Kenyan in Diaspora: Pius Kimani and the tough winter that tested his American Dream

He left Kenya with hope, met winter with shock, and now builds a future with the stubbornness of a man who refuses to quit

Two years ago, when the sun was still generous over Nairobi and the jacarandas were busy painting the roads purple, Pius Kimani packed a suitcase, folded his faith neatly inside, and boarded what he calls a flight of hope. It was the kind of journey Kenyans whisper about in matatus and family WhatsApp groups, the bold leap toward that shimmering American Dream that promises to turn fortunes around with the sweep of a visa stamp.

But America, as he soon discovered, greets newcomers with its own brand of humour.

He stepped off the plane into a winter so fierce it felt like the continent had conspired to test him. The cold slapped him with the confidence of a seasoned immigration officer, and for a fleeting moment he wondered whether he had offended the gods of Mt Kenya by crossing the Atlantic without proper thermals. Still, armed with nothing more but faith, he summoned his ancestral spirits, squared his shoulders, and walked into the unknown.

“When I left for the United States, I had no idea who I was going to meet there. I landed in the middle of winter, and the weather made me realize immediately that I was very underdressed,” he recalls, laughing at the memory now. “The person who was to pick me had delayed, so I had to wait in the lounge and occasionally go out to check if they had arrived. The main problem was everyone was busy with their own lives unlike in Kenya where you could talk with anyone about nothing and everything.”

In that moment, America introduced itself the way it often does; cold, fast, and too busy to notice your shivering. Yet, Kimani insists his American journey is not about him. It is about the children who will inherit the fruits of his sacrifice. He sees his sojourn as a blessing to his children and future generations, a long‑term investment in possibility, wrapped in education, shelter, and the dignity of opportunity. “My American dream has not been through me but through my kids whom I think are the greatest beneficiaries to me coming here,” he says. It is a sentiment many immigrants know well: the dream is rarely for the dreamer.

Kimani has learned that the secret to survival in the US is flexibility, the art of bending without breaking. You work where you can, when you can, because the bills do not care about your former titles or your Kenyan degree.

“When you first land here, you work where you can get at first because your Kenyan degree has little or no meaning here,” he says. “So, it will take a while before you can get back to the career you were used to, and that was a huge challenge, but patience will usually get you places. You need money to survive here, unlike at home where a friend or family member will feed you again and again, but in the States, you only have yourself, otherwise you’ll be in the streets begging.”

It is a blunt truth, delivered with the calm of a man who has lived it. Hard work, as they say, is the path to success, and Kimani has taken that proverb as gospel. He has invested all his time in his job, occasionally going out, but mostly pouring his energy into work.

“When I got to my host’s house, I learnt that there were no designated hours for working or sleeping, as he would be in and out of the house at any time. That’s when I knew I had to work hard and smart just to survive in this new world,” he observes.

America, he discovered, does not sleep. It merely blinks. Back home, “connections” can open doors, windows, and sometimes even entire buildings. But in America? “Connections in the US are few and far between, and the main question was what you do,” he says. “So unless you were doing something positive in your life, you could not have any sort of conversation with anyone, be it the locals or Kenyans or any other nationals.”

In other words, America does not care who your uncle knows. Food, at least, offers some comfort. African supermarkets dot the American landscape like small embassies of home. But even then, nothing quite compares to a plate of ugali in Nairobi or a steaming bowl of fish in Kisumu. “Though I have found the meals to be okay since there are places to getting African dishes, plus there are also some spots to visit for some nyama choma though prices are high,” Kimani notes. Nyama choma, it seems, has also achieved the American Dream, premium pricing.

Kimani has visited Kenya only once since he left. “I made people understand that the money is good, but the bills are higher and you have little or no time to socialize since you are either working or asleep,” he says. “While trying to stay connected to Kenya is a challenge, long WhatsApp calls back home really help you to remember where you’ve come from.”

It is the immigrant’s paradox: you leave to build a better life, only to spend your nights calling home to remember who you are. His message to Kenyans eyeing the American horizon is simple, honest, and delivered without sugar‑coating. “All in all, coming to the States has been a great eye opener and if anyone got the opportunity to come here, I would highly recommend it.”

For Kimani, the American Dream is not a straight line. It is a winding path through winter, work, discovery, and hope. But it is a path he would choose again; suitcase, faith, ancestral spirits and all.