Refugee Outreach

I realized in the beginning the hours we are required to spend with our families each week are not indicative of how many hours they request we spend with them. But recently this is starting to pose a problem. In the past two days, I have spent about 7 hours with my family and they were very disappointed Whitney and I would not be returning tomorrow. “But I have lots of homework!” Oma protested. Neither of us knew how to respond. We both have such busy schedules that it is difficult to come during the week but the kids need help with homework. I constantly feel we do not have enough time for them but with conflicting schedules, jobs, and our own schoolwork, it is getting difficult to prioritize. We both grudgingly made an emergency trip over there this evening to help with homework but it put me back 2 hours on my own work. Oma exclaimed we could bring our work to their house and I laughed uneasily, wondering how I could write a paper on Carl Marx while reading about Native Americans.
I am always amazed with the maturity level of the children in my Nepali family. Today they took us grocery shopping with them and they knew exactly what they needed. I do not remember getting groceries for my family at the age of 14. I suppose lack the resources of a car and drivers license that families in the city do not need. But I cannot imagine my mother having told me to go to the store on my own at that age with a link card or credit card, trusting I would not buy goodies for myself. The Nepali kids of course, did buy goodies. They were thoughtful enough to buy chips for each member there, including Whitney and I. Their thoughtfulness in both their own relationships and they relationships they have with us always amazes me. Subash is always making sure his younger relatives get help with homework before he will ask. Oma will not let us start homework without making tea. I feel the importance of family and friends trumps schoolwork on many occasions, which was not the case in my family. When I see this, I wonder if they even understand why we cannot return tomorrow. I hope they do not see it as if we do not give them the same consideration they give us. When I see how they put others before themselves so frequently, I feel guilty for putting myself first. I feel guilty for saying “No, we cannot come tomorrow.”

“You got a case of motion sickness. But the only cure for rootlessness, is to keep moving.” ~ Belize, “Angels In America”

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to be rootless.

Refugees carry their homes with them wherever they wind up relocating. For the last couple weeks, the boys in my family have asked Emma and I to watch Nepali music videos and movies with them; they have a huge collection of DVDs that display those goofy shorts as well as some Bollywood movies. They’re all really goofy, but cute nonetheless. It’s cool that they have these resources at their fingertips.

Also in the case of my family, they surround themselves with friends and acquaintances from their old lives back in Nepal. When I was first assigned to them, I remember fearing that they would not be able to acculturate well without a support system. Fortunately, they do have that support system in order to keep them afloat as they transition to life in America.

This became most clear to me yesterday during the Halloween party. Sam and Arman left to pick them up from their apartment, but I was the first to arrive and saw most of them there. They had come with their friends, who function as an extended family for them in America. It was a display of independence (from me and other befrienders) and solidarity (with the Nepalese community in Rogers Park) that really resonated with me.

Even in America, Nepal is very much in their hearts.

I’ve been trying to put my finger on why I’ve been thinking about this for so long. I think the reason why these thoughts have infiltrated my head is because I can’t say the same thing about myself. I personally feel very rootless.

Hear me out a second.

I was born and raised in a small town in Connecticut… but the older I get, the more I realize that I don’t feel any attachment to the place where I grew up. I never applied to UConn when I was doing my college searches three – four years ago, because I just didn’t want to stay there anymore. When I visit over the breaks, it’s always great to see my friends and family, but I increasingly feel like there’s nothing left for me there. I don’t identify with the cultures that prevail there, nor do I feel any affinity for them.

That rootlessness extends beyond me, as well. Both my parents were born and raised in Buffalo, NY, but months before I was born my parents moved to Connecticut, where I spent the first eighteen years of my life. I had a very small, tight-knit family (my parents, my little sister, and myself); I am envious of the dynamics that exist in my refugees’ family, because they are always coming in and out of each other’s homes.

Basically, what I’m trying to get at, is that it’s easy for me to feel disconnected. If there’s anything I can learn from my refugees, it’s how to establish those connections and nurture them for the rest of my life. Maybe Chicago is the place to start.

I am always struck by the amount of emotion, meaning, and knowledge that can be experienced and exchanged between groups of individuals without a common language or cultural context with which to communicate. My challenging yet heartening experiences in the past couple of weeks have reinforced this for me more than ever. Sam and I have befriended a Nepali refugee family who, with a rapidity and exuberance that I least expected (this early in our relationship) has so warmly welcomed us into their complex lives, the depth of which I am slowly beginning to realize…

Last Wednesday marked the third visit to our family, including an “introductory visit” while shadowing Max and Emma, who we’ve joined in partnering with this particular family. Sam and I had originally befriended an Iraqi refugee family that, for one reason or another, culminated with a complex relationship that didn’t quite materialize. So, finally accepting that we were indeed partner-less, we decided to befriend a Nepali-Bhutanese family that was in need of some extra assistance, particularly for their eldest son — a teenager struggling in his first year of high school with the equivalent of a fourth grade education (I will probably write a separate post to vent frustrations over inadequate academic environments for refugees). Anyway; I have certainly been placed in enough situations where languages and cultural contexts had to be negotiated or met halfway. And yet, for some odd reason, I was still daunted by the reality that, unlike with the Iraqis (who I could communicate with in functional Arabic), I would be thrust into an atmosphere where communication would be virtually impossible and needs would not be understood or addressed properly, much less homework assignments. My anxiety was probably attendant to the nervousness and pressure I felt to make an effective and lasting impact on these individuals’ lives, mainly in the form of academic success. Not being able to speak their language effaced my hopes for effective change.

