Monthly Archives: September 2010

The President of America(s)

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“Is Obama the President of South America?”

When I heard this question a week ago, I immediately stopped what I was doing and stared at the man who innocently voiced this question in a mixture of awe and disbelief. The only thought going through my mind at this time was: what?

Gentle readers, some context: last week, Emma and I officially began tutoring the three boys of our family. They are all struggling in school – the oldest son, who was placed in ninth grade upon arrival to America, has the equivalent of a fourth grade education in the United States. To say that they need help catching up is an understatement.

So, Emma and I were working with the two youngest sons on their math and spelling homework, respectively, when the neighbors – another group of Nepalese refugees – came over to visit. They were eager to meet us, having heard (hopefully) good things about us from the boys’ parents over the weekend. The father, who did not look much older than myself, was sharing his appreciation for his new country with us when he asked how far South America was from Chicago. We explained that it was pretty far, and that it had a much different climate than Chicago, possibly more akin to the weather in Nepal than here.

Then he asked the question mentioned at the very beginning of this article. At the time, I remember thinking the question was funny – it was like something straight out of a movie. The newcomer asking a longtime resident a question that he, as an immigrant, has no good answer to, but naturally seems obvious to the longtime citizen (and subsequently, the audience). It was a good question, though, one that Emma and I were more than happy to set straight – that Obama was the President of the United States of America, which was a country in North America. He was not the president of two continental landmasses. Being a political science major came in handy in this situation!

I tried to ask how he came to the conclusion that the United States encompassed both North and South America, but judging by the look he gave me I think the question was lost in translation. Instead, Emma and I explained how North America was divided into three countries – Canada, the US, and Mexico – while South America had much more countries there. Mr. Neighbor asked if South America had democracies there. Once again, political science came in handy: I explained that there were some, but that some bad people controlled some of the countries there; bad people who mistreated their citizens. Mr. Neighbor nodded gravely, and expressed empathy for their plight.

This exchange made me wonder if this is how my teachers have felt at my questions all throughout my life. It’s a strange feeling, to possess the knowledge that others seek from a designated intellectual (or in this case, cultural) broker. It’s almost empowering, too. I’m not sure how I feel about it quite yet.

It does raise an important question for me, though. When the neighbor asked that question, he had the wide-eyed innocence and enthusiasm that one of the children I work with at after school programs at home or in Chicago have. So, I’m beginning to wonder if I might be talking down to these people – people who have seen and endured more suffering than I can possibly imagine.

Now, I don’t mean “talk down to” in a derogatory fashion. I mean, I’m not criticizing these people for being uneducated… With the limited grasp of English and geography that they have, and most likely an even smaller grasp on politics, I’m not surprised if they thought Obama was the leader of the continental Americas. what concerns me is that I want to treat them with the respect that they deserve as adults. It’s one thing for me to talk that way to the kids that I work with, but I couldn’t help but wonder if I crossed any lines with how I explained things to Mr. Neighbor.

Tomorrow I’m meeting with my family again. Maybe I’ll bring a map, so we can point out places in the US, or the world, and teach some new words to the family. Mr. Neighbor had been living in America with his family for nearly five months, and he still thought that Barack Obama was the leader of an entire continent. I can’t imagine what kind of assumptions my family has about America.

Who's teaching who?

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When I signed up for this class I was extremely excited since I saw this as a way to give back to people that took care of me when I came to the United States.  Sure I am no refugee and probably did not have to deal with as much pain as them however I can surely relate.  I came here 5 years ago with little English, leaving all my friends and most of my family except mother to whom I was traveling to and sister who came along with me.  However, I still had to leave my two younger sisters, dad, grandparents and everyone else I really cared about behind. The day of leaving Lithuania (my native country) I knew I had to be strong not only for myself but because now I was completely responsible for my younger sister who was coming along with me and who was completely torn up as we stepped over the yellow line in the airport which completely separated us from the rest of the family.  We now were stepping into the new life that we didn’t choose.  We didn’t want to come here however, we didn’t have much choice.  That day my heart in a way cold.  I locked all my feelings/emotions away.  I think in a way it made me stronger and led me to get to where I am now: speaking English, first person to attend college in general and especially America and so much more.  I have been able to accomplish so much.  As an immigrant you are told that you won’t be able to do a lot especially as a first generation however, I think I have stepped that line long time ago.  Proving all those people that everything is possible if you just work really hard.  But getting back to my point, ever since our class started I have found that it has been harder and harder to keep myself together.  Before meeting my refugee family I was freaking out that I won’t be fit to help these people.  And sure now I am more confident because I realize that I can relate my experience of learning English and being without the family here.  However, Mary Pipher’s book has been completely tearing me apart.  It is so personal and makes me think about every single feeling that I have locked up ever since I left my country.  And I get really depressed and I miss everything.  And today I had one of those days and I really didn’t want to move out of bed and go see my family however that is my responsibility and I did.  And I watch those wonderful people interact.  They are always so happy and by watching them staying so strong I think that I can do it too especially because of how better my life situation is right now compared  to what they have now.  I have American friends, I speak English, have a good job and I know my way around.  So I can come in and teach them couple words of English the day I come but they have taught me so much more personally.  They showed me a whole new way to look at my life situation and I am extremely thankful for that.  Thanks my new family! :)

Everyone's a teacher

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Steve and I took our first walk up to the home of our new friends, Bishnu and Muna, this weekend. We got there at the pre-arranged time, 1:00, and no one was home. We called, no answer. We knocked, uncomfortable silence standing in the hallway. So, we knew the neighbors were their relatives so we went ahead and knocked there. In no time we had three kids in front of us who spoke English. The adults hung back. No English, I assume. The kids said that our family would probably be back at 4 or 5 and that we should come back then. So, we left a note and our offering of bananas, apples, and plums with them, and went back to Steve’s place to kill some time.

