Here is a random collection of stories I have accumulated over the last few weeks that are united by the humor that I found in each situation. (My laughter was accompanied by a forehead slap and a groan)
I picked up a somali guy at the airport last night (as per the state department's request) and took him to stay with a few of our other Somali guys for a couple of days. While he was catching his breath (by drinking sugary tea in true somali fashion) I watched TV with another guy (who I will call Faisel). We were watching a documentary about Pirates of the Caribbean and I turned to him and asked "do you know what this is about? Pirates? Do you know the word Pirate?" He looked confused and apologized for "little English." For some reason it suddenly seemed very important to me to explain what the word pirate meant--I started with "ocean", got to "boat" and mimed taking money. My gestures were getting more and more elaborate when suddenly Faisel's face lit up and said "oh! Pirates--Somalia!" I awkwardly said "yeah...pirates in somalia" he then pointed to the TV and asked "this is about pirates?" and when I said yes he yelled to his roommates "hey, come see, somalia is on the news!" LOL
I was waiting for this Somali guy at the airport with another Somali (my interpreter who taught me the somali phrase for "welcome to America!"). I told my interpreter the name of the guy we were waiting for and he immediately flipped open his phone and made a call in the Somali language. When he was done he turned to me and said "this guy we are looking for, he is short and fat--like four men but very small." I asked him how on earth he knew that and he told me "I called my friend in Michigan who came today and he was on the plane from Tunisia with him." Literally 2 minutes with just a name and the Somali network in the US was able to give me more personal details about this guy than the state department bio I was given! We picked him up without a hitch--he was short and a bit rotund--but not that fat. Really, he will fit into American society just fine. But the Somalis who meet him keep commenting on how fat he is. One lady patted his stomach and said "how could you survive Libya and Tunisia and still be this big!?" It's like they can accept that Americans are fat but they consider it open for public comment when one of their own is (I'm starting to suspect that Somalis may think Americans are a different species...)
The congolese family of nine I mentioned in the last post has been a joy to work with....mostly. I took them to go get clothes last week and, as per usual, I gave them a rough guideline of how much to spend. The problem with taking people to get clothing is that people vary dramatically in how much they think they need, how much they are willing to take, how well they can add prices in their heads, and how much they know about Portland weather. Different groups need different guidelines--with some wild generalizations this is what I have observed: somali guys won't really take anything beyond a shirt and maybe a pair of shoes, nepali families really like buying fake flowers, burmese families need encouragement to take more clothes for their kids, and most middle-eastern families are kind of grossed-out by the idea of used clothes. I didn't know what to expect with the congolese family so I just told them to "get what you need." Oops! six shopping carts and $1500 later we nearly cleaned out the store and significantly depleted our community grant. The problem was that this family didn't speak English at all so I couldn't figure out how to gently say "oh my god! Stop!!" I chalked it up to a learning experience and decided that in the future, for big families it was better to just tell them how many carts they could use.
On a different note.....Our summer program for elementary school-aged refugee kids starts in two weeks! I have been working on this for months and it looks like it is going to be a big success. We are working on a curriculum with two ESL teachers and I am busy planning field trips and fun activities. Those "fun activities" include a tae kwon do class that I will be teaching (with minimal english?) and messy science experiments! I'm gonna make gak and gooey slime!!! (needless to say, I am stoked!) I will try to get pictures to share with y'all during the course of the program...stay tuned!
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Sunday, June 3, 2012
"Pre-arrival Services"
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| Here is the Congolese family of nine with all of their worldly possessions (The balloon was from the interpreter) |
We spent hours upon hours setting up this apartment (eight bed frames to assemble, eight box springs and mattresses to carry up the stairs and eight sets of sheets to make up the beds with). What really struck me was the sheer volume of excess plastic packaging all of the lamps, microwave, vaccuum, etc. involved. But it was exciting because everything we put together was for a family who had probably never had it before.
About two hours before this family was supposed to arrive we got a phone call letting us know that their flight was delayed in Dallas. A serious problem with the refugee resettlement program (among many others) is that once a family goes through customs there isn't really a system of support for the family to help them through their connecting flights. At that point the airline in theory takes over but since the families often do not speak English it can be pretty tricky. So this family was stuck in DFW for hours and hours without food, money, or the ability to ask what was going on and how long the delay would be. A stranger finally took pity on them and let the dad use her phone to call the emergency US number (which is Cecilia's cell, LOL) and we told him that as soon as he got to Portland we had food for them and a place to sleep. Meanwhile we were really concerned that their flight would be delayed over night in Dallas. In theory the airline would give them vouchers for food and a hotel but how would a refugee family with no english be able to figure out how to use that? As the flight was delayed later and later I got more and more concerned so I finally called in the calvary (aka the Dupont family---or more specifically, Rick and Margaret) and warned them that if this family's flight got delayed much more I was going to ask for a favor way above and beyond the ties of family and have them pick up this family and make sure they got food and a place to sleep (I figured that if anyone could feed nine people on short notice it would be the Duponts). Though I am pretty sure they were alarmed and I probably over-extended my "favorite niece" karma they agreed to help if it came to that.
Luckily, the Congolese family's plane did take off and they made it to Portland. Of course, once they arrived in Portland they did not understand that they needed to come outside of security in order for us to find them. After an hour, (at this point around 11pm Portland time) we confirmed with an airport employee that the family was still waiting outside the gate and, after unsuccessfully arguing with a TSA agent, we had to call the Portland police to go through security and wave the family out (absolutely ridiculous that neither TSA nor the airline could help us out then). We finally got the family out and collected their luggage. They were, of course, exhausted and overwhelmed--the interpreter kept taking pictures and speaking to them rapidly in French/Swahili trying to explain that my co-worker and I were trustworthy and would help them--but they were also incredibly relieved and happy. At one point I turned to the mom to say something simple in French and she had her face in her hands and was mumbling to herself, visibly shaking with relief. I don't speak Swahili or French really but I am pretty sure she was saying "we made it" over and over.