I was pleasantly surprised to realize how wrong my assumptions were, and how profoundly unnecessary a common language can prove to be sometimes. I should mention here that my being fluent in Urdu and the father of our family understanding some of it was part of that pleasant surprise; but even in this respect, communicating through an extensive use of several languages, dialects, hand gestures, drawings, and facial expressions evoked a strange comfort of being understood and empathized with, despite such overtly low levels of actual linguistic comprehension.

It should also be mentioned that, despite the apparent hodgepodge of communication and miscommunication, Gopal and his wife, Phul-Maya, the adults of our household, are such incredibly diligent students themselves. I am seriously amazed by their ability and desire to so readily dedicate their time and patience to learning the English alphabet, practicing words, and writing useful sentences over and over, and still over again. Perfection, it seems, is central: even a slightly crooked line is immediately erased and drawn again.

I find myself spending much of our visit helping the parents with their English practice and conversing with them. I am so thrilled to teach these bright individuals about our language and culture but at the same time, I am trying to be cognizant of not overstepping the hierarchical boundaries that exist in the room. This is mainly referring to respecting the elderly couple and acknowledging their vast knowledge and lived experience that completely outweighs mine. This is even stranger because Gopal refers to Sam and I as “sister,” especially when trying to get our attention; he usually states at the beginning of a question. I am so inexplicably honored to be considered not only a sister to this incredible man who has such a wealth of wisdom and knowledge, but to be seen as something more than just a “college kid” visiting the family every now and then, attempting to converse and help with homework. I recently learned from Sarah Masri that about two decades ago, before the politics of his region took a drastic and uncontrollable turn; Gopal had served as a high-ranking security official for the royal family of Bhutan. I would have never ever guessed from this gentleman’s natural humility and his modest Rogers Park apartment that such a tremendously vibrant and impressive past lay buried deep within him. I am left with this strange and uncomfortable feeling of teaching such a noble and qualified individual such simple lessons, especially because I have no particular training in ESL.  But Gopal’s enthusiasm and commitment truly inspire me and generally diminish my insecurities of being the one teaching. I am so honored to learn with him.

I have found that the biggest struggle in being a befriender is simply not having enough time in the day. I struggle a lot with feeling like I’m not spending enough time with my family. My partner and I generally get over there twice a week, a few hours at a time, but it just doesn’t seem like enough. I want to be there every day to help the kids with homework, to help the grandpa with english, and to simply get to know the rest of the family. I want to be able to travel with the grandma to the doctors, and go to the son’s soccer games. I want to take all the kids to the museums and take care of the pregnant mom.

Unfortunately, there are just not enough hours in the day. I am busy juggling a full time job and a full class schedule, that it is impossible to be with the family as much as I would like. And the time that I do spend with them seems to simply run away. It is occupied with homework and talking, movies and eating, that I often feel quite unproductive. I recognize that their end goal is to make friends and the time I spend with them accomplishes this, but I can’t help feeling like it’s not enough. I often feel very guilty leaving, especially when my family pleads for me not to leave, offering up their beds for me to stay the night. How can someone walk away from that? However, I must, as I have a pile of homework waiting at home for me and work early the next morning.

One thing that this experience has taught me is that if, or rather when, I participate in another befriending program, I want to devote myself to it more fully than I have been able to this semester. I want to make sure that I have the time to devote an hour or two every day to the family, becoming a permanent fixture in their homes and lives. I want to have the time flexibility to attend dr visits with them and to attend parent teacher conferences with them. I want to be able to devote myself wholly to them.

A willingness to work… Check!
A dedicated, hardworking individual… Check!
A working English vocabulary to speak, read, and write… Semi-check…
Basic computer skills… Semi Check…
A cover letter… Finally, check!

My partner and I visited our family yesterday and it became a very productive afternoon. We typed up a cover letter for the mother of our family whom we have been trying to find a job for. Most jobs we apply for require either a cover letter or resume, and with the existence of one, it really broadens our searching field from the few positions we have already applied to for her.

Besides the cover letter, I also applied to two YMCA positions for her as my partner helped the little girl write a story for school. The mother then called us both over to eat dinner of flatbread and a tomato and cilantro filling. It was very good! We then continue to help the mother and little girl with their English homework when a cousin came in, and I then helped the cousin with her history homework while Kiersten continued to help the mom.

Overall, this visit was a very productive couple hours composing of us helping the family with their English or the prospect of holding a job.

Next week, Kiersten and I are taking the little girl to her first dentist visit here in America. A Nepali case worker will be coming with us to help translate for the family so that there will be no misunderstandings concerning the procedures and to also keep the family calm, as the little girl already looks anxious at the mention of a teeth cleaning.