When we returned at 4 pm, Muna opened the door and welcomed us in with a quiet greeting. Bishnu was sitting on the floor playing cards with three friends. He turned to look at us, slapped the couch next to him, inviting us to sit, and finished the hand. We sat, smiling and a little nervous.

The only expectation I actually had about visiting my family was that there would be kids. I’ve heard stories and I always picture apartments filled with kids and toys and homework. But just as it should be, my only expectation was wrong. This is an older family. The couple has two children, a son and a daughter, who are grown and working. Where I expected yelling children I found five gentle people who have seen many years, and Muna brought the two of us each a glass of Sunny D.

We passed a pleasant visit with them. One of the friends knew some basic English, and we were able to establish who we were, arrange meeting times, and compare the weather of Chicago with that of Nepal, where they spent 19 years in a refugee camp. We all enjoyed sharing simple vocabulary, and they taught us words for different items of clothing. They laughed kindly at the way I tripped over my tongue repeating the words, which I could never remember for more than a minute.We joked that we would be the English teachers and our new friend would be the Nepali teacher. Next Sunday, we will learn and teach more with our new friends.

My Nepali Friends

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On Friday afternoon Molly and I went to visit our refugee family for the first time. Molly had just come straight from class and we were both worried we would be late. As we met at the L stop, rushed onto the train, rushed off the train, frantically found the address, and ran up the six flights of stairs, we both lost our breath. However, as we stood outside of the apartment door, we looked at each other and realized we were not out of breath because of the hurrying. We stood there for a moment fighting the adrenaline that kept our hearts racing. We knew we were about to begin something truly amazing. It was a chance to learn, grow, give, and share. As I knocked on the door we looked at each other and giggled. This was it.
At first the family seemed a bit confused. I asked them if the ECAC had told them we would be visiting today. After a few attempts at communicating my question their faces broke into smiles and they gestured for us to sit down. Luckily, a teenage boy who is related to the family had offered to visit with us that day. He introduced us to the whole family and helped us to understand everyone’s backgrounds. We went over names, ages, relationships, and how long each family member had been in the U.S. An awkward silence prompted me to pull out a deck of cards and offer that we play a game. They were enthusiastic to play with us- we spent over an hour teaching each other games. There is a strange sort of bonding that takes place when you teach and are willing to be taught. Molly and I learned a Nepali card game and we taught the boys how to play “go fish” and “BS”. Several times, we had to explain that there is only four of each type of card in a deck, but we all laughed every time. Inevitably, the boys had to correct us several times during their lesson about cards. It is this willingness to be wrong and to laugh at your mistakes that makes you most vulnerable- I truly believe that it is this vulnerability that makes you capable of friendship.
This brings me to my final anecdote. Molly and I returned only two days later (upon the request of the family) to teach English. After over two hours of working with the family on pronunciation and penmanship of the alphabet, as well as a few key phrases and new words, we began to carry on casual conversation with the more fluent family members. I was talking with the father of the group about activities we could do together, his upcoming ELL lessons, finding a job, and other topics. Somewhere along the way, I mentioned “my Nepali friends” (I visit another Nepali family once a week with another student from LRO). The father laughed at my statement and I shyly asked what was funny. He asked “Nepali friends?” and I replied “yes, another family I met when they first came to America”. Something must have clicked in his head, because he quickly stopped laughing and made eye contact with me. Until this point, he had been shyly looking around the room and had seemed indifferent to the conversation. However, he made sure to look me in the eye as he asked the question “are we friends?” I was touched by this man’s question and unsure of the response he wanted or expected, so I quickly decided it was best to be honest and replied “yes” with a smile. The man’s face broke into a large smile and laughter and he laughed out the words “ok, good. We’re friends”. That moment reminded me of how important relationships are in our lives. Even if I couldn’t give this man nice things, a great job, perfect English, or any of the other things he desperately needed, I could give him friendship. I was reminded that all of the awkward moments and frustrating language barriers are worth it. Our friendship is worth it.

Here We Go!

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Hello everyone! My name is Katrina Badowski. I am a sophomore at Loyola University Chicago as an Anthropology/Sociology major and Psychology minor. I am currently enrolled in Anthropology361–Issues in Cultural Anthropology: Refugee Resettlement. In this Service-Learning class we simultaneously study the issues of forced migration and refugee resettlement throughout the world and immerse ourselves in the local community of refugees in the Rogers Park area. A classmate & I are assigned to a specific refugee family, who we visit at least 3 hours a week; then we are to post weekly blogs about our experiences. This is my first blog! (Just a heads up they won’t always be this long).

My partner Christina Chen and I have been assigned a refugee family that moved from Nepal to America in February 2010. Ama is the mother, Afa is the father, Di is their 12-year-old daughter, Dep is their 8-year-old son, and Billy is their 2-year-old son. They are ethnically Bhutanese, but 18 years ago, before Ama and Afa met, their families were forced from their homes in Bhutan to live in Nepalese refugee camps. It was not until afterwards that Ama and Afa were arranged in marriage. In 1 of 7 camps in Nepal, they started their family amongst 130,000 refugees. Once it was decided that they were to come to America, they got their immunization shots and packed a suitcase for each person that could not exceed 40lbs each. Afa’s mother and brother came with them. They had a connecting flight in Paris, which was the first time they had experienced elevators and human conveyer belts (nevertheless airplanes). They had another connecting flight in New York before arriving in Chicago. This was the first occasion they had seen snow. The 7 of them now live in a 1-bedroom apartment in a building with a broken intercom and dysfunctional elevators; many refugee families from all over the world currently reside in this apartment building as well. They now have a refrigerator and running water, things they did not have in Nepal. Afa works at a thrift store and is the sole provider of the family. He also attends ESL classes (ESL=English as a Second Language) along with his brother. Di and Dep walk 10 minutes to school. The family uses food stamps (US federal-assistance program to provide food to low- or no-income families) at the local market.

