SOUTH KOREA IS MY SAFE PLACE

By Basirat Sanni

Cheonan City Hall, 2017

I was watching TV with my dad and mom in our South Side Providence apartment, one late afternoon when we heard a sudden knock on the door. Looking outside, we saw the flashing lights of at least three police cars. Yellow tape cordoned off the grassy area next to our building and officers carrying flashlights searched the ground for a fired bullet. 

“...that moment made me acutely aware of how close danger could be.” 

Before that day, I had only heard about gang-related shootings in Rhode Island’s Southside Providence – stories passed around in school, on the news, and from people in the neighborhood. Although I never knew the specifics or statistics about the crime rate, I remember hearing gunshots late at night, never knowing exactly where they were coming from, and seeing memorials for those killed strewn on street corners whenever we were out and about. It was the kind of thing you just knew was happening around you, but I had never experienced it firsthand. Even though I didn’t feel immediate fear – those shootings seemed so distant, like something you hear about on the news – I always carried a sense of vigilance that had been instilled in me from childhood. 

But at that moment, I realized this wasn’t just a story; it was happening right outside our home. I think what added to our fear is that we never even heard sounds of any kind that would have alerted us, had it not been for that knock. I was in high school at the time. I remember the police warning us to stay inside, and that’s exactly what we did. We couldn’t stay in the living room for the rest of the evening, so we retreated to our rooms, trusting that the familiar four walls would still offer safety when dawn broke. 

The constant awareness of violence in America

Afterwards, my family didn’t discuss the incident much. Life returned to normal. But that moment made me acutely aware of how close danger could be. It was unsettling to think that violence could intrude into our everyday lives. What if one of us or a neighbor had been caught in the crossfire while pulling into the parking lot, or if a bullet had found its way into our home? To this day, I wonder if they ever found that bullet and what circumstances led to that missing shot.

“It was unsettling to think that violence could intrude into our everyday lives.” 

While my family and I had thankfully never experienced violence firsthand in America, the constant awareness of it lingered in the background because shootings were rampant in our neighborhood. It also didn’t help that the news on American TV channels was often filled with violence of that nature as well – from schools to concert venues or due to road rage. 

That evening's experience brought to light a deeper sense of unease that I hadn't noticed before, serving as a stark reminder of how fragile security can be and leaving a lasting impression on me of life in America. All of this heightened my hypervigilance and contributed to my decision to return to Korea, after my initial two years abroad. I was doing TESOL (Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages) during those two years, having never studied abroad in Korea.

At my second school, 천안서초등학교 Cheonan Seo Elementary School

TESOL certificate graduation ceremony, 2017

However, I had done a semester abroad in Thailand and Vietnam; it was what started my love for travel, and especially to Asia.

In front of a temple in the village of Baan Ton Chok for homestay experience, 2014

In front of Wat Rong Khun (White Temple) in Thailand, 2014

On a 2-day, 1-night hike to Kalon Song Mao Nature Reserve in Vietnam on a later visit, 2019

For college though, I was back in the U.S, attending Saint Anselm College in New Hampshire where I majored in sociology and minored in psychology and peace and justice studies. My time there and the eventual course choices shaped much of how I view the world and the life I live now.

Graduation at SAC, 2015

“While my family and I had thankfully never experienced violence firsthand in America, the constant awareness of it lingered in the background because shootings were rampant in our neighborhood.”

America was disappointing

Moving from Nigeria to Rhode Island, one of the oldest states in America, was a huge transition for me, filled with challenges and discoveries. I remember feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety—everything was so new, from the sights and sounds to the people. When my family moved to the U.S., it was a huge shock in many ways. I was taken aback by the various accents, the enormous grocery stores filled with overwhelming selections of products, and the biting cold that winter brought, which was entirely new to us. At first, I felt a bit on edge because the streets were unfamiliar, and I was trying to adjust to the culture. 