I’ll update you as to how the dentist visit goes and of other happenings.

I happened to visit my family on a special day. It was a festival day, they said, a day when the elders of the family bless the younger ones. I sat in the living room and made some small talk as each of the younger generation disappeared into the bedroom, where Bishnu and Purna were doing the ritual. After three or four of them had gone, coming back out with a red tika, a dot about the size of a quarter on their foreheads, they asked me if I wanted to be blessed. So I went on in.

There was a low table against the wall with a tablecloth, various artifacts, and a plate with the mixture of red dye and dried rice for the tika. I didn’t know what to do but they helped me. They had me kneel on a small red rug in front of them. Each speaking a different chanted blessing, Bishnu and Purna placed the dot on my head and a long green leaf behind each of my ears. I thanked them, and walked back into the living room.

The red dye stayed there all day, though during the rest of the visit the grains of rice would fall periodically onto the book we were looking at. We ate pressed rice and yogurt with sugar and bananas. I was told that the normal custom is to fast during that day, until this meal.

I don’t know what words were spoken in that ritual, but I do know that when I was asked later if I felt blessed, my answer was yes.

When you ask a refugee what they want, the very first thing out of their mouth is a job. Although it’s a good sign, the entire process of trying to find a job is well…quite trying indeed, especially when one is not fluent in either the American culture or language, as is in the case of the refugees. As of right now, my partner and I have been searching high and low for a possible position for the mother of the family we help. With the recession and the job market sinking as it is, almost every posting (even for janitorial and housekeeper positions) require a resume, cover letter, work history, or a high school diploma/GED equivalent. Many of the positions require the applicant to be fluent in English: speaking, reading, and writing. Personally, it beats me why an employee would need to know fluent English to scrub the floors and wash the windows, but it is a requirement for many positions. We know that the first job the mother of our family holds probably won’t have very desirable hours and pay, but at least, she can have some experience for a resume, which is something she does not have yet. She spent the last 18 years of her life in a refugee camp; therefore she has absolutely no work experience whatsoever.

From this job search, I have come to realize that unlike us, the refugees truly do not have a language of their own here in the United States. Sure, they have their native language, but it truly does not come to any use, unless they are also fluent in English, then they could be a translator. Every person lives with a language that they embrace and personifies them better within their community and society. Those who are mute or deaf “speak” with sign language, those living in the United States speak English, those living in their native countries speak that native language, but the refugees are stuck somewhere in between, living in America, so they can’t speak their native language outside their home and community, but not fluent in English either.

But what I have come to realize through all this is that sometimes, from the absence of speech, there is another language that is hidden behind all the diction, vocabulary, and grammar of our English language. When speech fails to deliver the desired meaning, actions and facial/body expressions will speak for itself. Yes, it is very difficult to try to convey messages without communicating by a common language, but a sense of deep belonging and understanding is forged when we take ourselves out of what is comfortable for us and place ourselves into something that is unfamiliar, attempting to not speak when we are consumed by an entire culture and society that primarily rely upon speech.

I know that learning a new language on top of the struggle to acculturate and adapt into an unfamiliar land and culture is very tough. Tough, but it is not undoable. Sometimes though, the refugee needs a break from the English learning, (believe it or not, learning English is a migraine- inducing experience… trust me, I would know), but still be able to understand and not feel alienated. So then, the language of speech is then transformed to the language of song or dance or food. We can share our community and time through music, dance, and other cultural traditions. Even when one does not understand the lyrics of a song, the melody and rhythm of the song can convey the meanings just as well. Interestingly enough though, a song popped up into the YouTube recommendation list for me last night as I was studying and going through my music playlist. I clicked on it and found the lyrics to be accompanied by a sweet, delicate melody.

The lyrics fit perfectly both into the context of a refugee’s life and the language culture. They encourage both befriender and refugee. There is a language that is lost by the common tongue we all share, the language that cannot be expressed through words, but through actions; we often forget that the language that is common for us may not be common for everyone around us.

So tonight I leave you with these lyrics to ponder:

Why can’t we speak another language
One we all agree on
When men look outside, they see houses… instead of the fields they grew from
We are constantly uprooted from them… making us tiresome (and fearful)
Can you get up right now… endeavor to freefall?
I don’t own my clothes but I own my mind, and it’s not what you’ve lost but it’s what you find
I wish I stayed
I wish I stayed

This past Sunday Geneva and I were invited over for a great Nepali dinner.  We are always offered a small snack of rice or a ramen-esque soup but on our last visit Madhavi invited us over for a larger meal.  Sunday was the first day that worked for all our schedules.  I was looking forward to it all week!

Apparently Madhavi and two of her friends spent three hours preparing the meal for us.  We had these pot sticker-like things that were filled with onion, cabbage, a few other veggies and spices.  There was a dipping sauce that was really more like like a stew on the side.  The stew was sooo good! It was also vegetarian but so savory.  Geneva is really good with spicy foods, but I am your typical white boy whose eyes water even at the sight of a jalapeno pepper.  I like some spice, just no where near the level of your typical Napali.  Every time we eat at our family’s house Madhavi always makes my portion less spicy then the rest.  This week was no different.  She made a special batch of the stew for me that was much less spicy.  I really appreciate that she goes out of her way every week to make sure that I can eat the food they provide.