You might be surprised to know that I have attained all this information completely through communicating with this family during the 4.5 hours Christina and I spent with them this week. We met them for the first time on Saturday, 09/25/2010 at 1:30pm which lasted for 2 hours, and then visited again on Sunday, 09/25/2010 at 1:15pm which lasted for 2.5 hours. I am very impressed and ecstatic about the progress we have all ready made in getting to know this family. Stepping aside from the facts however, I would like to share with you some of my experiences and reactions.

Because the intercom was broken, another family let us in the apartment building while they were coming back from the market. Upon arriving at their apartment door for the first time, Di opened the door without knowing who we were and agreed to let us in when we asked. Christina and I later reflected that this is a safety concern for the children, especially for the fact that she was home alone at this time. We attempted to communicate to her who we were but she looked confused. We asked her where her parents were and after a couple attempts to communicate what we were asking, she signaled us to follow her down the hall to another residence. There we learned that relatives lived in the same floor, and they frequently shared much of their time together in each other’s places. There we met Ama, Dep, Billy, and Grandma. We quickly mimicked the way they pressed their hands together in front of their chests, as in prayer, and slightly bowed while we said “Namaste” as they had done to us. Then we walked back to their apartment down the hall to visit.

Their living room has 3 beds, a table, and 7 or 8 lawn chairs against the white walls. We went to sit and I noticed a backpack with Tinkerbell on it. Overly eager to connect with the children, I immediately commented to Di about how cute it was and asked her if she liked Tinkerbell. I was quickly taken aback when I found out she doesn’t know who Tinkerbell is. I saw her folder with Cinderella on the cover and asked her if she knew who Cinderella was. She said no. Looking back, I shouldn’t really have been surprised, but I was. I took for granted that a 12-year-old girl living in America would know who Tinkerbell and Cinderella are. She doesn’t even know what Disney is. A similar phenomenon occurred when I commented on Dep’s Chicago White Sox T-shirt that he was wearing. He does not know who the White Sox are—the MLB team of the city that he lives in. These instances illustrate the interesting aspect of refugee culture in America. They obtain many of their items through Salvation Army or donations of the like, and as a result they wear or use many things that have American symbols, words, or pictures that they do not know or understand. I had never considered this affect of refugee resettlement and so it blew my mind that these people know so little about the country and culture that they now live in. It doesn’t even phase them. They are unaware of the things that they don’t know, or even of the things they don’t have. I immediately self-reflect about the American culture, and specifically my own life. Name brands and fashionable items are an important part of my life. This family may not even know what these concepts are. I feel selfish and spoiled in this instance of realization that my American materialistic culture has affected me so much. We hope for Christmas gifts and designer bags while people halfway across the world hope to wake up to their parents and children still alive and well. We do not even think about these people but literally millions of them are making that very wish right now, even as I type this.

Di and Dep are the easiest to communicate with because their young minds can adapt to the new language quicker than adult minds. We often rely on them to translate between us and their parents, uncle, and grandmother. In one conversation I asked Di if her family had any pets in Nepal and what kind of animals were native to their village area. She told me that they had a pet cow that provided them with milk, and that wild elephants and monkeys would frequently come out from the jungle. I was very impressed with such an exotic description, and assumed that the wild animals were magical and pleasant experiences. I excitedly asked her “Did you get to pet and ride the elephants? Did you play with the monkeys?” She explained to me that the elephants were “bad” because they were a threat to safety and the people would have to flee the village to avoid danger that the elephants may cause. Monkeys were similar (although she did say that some were friendly). I felt very naïve to assume that wild animals from the jungle are just as they are portrayed on TV and in cartoons in our culture. I think Di understood that it was an honest mistake so she laughed. I am glad we can talk and laugh together about her old life, and I am very interested to learn more.

The family had never before used internet before living in America; now they absolutely love it. They (especially the children) are always on YouTube and Facebook, which is a convenient device to learn about American culture but still cherish their old culture by looking up videos and keeping in touch with fellow refugees in America they once knew in Nepal. Di showed us a video on YouTube of her and her friends performing a traditional Nepali dance at a local Refugee Festival earlier in the year. She looked beautiful in her traditional Nepali outfit, while she was in her element dancing to the traditional Nepali music. I told her that I, too, love to dance. She became very excited about this common thing we shared. Even though we belong to different cultures and have completely different pasts, we can still relate to one another through such a simple interest we share. I showed her some internet videos I am dancing in, and she loved them. It turns out she showed her friends after we left, and the next day they all asked me if I could teach them “American dance” next time I come to visit. I am SO excited to share this with them and make them happy. I am glad I have their approval and that they like me. For a while we shared dance videos with each other on the internet. One thing that concerns me is that the children have unrestricted access to the worldwide web, a concept that their parents do not comprehend as dangerous. They may inadvertently run into dangerous or inappropriate content for their young eyes and be exposed to things they shouldn’t see. Or worse, make relations with online predators. If such an event happens, their parents would have no way of knowing. I will definitely be watching over this throughout the semester.

