Driving into U.S. citizenship
Virus kept new Americans inside cars to pledge oaths; joyful horn honking ensued
The radio dial on Faranz Rahman’s vehicle was twisted to 103.3 FM, so when the music of her new country ’s anthem swelled inside the car, her son in the back seat smiled, and the family honked the horn.
“God bless America,” a speaker on a stage said, and people continued to honk car horns across the Schenectady County Community College parking lot because someone in the family was officially a U.S. citizen, including Rahman.
It was one of the state’s first naturalization ceremonies administered during the pandemic, so it was a drive-in ceremony filled with masked faces, social distancing and people listening through their car radios to officials who were on a stage across the lot.
But on Friday morning, there were still hugs among the family members of the 43 applicants who were now Americans, and there were still eyes that communicated joy, which is what Rahman said she was feeling.
“I’m so happy. So, so happy,” she said, her son in the back looking out
the rolled-down window, still smiling. She arrived in New York from Afghanistan six years ago. She took the citizenship test once and failed. She took it again and, after months of studying, passed. And then she had to wait for coronavirus shutdown restrictions to ease.
Finally, on Friday, she drove through a checkpoint at the parking lot where they handed her a certificate that said, “Citizen of the United States.” It was a long road, and she never thought it would end in a drive-in of sorts, but
she was with her family, and it was time to take pictures by the stage and American f lag.
Next to Rahman’s family was Heerawattic Indardass, posing in a
mask while her family took pictures.
She felt relief to finally be there, to have a document declaring her citizenship. She was born in Guyana, a country in South
America’s northeastern coast. Since she first arrived in New York 10 years ago, she’d been waiting for this day. The official naturalization ceremony, the one presided over by Judge Mark Powers, was over — but the more personal celebration, Indardass said, was set for Saturday, and there would be fellow Hindus and spicy eggplant dishes and “seven curry” and family.
“I feel relief to be here, but I also feel very happy,” Indardass said.
By 10 a.m., the parking lot, the citizenship ceremony drive-in, was emptying. So Annie Ilunga, 74, figured it was time to get home and prepare the
chicken feast, a staple in her native country, the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Her daughter, Aimee, was there to translate and spoil her with affection.
“Félicitations, maman,” Aimee told her mother, who had put on her best lavender dress and matching necklace. She had a bouquet of purple and yellow f lowers in one hand and a tiny American f lag in the other because this was her country now, too.
Aimee said that when her mother took the citizenship test for the first time, she didn’t pass. So for nine months, she studied every day in the morning and night, under their home’s porch.
“She’s a teacher, so she’s already educated. So it’s just the language,” Aimee said.
She’d memorize and write down the questions and answers they usually ask on tests:
Who are your state’s U.S. Senators?
From what country did the U.S. gain independence from?
What are two rights in the Declaration of Independence?
“She passed the test, and now look at her,” Aimee said.
Annie adjusted her mask. The more she smiled, the more it slipped from her face. They stood right outside of their car, posing for pictures.
“Félicitations, maman. Félicitations.”