After our great meal we decided to get moving a bit.  We showed them how do the Cha Cha Slide, which one of the girls jumped in after a few verses, and absolutely butchered a few American songs they wanted us to sing.  Then they showed us a Hindi dance and sung a beautiful Napali song.  It was a really great visit.

Our second visit to our Nepalese family was just as good as the first! When we arrived at our family’s apartment we were greeted in English by the grandfather, who prior to coming to America spoke no English at all. As we began to help the kids with their homework problems, the grandfather also brought out a notebook which he uses to practice writing and reciting numbers. We were told that he had never had the opportunity to attend school and that he doesn’t even know how to write his own name. Yet here he was counting from one to a hundred for us!

One of the teenage boys in our family is in highschool chemistry. As an environmental science major, I told him I would help him with a chemistry worksheet he had for homework. He has been struggling very much in school and learning english. I was told by his other family members that before coming to America, he was only in grade 5. But coming to America’s schools, he was placed in his age group rather than where he academically. So, here I was faced with the task of explaining that the world was made up of these teeny tiny things that cannot be seen with the human eye called atoms. And that each atom consists of a nucleus made up of protons and neutrons which are surrounded by electrons. And that there were different types of atoms that varied depending on how many protons, neutrons, and electrons were present. I had know idea how to explain such an abstract concept to someone who only spoke very simple English and was just not ready academically to even deal with such a concept! The worksheet was about calculating atomic mass and drawing the structure of different atoms. I worked through it with him and did the best I could at explaining how to get the answers. I’m not sure how much he could actually understand, but hopefully with time and help from Sophia and me he will be able to catch up to his age group and do well with school.

Blog 1: http://blogs.luc.edu/refugee2010/2010/09/29/here-we-go/

Blog 2: http://blogs.luc.edu/refugee2010/2010/10/12/question-am-i-getting-more-out-of-this-than-they-are/

Blog 3:

As it turns out, I got really involved when 2-year-old Billy got sick with a fever (refer to my last blog). The following Wednesday, I accompanied the mother, Ama, with her son to his appointment at the local Medicare health clinic. My reason for attending was for two major concerns I had—one being that Ama planned to walk and push Billy in a stroller for two hours to get there and back (they had no other mode of transportation), and the other being that Ama was not able to successfully communicate with the nurses and doctors due to the language barrier. Granted, I am not a translator; I cannot speak the Nepali language, but I did know Billy’s symptoms and a little bit of his medical background. I could also easily grasp everything that the staff would say during the quick appointment, and later be able to relay it back to Ama by simplifying words and using phrases and gestures I know she understands. Everything else lost in translation I could at least try to communicate to the father, Afa, or their 12-year-old daughter, Di, who knows English best in the family.

Before I left to meet at their apartment Wednesday morning, I borrowed an extra CTA pass from a friend (thanks Michael!) That way, we could take CTA buses to and from the health clinic. As we waited at the first bus stop, Ama showed me some skills she had learned at her ESL (English as a Second Language) classes by reading the text on the advertisement next to us. She slowly sounded out each letter and attempted to construct the letter sounds into words—most of the time she was successful! She reminded me of a young child just learning how to read. Unable to recognize any words, she sounded them out until she became confident enough to take a stab at the word, and I would quickly agree and praise her for the great job she was doing. The advertisement was about a bank’s interest rates and incentives, but I doubt she really knew that much about what she was reading. However, the initiative she takes to learn and practice is what really matters right now.

We got to the health clinic at 10:30a.m. for the appointment, but we had to sit in the waiting room for an hour before we were helped. There were other people filling in and out of the waiting room as well, so it was entertaining to people-watch as the time went by. There were many different ethnicities represented, and I suspect this is because they also used Medicaid for similar reasons as the Damai family. One older man struck up a conversation with Ama in Nepalese, and it made me happy because I think it must be comforting for Ama to recognize people of her culture and be able to connect with them, especially in this area of Rogers Park, which is the most diverse community in all of Chicago and home to many refugees.

Once we were put into a room and were seen by the nurses and doctors, I could tell the staff was pleased that I was there. It seemed to have made their job a lot easier. They still gave respect to Ama by giving her the eye contact when discussing Billy’s health issues, but they understood that even though she was smiling, it was only complacently. They understood that I was really the one intently listening so that I may help her later. We all know that nurses and doctors are very busy throughout the day so my presence made the appointment run much smoother and made everyone happier. After the appointment concluded, I helped set up a follow-up appointment by the doctors’ request. Then I helped Ama retrieve the prescription and described to her what to do with it. We took the CTA buses back to their apartment and then I hurried back to campus for my classes. Billy is back to a healthy state now.