This blog is all ready way too long and I still have so much to share! I will be posting again soon, seeing that I visit tomorrow morning. I hope you enjoyed learning about my experiences thus far, and I hope you have gained awareness about the issue of refugee resettlement! Follow me because I would love to share as much as I can to spread awareness and common knowledge about people like these that I work with. This is something I all ready really care about and I know my dedication and passion will only grow deeper as the semester progresses. I am very excited!

i hate math but i <3 my nepalese family

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So Meagan and I had our first visit with our Nepalese family Friday, September 24th. I’m not really sure what I was expecting but I definitely didn’t think that they would be doing as well as they are. They’ve been in the US since around January so they’ve had some time to adjust, and in my opinion they are doing great. First of all, when we first arrived I was expecting about 3-4 people as it says on the sheet we got in class. Definitely not 3 or 4; their family includes 9 people. I guess I shouldn’t have been, but I was shocked. I was wondering how Meagan and I would be able to help 9 people at the same time. By the end of the visit I realized its not only about helping them it just about being there for them and being their friends. But anyways, we got there and all the outside gates and doors were unlocked so we just went right up to their apartment and knocked. Nar, who is the second son of the family, enthusiastically greeted us. I’ll say right now, if it wasn’t for Nar this first visit wouldn’t have gone as smoothly. Nar is in his late 20’s or early 30’s and he is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. He is just so jolly! He did not stop talking or laughing the entire time…thank god, because no one else was really into talking to us. Nar excused them by saying they were too shy to talk to us. He had to tell the kids (8th grade- through 9th grade) to come talk to us because they all ran and hid when we got there. We sat down on the couch (bed) since they all live in a 2 bedroom apartment. There are beds everywhere. One of the rooms had 4 beds in it alone. At first it was extremely awkward, (except for Nar) we had a couple moments of silence where we would all just watch the Nepalese movie on the screen that the grandpa seemed to be enjoying. Nar gave us the details of the family and to our relief; he can speak English fluently. He can have a regular conversation without any trouble. He has his Master’s degree in English from Nepal, so we got lucky! We didn’t meet him yet, but Nar’s oldest brother also speaks English very well. The kids also speak well also but they are still in the learning process.

I really believe we would have sat there for 2 hours if Meagan hadn’t offered to help the kids with their homework because that’s when we actually got involved with the other people in the family besides Nar. Nar had to tell the kids several times to bring out their homework because they were hiding in the other room. I helped Ram with his geography homework and it went smoothly. Next, Purna wanted my help with his math homework while Meagan helped Madhabi with hers. I honestly never thought the day would come where I would come across 9th grade math homework and be like,“Whaaaaaaaat???” I didn’t know half the things being asked! I was embarrassed to say the least. I asked Meagan and she didn’t know either and then I felt better haha! But really, I felt horrible that I couldn’t help him. But I didn’t give up; Google saved the day, as it usually does. We went on their (brand new) computer and googled the terms and then I was able to help. I told them googling answers is not the same as learning something and applying it and that I was only doing it to help them as a last resort. They earnestly listened and nodded. So I felt better after that too! I apologized to Purna for being so bad at math and he told me “I do not believe it, you are very good at math and you are expert at computer.” Well that made my day! So, we overcame the math homework but we ran into another problem. The kids don’t have all the books they need to do their homework. I’m guessing that they can’t afford to buy all the books (seeing as books are ridiculously expensive) and when they bring homework home sometimes they cant even do it because they don’t have the books and they are not allowed to bring them home from school. That is something that tore at my insides a little because I can only imagine being that age and having to do work at home with NO books. It’s basically impossible. So not only are they new to this country with little knowledge of the language but they can’t even bring books home to help them do their work.

Overall, our family was extremely nice, welcoming, and very thankful that we were there. At first they seemed a little confused when I tried to explain that we would visit once a week. But by the end of our visit they told us we could come every day if we wanted. Obviously, that’s not possible with school and work but honestly, I know that I COULD do this every day if I had the time. This might seem a little cheesy but I believe (just from my first visit) that this will be one of the best experiences of my life. I just felt so happy after we left. Just pure happiness! I called everyone in my phone to tell them about it. I can’t wait for our next visit this Wednesday.

Also, Nar, proved to be technology savvy because yesterday he texted me telling me that he was thankful for the visit and that he was happy to see us again this week, ending the text with “Bye sister.” That alone made my month!!! Again, he left me feeling extremely and genuinely happy and super excited for the weeks to come!

Cultural faux-pas numero uno

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While sitting at my Nepalese family’s dining table during my second visit to their apartment, I thought I would attempt to try to include myself in their cultural practices by eating without utensils. I feel I am being clever until Ama (Nepalese word for mother) starts laughing uproariously at me. I sit at the table timidly as she explains my huge faux-pas. Using mostly hand motions she explains that the left hand is used for wiping one’s behind and the right is for eating. I was using my butt-cleaning hand to consume food! At the same time my refugee-outreach partner Katrina is in tears from unknowingly eating a chunk of habanero pepper. Ama was gracious, and gave us each a much needed cup of water . Besides these embarrassing moments the meal was delicious (and spicy). Although I’ve had the luxury of trying many different South Asian cuisines this was my first Nepalese meal ever. I never thought you could make a vegetarian meal so tasty (coming from a Vietnamese/ Taiwanese background where most dishes have meat in them). Ama served buttery basmati rice, a side of yogurt, fresh tomato and onions, and a curry potato dish. I finally resorted to eating with the supplied spoon since the father noticed how uncomfortably I was trying to put rice into my mouth. Eating with your hands seems like an easier task than it actually is!

What I’ve noticed also was the amount of hospitality and warmth they gave to us. Ama cuts us fresh fruit served on a plate and sweet chai whenever we visit. This way of greeting guest reminds me alot of home. I’m starting to realize how food and drink is used cross-culturally to symbolize friendship and acceptance.

Yesterday was my first day with Katrina to our teamed Nepalese family’s apartment. My family lives literally feet from me. I was aware that their place was close to mine but not this close! What I find so interesting about Roger’s Park is that you could be living amongst the most dense population of refugee resettlers in Chicago and totally be unaware of this fact (as I had been).  It’s spectacular that this neighborhood is so ethnically diverse. 

The oldest daughter greeted Katrina and I at the door. We were surprised that she had just opened the door for us without question, and especially since we were strangers. Katrina and I are worried about safety issues. Doors are often not locked since family members and friends frequently moved in and out of each other’s apartments. The oldest girl Di (who is in junior high) told me that their neighbors have already attempted to steal from them. Another issue we encountered was the fact that the children will go out unaccompanied by adults. In their home countries it was probably a norm for children to go out independently, but as an American I am probably way more paranoid about child molesters, pedophiles, and kidnappers.

