At eleven years old, Ada Ari’s life changed almost overnight.
One moment, she was a child growing up between Lagos and Anambra, rooted in familiar rhythms and expectations. The next, she was boarding a plane to the United States, following her father’s new role at the World Bank — trading the comfort of home for an entirely unknown world.
Like many diaspora stories, the move came with opportunity. But it also came with tension.
Ada often describes her early years in America as a quiet tug-of-war — the push and pull between fitting into American life and being raised in a deeply Nigerian household. It showed up in the small, everyday moments: not being allowed to attend sleepovers, the shock of strict discipline compared to her friends’ “groundings,” and the feeling of constantly switching between two worlds.
For a long time, it made her feel different. Ashamed, even.
Yet something shifted when she moved to the DMV area — a region alive with cultures from Brunei, Pakistan, India, the UK, and everywhere in between. Surrounded by children who were also navigating layered identities, Ada began to understand a powerful truth: identity is not something you lose when you leave home. It is something that stretches, adapts, and grows.