One more quick little story:
The other day Afa asked me for my cell phone number so he could program it into his cell phone (even though I have called him and talked to him multiple times, he must not know how to add a contact from the “recent calls” list). He typed in my number and then asked me to spell out my full name. As I was doing so, I glanced over at the screen and noticed that his phone was programmed in SPANISH. Without his knowledge, he had his cell phone programmed in Spanish since he got it 8 months ago! I am sure that our alphabet is very foreign to him in the first place, and that he is not likely to tell the difference between two languages that use the same alphabet. He probably just assumed he couldn’t read the words. After he finished programming my name and number, I asked him if I could see his cell phone. I explained my realization to him, and then programmed his phone to English. It actually took me a while to navigate to the language options page, but I eventually found it and made the switch. Then I proceeded to show Afa the cell phone with the new language setting and he was glad that he could recognize English words like “message” and “contacts” and “call.” I also showed him slowly, but in more detail, how to use his cell phone because he only had very basic knowledge on how to operate it. He is never embarrassed or shy, but is always thankful and open to learning new things.

I am glad I noticed and fixed the language setting on Afa’s cell phone because even though it was only a minor obstacle, it could help Afa out in the long run more than we initially may think. He can now recognize more words and be able to navigate on his phone better; this will give him a sense of confidence that he can master an aspect of our American culture. It also gives Afa an opportunity to see English words on a daily basis, and then learn to use them in English conversation as well. I thought, what a funny and interesting misunderstanding that you or I would never really imagine happening. It illustrates that the smallest things we take for granted might be hard for people who are new to our country and culture!

I’ve been reading a lot of Saussure lately, and it’s starting to influence my understanding of a lot of my interactions between myself and my family.

Saussure was a French linguist who argued that language was a sign system that was arbitrary. Truth could not be found through the expression of language, because the values that emanated from one language system might undermine the values from another. For example, when I introduce myself in English, I announce that “I am Max Wright”. Pretty standard, right? But when I introduce myself in Spanish, I use the phrase, “Me llamo Max Wright”, which translates to “I am called Max Wright”. When you contrast this simple phrase with a simple English phrase, like I’ve just done, the values from the language systems become evident, and more often than not a moral dissonance occurs.

I’ve been wondering if my family has been going through a similar process over the last two months. I work the most with the oldest son, who has some difficulty in creating his own sentences in English. He can read well enough, and understand a sentence in so much as he can copy it down, but I wonder about the kinds of cultural barriers he encounters in his head as he tries to transcribe his thoughts into a completely different language.

I guess this is where Saussure comes in – what kind of values does the Nepalese language have that may come to blows with those of English? In terms of spelling and grammar our language is weird enough already, I can’t imagine how he must feel about the kinds of morals that the English language propagates. Not that the values of our language are bad, they’re just different from the values of any other language.

This also extends to how the youngest son struggles to use the correct letters when he is writing his sentences. Saussure said that all signs were arbitrary, and as I watch Nirmal make chicken scratches instead of the letters T or H on his homework assignment, I think I’m starting to see for myself just what Saussure was talking about.

After meeting with our family for quite some time now, my partner and I have come to conclude that the parents (or probably more appropriately, grandparents) have little english skills. They always let the kids do the talking, and very rarely enter into conversations with us. Whenever we try asking something of the parents, they looks to the kids to answer. It has been difficult this way, but we have come to take it as the norm.
With this in mind, it was extremely surprising when, this week, the father came to me with a notebook of english sentences and started reading them to me. He can read extremely well, and write even better. When I asked him if he understood what he was reading, he said yes and explained it to me – in english! It was quite the shock, as he had been so reluctant to use the language before now. Little did I know that this entire notebook was from his time in Nepal, and he had actually started learning the language over there…he had been learning english for over a year!
While his english was not perfect, it was much better than what me or my partner ever thought it was. It makes me sad to think that he had simply been shy about his english skills until now, probably feeling that the kids could communicate better due to their being in school. However, after yesterday, I think he has a better handle on english than his daughter does. Maybe its part of wanting his kids to succeed, so he feels like they should be practicing more. Or perhaps he was just shy. Either way though, I wish he would put his skills to work more often. If he would, we would have a much better chance at finding him a job.
We know he wants a job, and the past couple of weeks me and my partner have discussed it, but thinking his english skills were so bad, we didn’t think it was possible yet. However, with this new discovery, we find that it is more attainable than we thought. We just need to get him comfortable using his english now, and then we can work on looking for a job. We only wish we had known earlier

The other weekend was the little girl in our families birthday party. She was turning 9 years old and really excited because family from other parts of the US were coming in to visit. Her birthday also fell on the Hindu festivals of Dasara and Diwali so there were many people who were dressed up in bright colors.

When we arrived at their home, we were actually the first people to arrive because they had told us to come a hour too early. But that was okay because we got to hang out with the little girl and talk about the festival.

When we were there a couple days previously, for our weekly visit, we got to watch some of the girls practicing their dancing for the festivals. It was a lot of fun and they were really good dancers.