The older sister was taking her little brother Billy to buy juicy fruit gum to get him to stop crying so much from his fever. She did this alone while carrying him. I find it beautiful that sisters/ brothers share the responsibility with adults in raising their younger siblings, but they must become aware of potential danger within the city. This means that although children can take up adult roles, they are still children in the eyes of dangerous predators on the street.  Katrina and I were unaware that the children had left.  We warned the father that this was dangerous.  He quickly ran out to retrieve them. 

My family lives in a one bedroom apartment with seven people. The buzzer is broken so we have to call someone on the cell phone or wait for someone to let us in.  And the elevator according to the family is often malfunctioning. They don’t seem to complain though.

They arrived here last February around Valentine’s day. I was impressed how well they have adjusted in such a short period of time. The Nepalese community especially seems to be extremely well networked. Refugees who arrived earlier will reach out to newly arrived refugees. Families are also tightly woven communities. I was confused when cousins were referring to each other as brothers and sisters. This comes to show the degree of importance they place on their extended family (by extended family I mean in the Western definition). In Vietnamese I also call my cousins brothers and sisters.

The father’s English is very good for only have been here for eight months. He explained to us that he has lived in a refugee camp with his family for eighteen years!! He was married in the camp and raised his children in the camp in Nepal. They are ethnically Bhutanese and were forced to leave their country to the neighboring country of Nepal in one of seven refugee camps. He told us that there are around 130,000 refugees living in these camps.

He then asked if I had a husband or was single.  I noticed that there was no in-between “dating” option.  I explained that I had a boyfriend and he looks at me a little puzzled.  He explained that  Nepalese marriages are oftened arranged by family members. 

He works at a retail shop six days a week for ten hours a day. He then goes to ESL class at a local community college. He is the sole provider for the family so far. The uncle is not working nor is the mother.

I went grocery shopping with Di, Dep (the middle brother who is eight), and Ama. I thought this would be a good way to explain foods in English.  They purchased all of the items on a Link Card. I wonder how long the state of Illinois will allow a family to be on food stamps? I purchased a pumpkin and tried to explain the signifigance of Halloween, I think something was lost in translation. Therefore, I will go back on Tuesday to carve the pumpkin with the children to demonstrate a popular childhood pastime in America.

The father came back with a shopping cart full of food, the shopping cart, and the baby inside of the shopping cart.  He pushed this into the main room.   I was curious where he got this shopping cart.  I hope he didn’t take it from the store.  Next time I will ask him if he did.  This may turn into a lesson of American shopping norms. 

I also realized how much I take for granted in terms of the modern day conveniences I passively enjoy. The father told me that he thinks Paris is the most beautiful city in the world (even though he only saw the airport during his transfer flight). He thinks it is beautiful because of the human conveyor belt that helps passengers go from one end of the airport to another in an expedient fashion. He was also amazed at the elevators. He has never encountered these things in Nepal and told us about his confusion when he first saw them.

My partner thought at first that the family had a pet elephant and monkey.  In actuality these creatures were pests in their eyes.   The wild elephants would come at night from the brush and steal rice and bananas.  The monkeys were also sometimes nasty.  I suppose when you live in America these animals seem charming when you only see them at zoos and in books/ t.v. 

Grandma is seventy-two years old. She speaks incessantly to me in Nepali as if I understand what she is saying. I am honored that she finds me interesting enough to talk to. I just feel bad that I can’t understand what she is trying to tell me. I wish I could comprehend what she is telling me, since I’m sure she has a lifetime of profound stories and knowledge that she could share. 

Baby Billy was running a fever. He was crying for most of the second day. The father has scheduled a Wednesday appointment at a local hospital for him. The only was to get there is by foot, which will take an hour. Ama will push the baby all by herself in the donated baby carriage. Katrina volunteered to take them to the hospital to talk to the doctors and nurses. I’m not sure if they have to pay a hospital fee. I sent an e-mail to ECAC asking them if there could be a way to have them go to the uptown clinic where most of the refugees are given services for free. This would be more convenient since the train can take them there. Katrina also took a family member to CVS to purchase baby Tylenol. This information on what medicines to take may seem like common knowledge to us, but to a Nepalese family just arriving it is not. I am glad Katrina took the initiative to help take care of the baby’s sickness.

Something I noticed was how tech savvy the children were.  Dep  uses youtube to watch children cartoon shows.  Di has a facebook and likes to keep in touch with friends from school.  They also like watching Nepalese music videos. 

You learn so much from someone just by spending time with them, even without asking questions.  Ama gave Katrina and I a photo album to look at.  There were pictures of their sponsors, their friends and family, and also Billy’s haircutting ceremony.  They told us that in Hindu ritual a toddler’s hair will not be cut until the second year.  At this time family members are present.  The elderly will give the baby ”lucky” money.  The forehead is patted with red dye and sticky rice.  The hair is then cut. 

Gold and body ornamentation seems to be prized in their culture.  Most of the girls have their ears and noses piered.  They pair these piercings with 24 carot gold.  Even the boys ears are pierced. 

I look forward to my future blog, which will probably be full of yet more embarrasing cultural faux-pas and improntu decision making.

Family Matters

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Today, September 25, my class partner Gabriella and I meet our Nepali refugee family for the first time. We went to their apartment in Rogers Park and found an intercom. When we buzzed the unit a girl answered. We tried to convey who we were and why we were there, but it must not have translated well because she hung up on us. Luckily we had a cell phone number and this time she got the idea that we were there for our scheduled appointment.

