🌍 From Angola to Miracles: A Story of Fear, Faith, and High School Survival

I was born under the bright April sun in Angola, Africa—a land full of rhythm, community, and a warmth that you can feel deep in your soul. Some of my earliest memories are painted with joy: barefoot walks on red dirt roads and hot concrete. I remember the scent of fresh mangoes and the sound of laughter drifting through open doors and windows. That was home. That was the beginning. But life had other plans.

My family and I moved to the United States almost 28 years ago, and everything shifted for us—language, culture, expectations. Suddenly, I was “the new girl,” trying to decode a world that felt both fascinating and foreign. Learning a new language, while also trying to learn American History and Science, was not a piece of cake. Once the newness of "America" drifted, reality sank in. Learning English was so difficult, which was the reason why I learned Spanish, my second language to this day. As mentioned on the podcast, I learned Spanish due to English being hard, and telenovelas were fun to watch! lol

My family and I lived in Atlanta, GA for two years, then moved to a small town called Ewing, in the state of Nebraska. There, I attended Ewing High School, and let me tell you, high school was a whole different story. My family was the only Black family in town. I didn't carry a thick accent, but I felt kids listened to me talk as if I did. I was a shy kid and gave many shy smiles, and I had an illness most people had never heard of: sickle cell anemia.

Three words that shaped my life more than I wanted to admit.

Imagine being a teenager—already battling insecurities—and carrying an invisible illness that makes your body feel like it’s betraying you. Imagine sitting in class trying to focus while your chest tightens, your joints ache, and your hands stop functioning. Imagine the fear in your mother’s eyes when she whispers her deepest prayer: “God, just let her make it to 18.”

It honestly felt like a death sentence at times.

I lived in constant tension: trying to appear “normal,” while inside I was just hoping to make it through the day without a crisis. I became quiet and cautious. Every friendship, every after-school activity came with calculations: Will I be in pain tomorrow? Will this be too much for my body? Will I need to smell like Bengay again while hanging with friends? Will this phase of life pass?

But in the middle of that fear—God sent a miracle. I graduated high school and in that same year went on a family road trip. I did not expect to meet a new family that year, but in a sense, I did! Aunt Caryl and Uncle Bill became my second parents and for that I'm joyously grateful. They came into my life and didn’t just see me—they showed up for me. With care, compassion, and unwavering belief in my future, they became a beacon of hope. They didn’t heal my illness, but they helped heal something just as broken: my belief that I was alone. They reminded me that miracles don’t always look like lightning bolts or hospital recoveries. Sometimes, miracles look like people. Like being seen. Like being held through the hard days.

Now, when I think about those high school years, I don’t just remember the pain. I remember the hope. The little pockets of joy. The warmth of community. The miracle of still being here.

So if you’re navigating a hard season—whether it’s illness, isolation, or simply trying to survive—please hear this: You are not alone. You are not too much. And your story is still unfolding.

There is still beauty ahead.

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💬 I’d love to hear from you—what’s one thing you’re grateful for today? 

Leave a comment below. Let’s keep building this community, one story at a time.

Jaja Fortuna