Winter of 2011

My Rhode Island high school was one of the lowest-performing in the area, and school violence, including fights, was common. I was not used to this back in Nigeria, and to be honest, I did not even know much about America prior to moving there except for what I had seen from watching A Cinderella Story with Hilary Duff, Love Don’t Cost A Thing, and Home Alone. These were the staples that we constantly watched back in my Nigerian boarding school in Ifako, a lively, bustling part of Lagos. The reality I encountered did not match the limited knowledge I had before moving. It was disappointing, to say the least. I was 15 years old, and although that was young, I had already completed high school back home and competed with older peers. But in America, I had to repeat three grades to meet the age-based criteria for placement, which was not the norm in Nigeria. I was initially saddened by the setback, but I eventually came to appreciate it. It gave me time to acclimate to the American accent, which was challenging at first, and made my transition to college easier. Despite having grown up speaking English, I often felt like I needed subtitles to understand what people were saying in those early days. 

2015 rugby game

My return to South Korea                                                                                                               

I live in Korea now, where I confront a new set of challenges. For example, there are days when I miss the comfort of understanding the conversations around me without needing a translator.

Paradoxically, there are moments when I appreciate the distance that my lack of fluency in the local language creates, as it allows me to shut out the noise of the world. In Korea, I do miss the freedom that came with driving – being able to hop in a car and go wherever I wanted at a moment’s notice as I did in America. As a foodie, I miss the variety of cuisines available in America, particularly specialty items like vegan options that were easy to find, as well as favorites from back home that are readily available in grocery stores catering to people from all walks of life. 

Shopping for summer camp at E-Mart Traders (in Cheonan)

“...even as I try to adapt to the culture here in Korea, I often feel like an outsider.”

Most importantly, I miss the ability to blend in without worrying about being stared at or singled out because of my appearance, because even as I try to adapt to the culture here in Korea, I often feel like an outsider.  To be accepted as Korean, one needs to be ethnically Korean. However in the diverse melting pot that is America, I can be perceived as being American. 

On the positive side, in Korea, I no longer live with that constant awareness of potential danger, as I did in America. Even though the danger didn’t always directly affect me, I have an appreciation of what it means to feel secure. This is what makes Korea an appealing place for me to stay in for the near future. 

The idea of coming to Korea first crossed my mind in high school when a friend introduced me to K-dramas, and we made grand plans to travel there and explore Asia when we got older. I had the opportunity to visit during my study abroad program but hesitated out of fear of fetishizing the culture. That pull never went away, and after college and two years of volunteering, I took the leap to teach English at an elementary school, but ended up feeling lost about my next steps.

“...in Korea, I no longer live with that constant awareness of potential danger, as I did in America.”

Upon arriving in Korea the first time, I was immediately struck by how secure the streets felt. They were clean, well-lit, and bustling with people, even late at night, with CCTVs everywhere.

It's hard to ignore the visible surveillance measures in place to deter wrongdoing. The public transportation system was incredibly efficient, allowing me to navigate the city with ease. There was a palpable sense of community reminiscent of Nigerian culture, which values family and has a similar hierarchical structure, albeit with its own drawbacks. One of the most reassuring aspects was the low crime rate. I remember walking home late at night or going for a run at dawn, feeling completely at ease—a stark contrast to my experiences in the U.S., where I rarely venture out after dark unless necessary. I had never lived anywhere where I could leave belongings in public spaces, like cafes or on buses, and still find them untouched the next day. 

But even Korea is not perfect

Ironically, people seem to not apply the same ethic of not taking what does not belong to you when it comes to umbrellas or unsecured bicycles. Some even strip bikes of their tires if you bother to secure them, which raises questions about why they go for petty items instead of valuable ones. Perhaps it’s out of fear of repercussions. Either way, these measures contribute to a sense of safety for everyone. This overall sense of safety allowed me to explore and immerse myself in the culture without constantly looking over my shoulder.

