, San Francisco never felt like home. That place was reserved for New York City, where I spent most of my twenties and half of my thirties. It still feels like my hometown, even though I lived in Michigan until just after college graduation. I felt like I really grew as a person when I reached Manhattan and I fell in love with that city. But as friends got married, had children and moved out of NYC and to neighboring Boston, I found myself following them there, enjoying a wonderful two-year stint. Having lived in all of these great places, it was easy to compare Phoenix to them when I first arrived and wondered what on earth I had just done.

The Heart Grows Fonder

My first exposure to Phoenix had me seeing sprawl, freeways, huge arterial streets, little in the way of public transportation and no walkability. Having spent many years without a car, I wasn’t thrilled to have to drive everywhere. But I wanted to be closer to family and so I was committed.

I was born, perhaps even raised, in the Valley of the Sun. Aside from a few short periods in my life where I’ve lived elsewhere, I’ve always considered Phoenix home. I likely always will. I want to travel endlessly, but I hope to die here, or at least hope my remains find a way back here. For good reason, many people have accused me of hating this place, demanding that I leave rather than complain. But I don’t actually dislike it here at all! I am very happy in this place, most of the time, and I rarely, if ever attribute my well-being to location. But let’s be honest: Phoenix sucks. It’s true, but that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Phoenix doesn’t suck in the way that other cities suck. Traffic is generally light, people are generally decent, crime is generally nonexistent, half the year the weather is too good to be true, and I don’t see myself moving for anywhere else.

Poland to Arizona!?!

Yes. It's true. When I was eleven years old, my parents decided to migrate to The Land of Opportunity from Warsaw, Poland to start a new life. As excited as I was, I had no idea of what that meant. All I knew about America was from shows my mom and I watched, like "Dynasty," "Full House," and my favorite – "Beverly Hills 90210". I once asked my dad why people in America drive convertibles and never seem to lock their cars in the movies, he jokingly said: "That's because everyone can afford a car so no need to go stealing another person’s car." Cool!

Growing up in North Phoenix

Friday, Dec. 13th, 1994 – the big, scary move. I remember getting off the plane, getting in a car and soaking up the views of Phoenix at night. I noticed large freeways, lots of open spaces and cactus! We began our life in North Phoenix, which seemed cool to a foreign kid at first; but then the summer came. What are you supposed to do in this damn heat!? Luckily our apartment had a pool, so that was my life.

I don’t believe in love at first sight. That is, except for Phoenix. We fell in love the moment I first saw it on an ASU recruitment brochure my sister gave me, the red, orange and yellow stripes of the Walter Cronkite School glowing in a desert sunset. I loved the colors and the sleek, modern design of ASU’s buildings, so unlike the brick-and-ivy campuses my sister had toured. And the Cronkite School was one of the top journalism schools in the nation. I knew I liked Arizona—we’d driven through it several times on family road trips, and I had taken photo after photo of flat-topped mesas. Phoenix was close enough to be a day’s drive from home, but far enough that I would be on my own and free. I pictured myself next to one of those mesas, my hair blowing in the hot wind, and I was hooked. I filled out the ASU application with my heart pounding like a new crush.