When we got up to the apartment we were greeted by a cousin of the family. He lived upstairs and was visiting with his cousin. Both the young man and young woman spoke English very well. The young man told us that he was 22 and had been here for a little over a year. He said that last year his family was assigned to a pair of Loyola students, so he knew what we were there for. We talked about school: the classes my partner and I take, the ESL classes that both of the refugees have taken, and their schooling in the camps in Nepal. We learned that they were originally from Bhutan and then lived in a camp in Nepal. We talked about winters in Chicago: how cold its going to get and how foreign of snow is to the Nepalis. We noticed that the family had pictures of Hindu gods on their walls so we talked about religion. They asked about differences between sects in Christianity and we talked about the different Hindu scriptures.

Later the young man’s wife came down and stayed to talk for a few minutes before they both left for his job. Then it was just us and the young woman. She had seemed very shy when we first got there, but once it was just the three of us she opened up a little bit. People began to come into the apartment, all family members who either lived in the building or came to visit. The parents of the young woman came home from a doctors’ appointment. They didn’t speak any English except for a few phrases such as “Thank you”. We tried to learn a few phrases in Nepalese, but the only one that stuck in my head was the greeting “Namaste”. The mother offered us chai tea, which was amazing! We drank the tea and watched a Bollywood movie, one of the many that the family had and love to watch.

Our conversation often drifted to family. We talked with the young woman about her family, how many siblings she has and where they are. We learned that she is one of seven, four brothers and two sisters. Some of them are still in Bhutan, two brothers are in Chicago and one brother is in Tennessee. We talked about our own families, where we are from and how many siblings we both have. The parents were also interested in where we lived and what our hometowns were like. Families were something that we all could relate to.Where we differed in beliefs and language we could all understand family relationships. When it came time to leave we set up a time to meet again and the family expressed their happiness that we were there to talk with them and excited for our visits. We said goodbye, both in English and Nepalese, and left.

I had a great time. I had been very nervous before we got there, afraid that no one would be able to communicate, but it turned out to be a great afternoon. Even when conversation lagged it was easy to pick it back up again after a few moments. The family seems as excited as we are to work together, and I’m excited for our next visit.

Part of Something Bigger

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Sunday, September 19, around 6 o’clock Kenny and I finally were on the way to meet our family. I do not think there is a way to describe how I felt. I really did not know what to expect, I was so worried the family will not like us or we will not be able to communicate at all. However, the closer we got to the door the calmer I felt. Once we called the family to announce our arrival I knew that we were at the point of no return J. The mother let us in and led us to the living room. We all sat down and quietly stared at each other, no words. Just silence. It felt a little awkward at first because I wanted to know her right away but as expected her English was extremely limited, all we got out of her was “hello”. Moments later people started coming in and taking a seat right in front of us. We met the father and their older daughter who shyly talked to us about her current life. As we were talking with her, all these random people started filling the room up, later on we learned that we met father’s brother and brother’s son who were in America for 2 years already. In addition, we met a woman from second floor whose relation to the family we do not know yet but I am sure somehow, they are for sure related. The longer we sat there the most comfortable I felt, and I think the more the family felt. Brother’s son spoke the most English and ended up stealing the spotlight from everyone. Quickly we were able to learn that he was extremely educated. He was actually studying nuclear physics and now he was working in an auto part factory putting parts together. Just that alone made me feel so bad and actually understand how much they actually lost. As an immigrant I can kind of understand how they feel here however, I also know that if I wanted I could always come back home to Lithuania and they will not be able to return. Go back to the farm that they worked on, grow their own rice, see elephants in the mountains and hang out with their friends. I feel like life has been so unfair to them. They are such wonderful people and really, they did not deserve to experience anything bad. On the happier note, we spent the last hour or so watching videos of traditional Nepal dances and music and actually met their younger daughter that was very shy and was hiding from us at first but once we came into her room, I think she realized she didn’t have much choice but to try to talk to us and she turned out to be so sweet. Their culture is so colorful and beautiful; it made me really wish that America would have something like that. As we left, I knew that this experience would be hard but extremely important to my own development as a human as much as it will be important for the family to feel like they have someone here.

We returned to visit our family again on Wednesday. This time prepared to teach them some English. Because they did not have anyone to translate for them like last time with cousin’s help, they were forced to try to speak English that actually turned out to be a lot better than they let on. We brought flashcards thinking we would try to teach them alphabet but actually, they knew it perfectly and were actually able to read in English! And yes, that made me feel like a bit underestimated their knowledge but at the same time I was a lot happier knowing that they are doing their best to learn English. Also, I forgot to mention that instead of just working with our assigned family we got to get more members from their family (their uncle and the women who we do not really know that we met on Sunday) so our work became even more important because it touch more people than we thought. We also brought some cards that had a word and picture that we showed that. That night we learned about clothing items, accessories, food, animals and some other things. They were extremely excited about the cards and actually went through the whole deck that evening. After we were done teaching words and reviewing, they asked if we had more cards, and I could not believe they wanted to learn more! We probably taught them 50 words that day and they still did not feel like they learned enough. Their eagerness makes me so happy because I can just tell that this family will be able to achieve so much in the future as soon as they put more confidence into their abilities. After this I think they really felt like we are there for them and that we really want to help them with everything. They started asking for help, uncle needed glasses and all of them needed dental help and I really hope that we will be able to help them out and find something that would work. After all the hard work we sat around, drank coffee, ate wonderful, truly yummy food, and chatted more. I really felt like I was in my family. I felt like I belonged and I think that they felt like they belonged here with us too. As we were leaving the whole family gathered around the door and the older daughter got very emotional and thanked us for being there, thanked us for making them part of our life. She said it made them feel less isolated and made them feel cared for. I could not have ever asked for more. She touched my heart so much and I definitely knew that this was the right kind of help and experience that I was getting myself into. I can’t wait to go back and see them again!

