It was the kind of day when the air smelled of rain and wet grass — and hope. My friends and I were at Adventureland, but we had to leave because it had begun to rain. As we got into Ames, my friend turned to me and said, “I hate Ames.” I did not ask him why. Instead, I just nodded and said, “I know; I hate this place, too.”

Many people have asked me why I decided to write opinion columns — and I usually lie to them. I usually tell them something about my minor in journalism and how the skills I acquire would open up more doors for me after I graduate. I realize that a minor or major in journalism coupled with my engineering background would provide opportunities for me, but I didn’t realize that before I decided to write.

How about the truth? Well, the truth in a place where people have many misunderstandings and stereotypes about you can sound like whining.

People tend to see things, not as they are, but as they have been conditioned to see them. Making comments that go against people’s perceptions and paradigms of others and themselves — that have been formed over a life time — can cause people to think there is something wrong with you.

In Nigeria, there are sometimes when I would be driving and come up to a traffic jam. I would quickly roll up the windows and lock the doors. There are usually people — sometimes children that were crippled or blind — begging for money or food at traffic jams. The sight alone bothered me, so I would quickly roll up the windows and forget about it.

I never thought about the dehumanizing effect this had on kids who had done nothing wrong, but were simply unfortunate to be born into poverty. I never thought about these things, until I was forced to by my own experiences here.

It became more evident to me, because of the way people saw me and how I had seen myself, that we each see ourselves and others through a unique lens of experience.

If someone had told me that I was heartless back then, I would have said, “Shut up, what are you talking about?” I would have gone on to mention times when I had committed a selfless act.

As far as I can remember, the day I told my friends I was going to apply to be an opinion columnist was that day during the summer when my friends and I had just gotten back from Adventureland in Des Moines.

My friends and I usually talk about how ignorant and close-minded people are in Ames.

We often joke about Ames being the worst place in the world where anyone could come to school, coming straight from Nigeria. We talk about how frustrating it was working in some class groups, because people either ignored what you said or assumed you needed extra guidance — simply because you were from Africa.

My views have changed a bit. I believe that in many cases I was dealing with the emotions of a shy 16-year-old starting school in a country he had never been to before.

It is not easy coming to college in a country you have never been before, where you don’t know a single soul, at the age of 16, and being subjected to ignorance. In such a fragile circumstance, I internalized some of the negative stereotypes people had about me. That set off a chain reaction of other problems.

Conversations like the one my friend and I had, however, still take place in Ames. If anyone thinks they don’t, they are not listening well enough and need to pay more attention.

Last week, Robert Dunn, a black defense attorney, died. Robert Dunn was best known for defending accused Sept. 11 conspirator, Abdullah Higazy. Robert Dunn’s heart, however, belonged to a white woman who was killed in a car crash.

He got the heart transplant seven years before. This story highlights the fact that race is only skin-deep. One’s environment plays a huge role in defining an individual.

If we all truly believed this, we would ask ourselves questions such as: Why is there a higher percentage of blacks in poverty and in jail? Why is there so many conflicts in some parts of the world? What can be done to change people’s environments to counter conditions that lead to dysfunctional behavior?

I decided to write because — much like the crippled kids whose voices I refused to hear — so many people’s voices aren’t being heard here. I wanted mine to be heard.