Short story by Michael Schonhoff, Grade 8

He carried a single, small bag with him, for that was all that he owned. He was wearing old cloth pants with holes at the knees. His shoes looked like they had been used for target practice, with holes almost everywhere. Through these holes his dirty, calloused feet were showing.  His shirt was much too big for his skinny body. It went down to his lower hip and bunched up everywhere. He had found the shirt in a rich man's trash; it was all white with a dark, brown coffee stain running down the middle. The white shirt made a deep contrast to his dark skin. His face was thin and narrow. His sharp eyes caught every movement, for he had needed them to when he was a beggar. He had curly, black hair that was not much longer than his finger length.

He did not know what he was going to do once he got there. He did not even know if they were going to let him in. He did not know how they were going to test him.  He only knew that he was headed for a better place--America. He had often heard stories about America as a little boy. As he had sat in the town center of the small village, he had heard someone talking about a county where money was infinite and everyone was happy. As a little boy, he had believed them. He had marveled at the thoughts of splendid food, nice clothes, and money. He had been a beggar then, as a little boy. People looked at his skinny, raggedly-clothed body, and they felt sorry for him. But in a country as poor as his, he rarely received any handouts. One time, he had received a whole Naira though, one time, long ago. 

But now he was on the boat. The boat--it was a horrid, cramped place. The decks were packed to the fullest with people like him, people looking for a better life.  He did not know anyone on the boat. He did not even see any other people who were Nigerian.

He first left his small hometown when he was eleven. Disease had struck the village and he decided very quickly that he did not want to catch it. He had packed all the food that he had managed and set off north for Abuja. He had left when the sun was not even up, and had reached the city when the sun was in the far west, for the capital city was only about twenty miles north of his village.

After about a month of begging in the city, he was taken to work in a factory for long hours, low wages, and horrible conditions. Then, after eighteen years of working, hustling, and doing whatever he could to get money, even if it was illegal, he had finally saved enough money for a trip to America. But it took him another two years to find a way to get to Alexander Bay, where he would hopefully find a boat to America. Another year before he could get a passport, and then another two months before a boat would take him and other immigrants.  Now, he was on the boat. They had told him that it would be another two days before they would get to America. That meant another two days in the rat-infested boat. That meant another two days of the rancid smell. And that meant another two days of mental anguish thinking about what would happen if they didn't let him in. Two whole days to endure all of that, he wasn't sure he could make it.

Then on the on the last day of their journey, he saw it. He saw the beacon of hope. He saw her holding up her torch like a light for all people. He saw Ellis Island, and past that, he saw the huge buildings, the masses of people, and all the running cars. As tears rolled down his cheeks and those around him, he felt joy. He finally felt happy after all those long years. He felt happy as he stared at her.