Tasting Success

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Mmmmm…. Tasty. Good. Yummy. For someone who speaks very little English, Tek (pronounced “Take”) sure knows how to talk about food. His descriptions were rarely any more descriptive than “I like” or “I no eat” but the passion and soul that he poured into his words conveyed much more about Tek’s universe than the few bits of English that he spoke to me. I learned a lot from Tek on our second visit to his brother’s home. For instance, Tek likes bananas, Tek likes duck meat, Tek does not like mouse because mouse eats Tek’s rice. Tek likes cake, Tek likes dogs, Tek rides horses in Nepal, and there are many elephants and tigers where Tek lived. What was simply a lesson in English vocabulary had suddenly turned into a lesson about Tek. Sure the other family members would give their two cents and were equally willing to practice their English, but it was the ever-smiling Tek who was stealing this show. With each flash card image of an animal or food, Tek would enthusiastically tell us what little he could about his experiences with the given object. A card with the picture of a girl suddenly became a daughter, who suddenly became a daughter-in-law, who happened to live at Kimball, who happened to have a son, who happened to be a baby. A single card had suddenly opened an entire pathway of expression for this youthful elderly man, providing a window into his past, present and future. For Tek, this exercise was more than just a chance for him to learn and develop his English, it was also a chance for him to tell about himself and develop his relationship with Ieva and me. In America, Tek told us, it is easy to get lost, and it is hard to find where you are going and to get the things that you need. But Tek also showed me that in America it is possible to never be lost, and to know exactly where you are going, and to always have what you need. Even when Tek finds himself lost visiting his family across town, or when he can’t form the words to tell the grocery clerk that he wants to buy a pumpkin (Oh and he can’t wait for that pumpkin), he still is not lost. He is still Tek, and he is still smiling. He still has his family and still has his friends. Most of all he still has his universe. Tek is certainly changing from the man he was in Nepal, there is no denying that, but like every refugee who comes here, he is also changing America. He is bringing his world to us. He may no longer ride his horse in the mountains or milk his cows or struggle to keep mice away from his precious grains, but he has not lost his experiences or his happiness with just being Tek. The few things that Tek still has he gives abundantly to all those around him. His broad smile rarely leaves his face, and his enthusiasm for learning far exceeds that of any student I have ever met. The stories and knowledge that pour out in Tek’s broken phrases just show that Tek is not lost, Tek knows exactly where he’s from and where he wants to be. The openness and self-awareness that Tek showed us made everyone in the apartment comfortable and open, and broke down whatever barriers were in our way. It made hours of English practice seem like just a few minutes conversing with friends over coffee. It made staying late for a meal seem like the obvious thing to do, regardless of how tired we were. And after a long night of new words in English and new words in Nepalese, stories about ourselves and stories about our families, that food tasted incredible. The taste of love, care, gratitude, and pure happiness poured into the rice and yogurt was so delicious. It tasted like—well, to put it simply, success.

Crash

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Before I begin, I want to clarify something. The events that I’m about to relate to you actually happened a week ago, on September 16th; by this point I’ve put in two visits with my refugee family, so consider this a little bit of backlog. I should be caught up by the end of this weekend, however, so fear not!

So, on September 16th, Emma and I left Loyola University to visit with our family for the very first time. We were very excited, and pleased to know that they responded so quickly to our request to visit; the previous Tuesday, we told Sarah Masri that our soonest availability was on the 16th (a Thursday), and we were very pleased at the thought that they were excited to see us so soon.

Now, I’ve traveled abroad before – to parts of Europe and Central America – but I’ll admit, both times I left the country it was strictly as a tourist, so my interaction with other cultures was very limited. My visit with my family that day, though, was the first time that I felt like I crashed into an invisible wall that separated me from the Nepalese.

When my partner and I arrived at their apartment, it quickly became very, very apparent that they spoke little English beyond a few token remarks – like “hello”, or “thank you”, such as when we gave them a bag of oranges we picked up on the way there. The father spoke no English at all, while the mother and children could say a few token phrases and words. They directed us to sit with them in their living room, and what proceeded from there was one of the most awkward half-hours in my life.

Having spent less than a month in America, and nearly eighteen years in a refugee camp in Nepal, their English was fragmented at best. To make matters worse, neither Emma nor I spoke Nepalese, which made communication frustratingly difficult. The father was wearing a Cubs hat on our first visit. I pointed at my head and tried to convey to him that I liked his hat. He looked at me in confusion and with great hesitation removed the cap from his head. Emma quickly gestured to put it back on, and I nodded in agreement, but he kept looking between the two of us, unsure of what we wanted to tell him, but he put the cap back on anyway. I wondered what was going through his head. Did he think we were chastising him for being rude, wearing a hat in the presence of a woman? Which prompted another thought: do the Nepalese consider that bad taste, to wear a hat in front of a woman, or indoors? It raised a number of questions that, frankly, I didn’t know the answer to.

I had so much I wanted to say to them. But how could I? Every time I tried to get a thought out, the parents would laugh, look at each other, and remark something in Nepalese – very often did I hear the word “English” come up. Fortunately, I remembered to bring a deck of cards with me before I left my apartment, and I brought it out of my pocket. The father joined Emma and I for a few games of Go Fish while the children helped their mother prepare a snack for everybody. Despite ourselves, the three of us laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation: two Americans and a Nepalese refugee playing Go Fish without being able to convey the most basic rules of the game in the other language. (In other words, it was impossible to convey “Go Fish” without thinking it was a different request.)

My family has only been in America for a month. The translator who arrived almost an hour into our visit told us that they five of them were very happy to be in America, which was a relief to us. Even more fortunately, they have a number of friends from Nepal who live in their building and in the Rogers Park neighborhood, so we were relieved to know that they were not alone in America, without anyone to lean on. It was not quite the uphill battle for them that I had begun to fear.

But the translator didn’t have all good news for us. The two oldest children have some physical deformities – one has a cleft lip, which inhibits his ability to speak either language, and the other is deaf in one ear. Periodically, they have visits at a clinic in Wilson and often the parents cannot take them there themselves. Through Uma, our translator, they asked if we could do it for them.