Back to the party… my favorite part of the  was when they got out her ice cream cake out and put it on the table, but then we didn’t cut it or sing happy birthday for 30 more minutes. By the time I cut her a piece the cake, it had completely melted . Every one had a good time, but not many people actually wanted a piece of birthday cake anyway so it was more of a novelty.

I had a really great time.

A few weeks ago, our family moved onto Morse with the father’s son who is twenty-six. He has a child and his wife is expecting a baby girl sometime next month. I was initially very excited for them but now I’m starting to wonder if this baby girl is really a blessing. Was she even planned? Originally our family consisted of just the mother and father and their two children, Oma and Subash. But now we have added three more and a fourth on the way. They all live together now, in a small two-bedroom apartment. The older son works downtown at a hotel; he wakes up at 4 am to be at his job on time and as of now, his wife is not working because of the pregnancy.
He told me the other day he wants to get a nanny for his baby. He wants her to learn English. He said he wanted to get someone to baby-sit her… “like you” he says. He knows I watch a 2 month old baby. I don’t have the heart to tell him it would be quite a stretch to afford someone like me. I don’t think he realizes a nanny in Chicago goes for about $10 per hr. As of now, he is the sole provider for his family of seven (including my original family).
I began comparing the difference to a middle class American family having a child. They probably would have the baby room all set up by now. They would have had a baby shower where they would have received all sorts of goodies for their unborn child. My family doesn’t even have a crib, let alone an entire nursery for the child. The parents now sleep with their son in the same room and will likely simply have to add another to the room. The son said he wanted his father’s family to move out once the baby came, but right now, they just don’t have the money.
A thought ran across my mind while we were discussing this precious little girl who will be entering the world in just under a month. She will be the first American of the family. She will be born here; an American citizen. She will start school here; she will start on an equal playing field, or at least far more equal than her cousins who struggle to keep up in school with their struggles as ESL students. But she will not know her past; she will only ever be told what her family went through to bring her to this place. She will never see the sun rise in Nepal. She will never feel the soil. She will be first in her family to only really know America. She will likely be the beginning of the end of holding on to that far off land. She will be the new generation for her family, having both the bitterness of loss and the sweetness of hope. She will be new.

Unexpectedly my doorbell had rung. Di and Kapila had called me to let them in so that I could help them prepare for their dance recital, at the Deshain festival that Saturday evening. I applied what I believed was a safe amount of make up and nail polish for twelve year old girls. We watched Youtube videos and they showed me a preview of their dance. They are starting to come to my home unannounced now!

Am I stepping outside of my place as a befriender? I unconsciously seem to think I am Nepalese. I am scolding children and playing auntie. They have told me to call them titles that I would if I were part of their real family such as: hajir ama (grandma), baady (uncle), didi (older sister), ama (mother), baba (father), buynee (younger sister), and nanee (baby brother/ sister). Is it appropriate to act as if I am part of their real family? I took over sweeping for Hajur ama. I would do this for my own grandmother. They invited me to Deshain, a festival very sacred to Hindus. I did not realize that family had traveled all the way from Texas and Pennsylvania to spend time with their family in Chicago. I couldn’t help but feel a modicum of guilt since they had invited me to celebrate this special occasion with their entire family.

I felt at first that it was a personal family event, but learned later that their concept of family extends way beyond what I originally thought. Buynee told me that family envelopes six different groups, “family, friends, neighbors, caste, religion, county”. What a large family to have! I really shouldn’t have been surprised that their concept of family and family boundaries are much more far reaching than the average American’s, since I see it within my own cultural tradition.

They had no reservation fitting me into a sari, decorating me with jewelry, and performing a Sanskrit prayer over me while they performed tika. I felt uncomfortable that they were presenting me first out of everyone food, I wanted to give my food to Hajur Ama since she’s the oldest member, but thought before I did since I didn’t want it to be taken the wrong way. I would be asserting my own cultural values on to them. It seems they still see me as an honored guess. However, I don’t feel like this. I am humbled by their hospitality. I feel a sense of cohesion with them.

Althoudoc41gh I am still the “outsider” I feel this I am becoming less and less so. I forget about time, self, and I feel that the gap between us are lessening when I spend time in their apartment. We all gorged on food and drink as well as sweet cream rice. No more utinsils for me!

“Based on your application you do not qualify for social security income…”. Buydee, the oldest brother of Chira, asked me to explain a newly arrived letter from the Federal Office of Social Security. He had been denied disability benefits based on “careful assessment” of his file. Due to the fact that he is 41 years of age, has had sixteen years of education, and has only been sick since February 18, 2010 (the date he had arrived in the United States) he was ineligible for these payments since his conditions would not prevent him from securing medium work. Medium work in this case is a euphemism for employment within the service sector. A medium job can range anywhere from teaching, secretarial or working in an office, just as long as it’s not labor intensive.

He told me in broken English, “but I no speak English-naa…I two masters in Nepal/India, sixteen years but is zero in America-naa”. For someone who has been here for only roughly eight months I believe his achievement with English has been tremendous, however is far from the level that is required to do “medium work”. He had articulated this exact concern to me. I struggled to not sound too frustrated by the situation.

