Reflections of an Immigrant on America’s 250th Birthday
By Raghad Bushnaq
“America is another name for opportunity.” Those words have been repeated by generations of immigrants who arrived on these shores carrying little more than hope. As America celebrates its 250th birthday, I find myself reflecting on my own journey—one among millions of immigrant stories that together have become part of the American story.
Mine began on July 20, 1989.
After spending a few unforgettable days in Paris for our honeymoon, our plane landed at Dulles International Airport. I was only nineteen years old, a shy young woman from Damascus, the City of Jasmine, carrying with me the values, traditions, and dreams I had inherited from my family and my homeland. Like so many immigrants before me, I arrived with excitement, uncertainty, and countless questions about the life waiting ahead.
As we drove toward Washington, D.C., I couldn’t take my eyes off the scenery. The moment we reached Connecticut Avenue, I was captivated by the elegant architecture, towering trees, beautifully landscaped streets, and the peaceful character of the city. I remember quietly wishing that somehow our apartment would be on that very street.
To my delight, it was.
My husband was a civil engineer with the U.S. Department of Housing, and our new life soon settled into a comforting routine. Every morning began before sunrise with Fajr prayer, followed by coffee while watching Good Morning America. In the evenings we watched the news and Crossfire, listening to familiar journalists like Joan Lunden, Sam Donaldson, Peter Jennings, Tom Brokaw, Dan Rather, and Ted Koppel explain the events shaping our new country.
Learning English became one of my first adventures.
The English I had learned in Syria followed British pronunciation, while American English sounded entirely different. Conversations moved quickly, and every sentence demanded complete concentration. I remember hearing the word “serious” on television and repeatedly thinking the announcer was saying “Syria.” It took me a moment every time to realize they weren’t talking about my country at all.
Those little misunderstandings eventually became memories I laugh about today.
The greatest surprise, however, wasn’t the language.
It was the kindness.
Walking through the neighborhood toward Chevy Chase Circle, stopping at CVS or Magruder’s grocery store, I noticed something that immediately put me at ease. People smiled. Complete strangers greeted me with a simple “Hi.” They welcomed me with warmth that crossed every cultural and language barrier. Those brief encounters slowly replaced fear with comfort and uncertainty with confidence.
I had expected differences to divide us.
Instead, kindness united us.
Although speaking English made me nervous, Americans consistently encouraged me. I often heard, “Your English is great,” or “You speak very good English.” Looking back, I know my English was far from perfect, but those generous compliments gave me the confidence to keep trying. Encouragement became one of my greatest teachers.
I enrolled in an English language school located in Georgetown, where my instructor, Marquis, noticed my rapid progress and recommended moving me to a higher-level class before the course was even finished. That simple act of believing in me made a lasting impression.
When I look back at those early years, I often think I arrived during what I lovingly call America’s golden years.
Life felt orderly. Government offices functioned efficiently. Paperwork was straightforward. Customer service was patient, courteous, and professional. Things simply worked.
Coming from a country ruled by dictatorship, where even the freedom to pray on time could become a concern, I appreciated freedoms that many people understandably took for granted. I discovered something that deeply touched me: many of the values I had studied throughout my life in Islam were reflected in everyday American society—smiling at others, respecting people’s opinions, serving the public honestly, valuing punctuality, volunteering, and protecting each person’s freedom to practice their faith.
America did not change my values.
It gave me the freedom to live them.
Soon after arriving, I exchanged my international driver’s license for a Washington, D.C. driver’s license after passing the written exam. Then came another challenge: learning to drive throughout the city.
There were no smartphones.
No GPS.
No Google Maps.
No MapQuest.
Every morning I drove my husband to work, spent the day running errands and exploring unfamiliar neighborhoods, then returned to pick him up in the evening. Day after day, I learned Washington one street at a time until the city that once felt unfamiliar gradually became home.
Years passed quickly.
Our family grew to five children. Four were born at INOVA Hospital, while our youngest was born at Holy Cross Hospital.
Later, when we moved to M Street near Arena Stage, one of our family’s favorite traditions became visiting the Tidal Basin every spring. Cherry blossom season was magical. Watching Washington transform into a city covered with soft shades of pink while welcoming visitors from around the world never lost its charm. To me, the city looked like a beautiful bride celebrating spring.
Today, I am blessed with five grandchildren, all born in America.
As I reflect on nearly four decades in the Washington metropolitan area, I realize that I have spent most of my adult life here. During these years, I taught hundreds of students, owned businesses, and eventually founded Mozaic, an organization dedicated to empowering refugees, newcomers, and underserved communities through education, workforce development, and compassionate service.
Life has been filled with anticipation, challenges, opportunities, achievements, and lessons. Most importantly, it has given me countless opportunities to give back to the society where I grew as an adult, where my children were raised, and where my grandchildren now call home.
The older I become, the more grateful I feel for belonging to two remarkable cities.
Damascus will always be my City of Jasmine.
Washington will always be my City of Cherry Blossoms.
One gave me my roots.
Together they formed the person I have become.
Over the years, I have traveled throughout the United States and visited many countries around the world, discovering breathtaking places and remarkable cultures. Yet whenever I think of home, my heart returns to only two places: Damascus, where I was planted, and the Washington suburbs, where I bloomed, produced, and dedicated my life to serving others.
My journey is only one small piece of America’s larger story.
For two and a half centuries, immigrants from every corner of the world have helped shape this nation through their work, ideas, values, sacrifices, and dreams. Each generation has added another piece to America’s beautiful mosaic. I am grateful that my own story has become one small tile within that larger picture.
Happy 250th Birthday, America.
Thank you for opening your doors to a shy nineteen-year-old girl from Damascus who arrived with hope, determination, and faith in a better future. Thank you for the opportunities to learn, to raise a family, to build a career, to serve my community, and to give back.
As you celebrate this historic milestone, my prayer is that God continues to bless America with peace, wisdom, justice, compassion, and prosperity. May you remain a nation where freedom is protected, kindness is never out of fashion, opportunity remains within reach, and newcomers continue to find the same welcoming smiles that greeted me on a warm July day in 1989.
May future generations experience the same sense of optimism, possibility, and confidence that defined the America I first encountered. And may your greatest days always be ahead.