Despite my better judgment, I agreed to the request. How could I have refused at the time? I felt so insignificant under the crushing weight of the sheer thought of their situation. In my eagerness to be of service to them, I extended myself far beyond my limits. I still haven’t explained to them that I don’t know if it’s a good idea for my partner and I to escort the children to the clinic. Hopefully I’ll get to before they ask.

All in all, my initial visit with them completely defied my original expectations. After reading Mary Pipher’s book and hearing some stories from other people in class, I thought at least one of the family members could speak enough English to communicate with us, but I was wrong. I need a new strategy in order to help them within my own means.

Let’s hope that I think of one soon.

Do you want to hear a joke?

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I’ve always felt strange when someone asks me if I wanted to hear a joke when I really didn’t want to. I would always feel bad for saying no, so I don’t, but then most jokes I hear can’t get me to laugh anyways. They always contain some sort of crude language or stereotypical lies that make feel like I want to hit the person who said it with something really heavy. Something, like a Ford Heavy Duty Pickup Truck. But this time, I can’t help myself. So forgive me for telling you this one joke.

So here it is: Who is assumed to be a criminal, has a bad case of culture shock, and nothing truly useful to provide? Considering this is a refugee outreach blog, many of you would think that now I would be playing a very vulgar joke on the refugees, but no. Sadly, this “joke” is being played on me.

When I walk down the street, no one would point me out and presume that I am a criminal (hopefully!), but in actuality, I am a miscreant of the worst kind. I do not steal, cheat, kill, or frame others, but I am a successor to the crime of ignorance. Yesterday, my partner and I met our refugee family for the very first time in their apartment and I was humbled by how well adjusted they seem to be, even though they have only arrived here in America only months before. Not having to toil a day in my life, I can only imagine the difficulty they must have faced upon arrival here. And with this, I brand myself an ignorant being, but I am learning. Like this Nepali family who has come here to America, leaving all behind, in hopes of giving their children a better future, my parents left Vietnam. Like the Sudanese parents, and the Ethiopian parents, and the Burmese parents, and the Chinese parents, and the Iraqi parents, the list can go on and on. Being with this family, I now can begin to put my feet into the shoes of my parents and theirs as well.

Without any help, my parents quickly learned that in America, either you work to support yourself, or you end up on the streets. And they only had each other to lean on in this foreign land, but I was very happy to see that our Nepali family is well networked as family members, relatives, and friends constantly entered and exited the apartment like it were a communal home. As one of the many Meg’s we met yesterday told us, “in our culture, brothers and sisters love each other and are always there for one another, and young children, too, are always taken care of by family members.” I miss seeing that amount of affection and emotion between each other. As family-oriented as I am, I was also raised in the American way, and so I was taught to embrace independence and self-reliance at a young age.

Besides understanding more for the parents, I too, can understand for the younger adults and children who are here. The young children will adapt quickly because of school, but for the younger adults, they have plucked themselves from all they have known and moved here, to now work at Dunkin’ Donuts and a factory inspecting automobile parts. As Meg told me about his job, he bleakly added that he was a university student studying accounting and his friend, also another Meg, was studying science back home in Nepal.

As for the culture shock, as shaken as our family must have felt upon arrival here, I felt the same yesterday. I was not questioning their culture, but ours, the American culture. Meg (this is another Meg than the Meg previously referred to above, I must add), turned on their computer and showed us Youtube videos after Youtube videos of folk dances, songs, and popular Nepali music, while explaining to us that in their culture, excitement, joy, and relaxation is encouraged. Here in America, we take pleasure in excitement, joy, and relaxation as much as the Nepali does as well, if only we had more time in our day to pursue them after work, school, and other necessities.

Well it seemed that my piece is getting long, too long perhaps, but let me just squeeze in this little bit. The last stereotype I had in my joke was not so much as not having anything to provide, but as feeling helpless. I felt helpless in their situation. Even though they were adjusted quite well, I wish I can help them more with their English and somehow bring all the things they left behind here for them. But there is no way that I can bring back the academic air in a Dunkin’ Donuts or a factory for the university students or give the entire family a brain full of English vocabulary words, but at least I can be there to help them with what I can. I can be their friend, someone who is not a Nepali or a case worker, here in America.

I wish I could extend more upon the last two points, but I have an entire semester left and no more space to write, plus I know these points will come up again somehow sometime later.

TO BE CONTINUED….

So goodnight and farewell, cac ban (Vietnamese for my friends),
Until next time shall we meet…

Tom Petty, the UN, and Bush

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It is the first week of classes, and like most other Joyolans i have been enjoying the sense of academics without the actual work of it (yet). So, there i was this evening, Wikin’ around, when i decided to enter the term “refugee” into that lovely, little multi-lingual database. What Wikipedia turned out to me was an array of descriptions and expressions that surged the definition of a refugee.

In 1978, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers shared with the world their gift for music, using the term “refugee” as a strong presence in their chorus (so strong, in fact, that it is the title of the song).  The angelic chorus of band hair sings:

“You don’t have to live like a refugee
No baby you don’t have to live like a refugee.”

The rest of the song goes on to talk about some chick who, apparently, plays the “woe is me” game too often, replying that “everyone has to fight to be free, you see.” Well, Tom, i don’t know this lady you’re talking about, but i respectfully disagree with your use of the term, “refugee.” But don’t worry, it happens. All is forgiven.

The United Nations come to the rescue (ba-ba-du-daaaa!) by providing the proper definition, siting the UN Convention Relating to the Status or Refugees in 1951. Thanks, buds!

Oh, and furthermore, i must say that i am quite excited for this class as well as the club, LRO, this semester. Can’t wait to get out into RoPo! Now, for some inspiration from our 43rd president:

“We’ve got a lot of relations with countries in our neighborhood.” –George W. Bush, Kranj, Slovenia, June 10, 2008

Well said, sir, well said.