Furthermore, the Social Security Office acknowledged the fact that his health conditions were debilitating and prevented him from working. Due to the fact that he has not been sick for over 12 months he has not proven that he cannot work. So he magically developed hemorrhoids, kidney issues, edema (puffiness in legs), chronic pain in his right hand and uncontrollable stool and urinary tract the day he landed on American ground?

There is tremendous pressure among refugee families to work as soon as they arrive in the US, partially because they have already accumulated a substantial amount of debt (such as travel costs). This pressure to pay back the resettlement agency as well as financially support their families living cost is coincided with the pressure to acclimate to a very different way of life in America.

Master’s degree received in Nepal, in Sanskrit and Hindi do not translate to an equal degree in America. The uncle is forced to start from scratch. However this is not how he is being treated by the SSI Office based on their “careful assessment”. The case worker will file for appeal when Buydee receives a medical report on his kidneys.

What a catch-22! Buydee has been evaluated as healthy enough to work in a medium job. And because he cannot work in a “medium job” because of his English level he would have to seek a low-wage job (often labor intensive) that he is not healthy enough to perform.  Since he cannot receive the benefits how can he get better so that he can earn?

What is wrong with this picture? This family is clearly resilient in the fact that they have survived ethnic persecution and 18 years in a refugee camp. They have come to America in hopes of finding freedom and opportunity. However they will have to run harder and faster than you and I to succeed in this country.

I have the impression that Buydee is edging near a depressed state (if he already isn’t) since he cannot contribute to his family or feel “productive”, especially being the oldest son. He was highly respected in his community in Nepal, being a highly educated teacher and a Brahmin priest. Now he walks along a large impersonal city as an anonymous foreigner.

Our latest visit was this Monday and it went just as smoothly as all our other ones. I feel lucky that we have hit it off with our family so well. Nar, one of the older brothers calls us his sisters. He hadn’t seen us for a couple of weeks and he seriously looked super happy to see us. He was upset that he missed our last visit. We told him we were planning a trip to the zoo and he said he would clear his busy schedule to manage the time to spend with us ☺ He’s been really busy planning and helping with the festivals of their religion (Hinduism) and him taking the time out of his schedule to spend time with us means a lot! When he calls us “sisters” at first, it sounds strange to me. It’s like how can you possibly like us so much after just knowing each other for such a short time that you can call us your sisters? Then literally one second passes after he says this and I feel like what he’s saying is perfect; there is no better way to address us. I feel as if I actually am a sister to them. I care about them, individually. With each visit I get to know more of the family more and more and I feel like personal relationships between us are being formed. The gentle/shy mother and father are even starting to interact with us more. They are just so cute and tiny! The mother who basically just smiles and nods every time she sees us is starting to sit by us and listen to our conversations. She always has something for us, whether it’s fruit or a drink or a full meal. She even told her sons to apologize to us that she could not offer more. More!? There is nothing that sweet old lady could do to make us feel comfortable and welcome in her home. The father who is starting to greet us more enthusiastically every time he sees us, is now also starting to show off his hard work. He has basically filled an entire notebook with the numbers 1-100. He writes them over and over again and says them out loud. One of the kids, Purna told us that he counts in his sleep. He can even read basic conversations. He tries to tell us that because he is so old, he is not as smart as his children but we try to encourage him with big thumbs up and by telling him that no matter what age he is, he can still learn. Honestly, every time Meagan and I get a second we whisper to each other how incredibly cute they are.

We spend the most time with the three kids. We do homework and just sit around and talk. Sometimes when I’m at home thinking about the next visit, I wonder about things that we could do together besides homework and just lounging around. It’s hard to come up with anything because they aren’t children- they’re teenagers. I feel awkward asking them what they want to do but sooner or later I’ll have to because every time even a minute passes by where no one talks, Purna (who is 17) immediately asks if we are feeling “boring”. He is constantly asking this and it makes me feel like he’s thinking that we don’t want to be there. I honestly don’t know how else to show it! I’m constantly laughing, smiling, and talking. But then I just remember, he’s still at that stage where everything is boring.

At this point, I feel like I have stronger relationships with certain members of the family and I would like to start further developing my relationships with the rest of them. They are all so incredibly nice and hospitable and I want them to know that Meagan and I are there because we choose to be.

As the end of our visit nears (which happens to go by extremely fast- I forget any time has passed every time we’re there) and we make arrangements for the zoo, we get two huge hugs from Nar. Leaving me with that amazing, happy feeling, yet again.

Nick and I dropped in for our second visit a couple weeks ago. It was a very exciting visit for many reasons. I feel like they are starting to understand how we can help them and why we are there. I am also realizing that each person needs help with different subjects at varying levels. As with anything there were ups and downs, but I try to be an optimist, so I will start with the positive experiences first…

We started the visit by giving Bishnu and Purna a world atlas. It was only 5 dollars at a used book store and had tons of maps! Unfortunately it was outdated (1986), but the maps allowed us to communicate where our families live/ came from. The most exciting part of the visit was the arrival of three family members that had just made it to America four days before the visit! The family consisted of a young man, his wife, and a 10 month old baby girl. It was awesome to get the family’s first reactions to America (and who can pass up a chance to play with a baby).

