First full week: still truckin' along, not yet a hipster

I survived my first full week of work with the refugees (as did they) but I was pretty damn tired by Friday afternoon. I think that my favorite story was from when I had to take an Iranian guy to bus training at the community center. Most of the refugees are still too nervous to take the bus right after training so I told him that I would be there to pick him up afterwards. But when I got there I found that he had taken a bus home already—I think public transportation in a strange city was a more attractive option than getting back into a car with me driving (I think the curb I jumped while pulling into the parking lot when I dropped him off was the final straw). So really I am providing a motivating force for refugees to be self-sufficient: sheer terror.

Later during the week I had to make a trip to DHS (dept of human services) with some Somalis. I picked up the first guy and discovered that he spoke NO English so we sat in complete silence for a while—which I have discovered makes me uncomfortable. I was relieved that we were picking up a second Somali because I figured that at least the two of them could talk but I forgot that it is inappropriate for unrelated Somali men and women to speak to each other so when we picked up the second lady the silence continued…..for 3 hours. [side story about that second woman: she was partially paralyzed and thus unable to walk. We had a wheelchair but she was on the 2^nd floor of the house (that was the floor with the bathroom). Our office being extremely busy I was not given any details about transportation so as I was driving there I had visions of having to fireman-carry this poor woman, abiyeh and all, down a flight of stairs so that she could get food stamps. Luckily it turns out she could hobble down stairs with the aid of a second person and the railing so her dignity and mine were mostly preserved] After that visit to DHS I would guess that approximately 70% of refugees have the debit card pin number of 1234.

I also officially met all of the children for whose welfare I am responsible (what the hell was the government thinking? Poor souls). I made sure they were all registered for school and met their parents. The school registration process was fun—it doesn’t matter whether someone is a refugee or not, teenagers are still teenagers and they are all anxious about starting school and are too cool to smile for their ID cards (till I made funny faces).

I have a lot more stories but unfortunately the library is about to close. I will try to type up a few posts during my lunch break this week (I only got to sit down and eat lunch once last week. This is a problem. I think the hardest part of my work this year will be telling people that I am too busy to add another errand to the list--tho I hear that I am genetically predisposed to not say no). Preview of things to come: my first home visit as a social worker, teaching knitting to the international community, and some alarming facts I have learned about the resettlement process. To be continued…..