However, no place is perfect. While I personally feel safe and have never been victimized, it would be wrong to ignore the safety issues that do exist here. In Korea, bullying, stalking and spy cameras are significant problems. Many are familiar with bullying in schools, but it continues into the workplace, adding to the stress of living in Korea's fast-paced, ever-growing economy. I’m grateful not to have been a victim, but I know people whose stories highlight these issues. Also, as a foreigner, I sometimes feel isolated, despite the general friendliness of the people. The language barrier – largely my own fault – make it difficult to connect fully with locals, and I often feel frustrated by my inability to express myself. Thankfully, this hasn't threatened my safety, except when I need to visit a medical professional I can’t communicate with. On that note, medical costs here are affordable compared to the exorbitant prices in the U.S., though the jury is still out on if the quality of services compares.

Nostalgia for my roots in Nigeria

My family moved to the U.S. in search of better opportunities. My mom, sister, and I joined my dad after he had lived there alone for six years. Reflecting on my life in Nigeria, I remember the vibrant community we built with our extended family. Although we left seeking greater prospects, the warmth and connection I felt growing up there remain vivid in my memory. Life was simple, and we were content, even when we had little – until my father, the breadwinner, lost his job. This became the catalyst for our move abroad, as finding new employment became nearly impossible, and we struggled to have three meals a day and had to miss a term of school.

What I miss most are the shared laughter during family gatherings, the rich flavors of home-cooked meals and the close bonds with my cousins that made life feel secure. I remember long school vacations spent in my maternal grandmother’s village, surrounded by cousins, running around carefree despite our limited resources.

We engaged in activities like helping the best we could at the farm and daily errands of fetching water from the river and splashing around while there. While I have embraced my new life, nostalgia for my roots often tugs at my heart, bringing me to tears on days when loneliness feels more pronounced. It’s difficult to watch loved ones achieve milestones through screens – though I’m grateful for that connection – and not be able to partake in their celebrations. Nigeria has a rich tapestry of community life and strong familial ties that I haven’t been able to find elsewhere.

“What I miss most are the shared laughter during family gatherings, the rich flavors of home-cooked meals and the close bonds with my cousins that made life feel secure.”

First high school graduation at Ifako, 2008

Farewell visit to family before moving to the U.S. in 2008

Saying goodbye to Nigeria was an emotional undertaking for my family, driven by necessity rather than choice as we sought better opportunities. Leaving behind the warmth of my community, deep family connections, and vibrant culture was difficult. For me to consider returning, significant changes – particularly in terms of infrastructure and political stability – would need to occur, especially given the prevalent corruption that has made life challenging for many. While some have chosen to stay, I have loved ones looking to leave, and it wouldn’t make sense for me to return. 

 “Nigeria has a rich tapestry of community life and strong familial ties that I haven’t been able to find elsewhere.”

Dressing up for Cultural Day at school, 2010

Home is wherever I am

My time in America opened doors, like attending college, which my family’s finances would have made nearly impossible back home. However, it also came with safety challenges that heightened my appreciation for the security I’ve found in South Korea. Despite its own difficulties, Korea has allowed me to surround myself with supportive people, enabling me to craft a balanced and fulfilling life. I see myself building a future here, integrating the resilience I’ve gained from my experiences in Nigeria and America while embracing the unique opportunities Korea offers. My journey has taught me invaluable lessons about adaptability, connection, and the importance of safe spaces, and I’m grateful for the chance to create a new chapter in a place that increasingly feels like home. Each day, I feel more empowered to explore my identity and aspirations within this dynamic culture for the foreseeable future. I want to clarify that I’m not anti-American in any way; I would leave if it ever became difficult to have a fulfilling life here. Home is wherever I am, but if push comes to shove, my default return is to the U.S.

Trying on a hanbok (traditional Korean attire) during a museum visit

Basirat Sanni is a grad student living in South Korea. She enjoys playing rugby, hiking, and traveling.