This time there were more kids than adults in the room. I felt overall this was helpful for us, because we could better communicate with the family, but some of the adults we were able to build a friendly relationships with last time seemed to be more reserved for this visit. We were able to help Bishnu with his ELL homework, talk with Bagal (teenage boy) about Bob Marley and Eminem, and exchange cultural information with everyone in the room. To top the visit off Purna made Nick and I Nepali coffee, sliced apples, and a meal known as “snakes” which was noodles that had been cooked in spiced broth. Throughout all of the interactions we were able to get a better idea of the family’s structure, and most importantly start realizing what each person specifically needs help with. It was awesome to start getting some direction, but it was intimidating to think about how much time we would need to accomplish all of their goals.

On a negative note, two hours into the visit, we realized we had not only been mispronouncing Purna’s name, but I had been calling her by her daughter Muna’s name for the entire five hours we had spent with her (typo on sheet). She was very kind when she made the correction. It was an embarrassing situation, but I was happy she could finally correct us.

Today at our family’s house we started out by talking about their Dussehra festival activities. We saw their pictures of their family celebrating and putting the red-dyed rice on each other’s foreheads. I love learning about other cultures and customs and I think this festival is awesome. At first I thought about how funny a custom it is to put huge globs of red rice on your forehead and wear it around all day but then, like a good Catholic, I thought how similar it is to the ashes Catholics wear on Good Friday. It was a really interesting connection to remind me that depending on how you look at things, all customs are odd.

After chatting for a bit about Dussehra we had a delicious puffed-rice dish. This was different then our usual ramen noodle-esque meal and was really interesting. I don’t know how they made the rice puffy but it was a bit like popcorn. Then they added chili powder, mustard seed, red onion, cucumber, cilantro and lime. We also got invited over for a full Napali dinner on Sunday, so I am really excited for that!

A little while before we had to leave two of the girls mentioned that they were taking the ACT on Saturday and how hard the English sections were. I offered to help and they were eager to start. They first wanted help with the essay portion, which they found to be the hardest. Right away I found out why. The essay question asked them about the Children’s Protection Act and if the software schools have to add to their computers to block certain inappropriate sites was an infringement on learning and freedoms. These girls had moved to this country less than a year ago, and now they are expected to way the pros and cons of internet freedoms in schools?! I tried to help them the best I could but the fact is that this test is specifically designed to challenge the English knowledge of native English speakers so if you only have a rudimentary knowledge of the language you are at such a disadvantage. The sentence completion task, which the task itself they understood very well, confused them because the paragraph was about Vikings and fiords. I tried my best to help them but I really don’t know how well they will do. But I wish them luck!

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Meagan and I had our third visit a couple weeks ago and our fourth visit just yesterday. At this point I feel as if we’ve visited with them so many times that counting doesn’t really make sense. We have slipped into a routine. Our family seems to be adjusting to our visits more and more. Each time we go we are told “Oh, we haven’t seen you in a long time” or “It has been SO long since you have come over” when really, only a couple of days have passed. That really touches me because for them to miss us or complain that they haven’t seen us, makes me feel as if us being there truly does make a difference to them. We never really make plans about when we’re going to visit and I actually just realized what that implies today while we were in class. I realized that the reason we never really plan ahead is because they don’t really leave the house. The only people that seem to ever be absent are the adult brothers that are the only ones that have jobs. The rest of the family (as we have been told several times) is always available. Meagan and I are planning a trip to the zoo this Saturday because we felt we needed to do something fun outside the home with them. Now I’m realizing how great of an idea that is because they really need to get out of their comfort zone. The kids really seemed to be into the idea of going to the zoo, not so much anyone else.

Back to the routine. We go in, sit down on one of the beds in the family room as we always do and wait for the kids to bring out their homework. As usual, there were many different people in the apartment, neighbors and extended family. Their visitors generally never talk to us. They seem very shy (our family tells us so) and timid to come up to us. We always say hi but that’s about as far as it goes. Our kids were shy at first too but they seem to be more comfortable with us each and every visit. So the kids bring out their homework and Meagan and I do all we can to help them without doing everything for them. It can be hard to help without basically giving them the answers. But they seem very eager to learn so it makes it easier on us. Sometimes I wonder what they did before Meagan and I were there to help them. I know we’ve all had our times in the past of “sharing” answers with all our friends but there’s a point where taking/giving all your work to someone else becomes disadvantageous to yourself. I want the kids to be able to do their homework on their own. It’s obvious they try really hard and I just want to walk away from this (well not walk away but move closer to success) with them being able to do their school work on their own without being frustrated and giving up. So for now, that is my main goal; helping them gain confidence in doing their work.

Overall, our visit was great. I’m stressed all week dealing with homework, tests, applications, the list goes on and on, but every time I leave their apartment I find myself feeling happier, less stressed and just excited for our next visit. They give me the feeling that I’m affecting their lives for the better. What I need to express to them (I don’t know how I would even begin to do so) is how much they are affecting MY life.