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| You can see the rest of the family gathered around the kitchen table reflected in the window |
We finally got them back to their apartment where I got to show them all of the beds, kitchen utensils and bathroom things we had carefully purchased and arranged just for them (very fun part of the job). Though they were glassy-eyed with exhaustion and we no longer had an interpreter to help the case manager had to walk them through safety features and basic orientation to the shower, locks and electricity. I cooked them a basic dinner (sauteed veggies, bread and a few rotisserie chickens) and by about 1am they were all gathered around their table, finally eating and able to relax. My coworker Brendon looked at them and said "why can't the state department see this when they review us?" He paused and then said, "they'd probably criticize us for not having a food handler's license."
We finally left, telling the family that we would check on them the following afternoon. [side story: this family lived clear across town from my house and I had an 8am appointment the next morning with another refugee very close to their apartment. I had a brief moment where I wanted to just sleep on this family's couch. I was thinking "they wouldn't know it was weird--it's not like they'd say no, they would assume that this is what case managers just did in America." I was very tempted but I did drive home in the end].
I have more stories to come about this family, so stay-tuned! A special shout-out to Rick & Margaret for not just hanging up the phone when I called :)
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
So it has come to this.....
(for an explanation of the title, click here)
Someone who shall not be named (*cough* my mother) has informed me that lately I have been remiss in my updates on JVC life. Since it was just Mother's day I feel like I should probably rectify that immediately:
First, I had a fabulous weekend. I accomplished 3/3 goals: I biked further than I have every biked before (which is only 12 miles but that is a big deal for me), I painted a bird on my door (Portlandia, anybody?), and I brought dinner to my Ethiopian client who just had a baby. That last one was really fun--I ate dinner with her and her (somali) husband and they told me about how they met (which included a real gem of a moment when the wife was explaining why the nations of Somalia and Ethiopia don't get along--her: "Somalia thinks that Ethiopia stole this piece of land, you see" and him: "because they did!")
"So, it has come to this..." (a series of stories that should each end with this statement)
A Cuban client came to our office today (not manuel) and while filling out paperwork he asked us for a rosary. His case manager asked everyone in our office, and then asked everyone on the 4th floor and nobody had one. We had to refer the guy to a Catholic Church down the block.....awkward (which is funny because our executive director just gave a speech about embracing our catholic identity as a nonprofit).
A company near Portland contacted us because they need people to record messages for their clients in a variety of languages. They are willing to pay pretty well for some of the more obscure languages (which no longer seem so obscure to me) so we have been going through our files finding people who need extra cash (which is everybody) and who can read in their own language (not so many people). What is funny is that this company is looking for both Swahili and Kiswahili speakers--which are in fact two names for the exact same language. I told the case managers that we should still totally send them two people (or one person who speaks "both" languages) because if multinational corporations are willing to pay $45/hour to refugees for redundant work then we shouldn't stop them. This part of my brain is the same one that is secretly rooting for the Somali pirates every now and then (click here for more on that).
I have been spoiled by very compliant refugee clients. Normally I can just put a paper in front of them and they will sign it before I can even explain what it is--that is not what happened last week. The other day I was asked to take a somali lady and her brother to an appointment. While I was picking them up at their apartment complex the manager came up to me and explained that they needed to sign the application for tenancy (normally this is done when one applies for residency but since we have to furnish apartments and move people in usually after midnight we have a deal with certain managers to fudge the paperwork) I took them to the office but as soon as I started explaining the 6-month lease they informed me that they did not want to sign the application because they didn't want to be obligated to stay in Portland for more than a month at a time. I started to panic (their case manager was out of town and was going to freak out when she heard) and tried to tell them that they were already living in the apartment and had to sign the papers. The apartment manager even said that he would let them go in a month if he could find another family to take their spot. The sister still refused to sign and explained that she didn't want it to hurt her credit history if she decided to move (she just got out of Dadaab Camp four days earlier, how in the hell did she know what a credit history was?). I had these visions of our office getting in trouble, of the manager never renting to us again and of this brother and sister getting tossed out into the street. I ended up finding another Somali client to interpret for me and I explained that it was impossible to live in an apartment in the US without signing papers. They finally signed the papers under duress. It's funny because being concerned about your credit history and refusing to sign a contract you don't understand is a great instinct--it was just a damned inconvenient time for it to kick-in.
--I can have a phone conversation with a person who speaks almost no English (start with "do I know you?" "who are you trying to talk to?" "Are you calling me from the United States?")
--I can beat an apartment manager at his own game (maybe-I haven't been succesful yet but this week is looking really promising)
--I can identify at least 6 different types of greens at the farmers market and cook them with re-hydrated beans into a reasonably delicious meal.
Someone who shall not be named (*cough* my mother) has informed me that lately I have been remiss in my updates on JVC life. Since it was just Mother's day I feel like I should probably rectify that immediately:
First, I had a fabulous weekend. I accomplished 3/3 goals: I biked further than I have every biked before (which is only 12 miles but that is a big deal for me), I painted a bird on my door (Portlandia, anybody?), and I brought dinner to my Ethiopian client who just had a baby. That last one was really fun--I ate dinner with her and her (somali) husband and they told me about how they met (which included a real gem of a moment when the wife was explaining why the nations of Somalia and Ethiopia don't get along--her: "Somalia thinks that Ethiopia stole this piece of land, you see" and him: "because they did!")
"So, it has come to this..." (a series of stories that should each end with this statement)
A Cuban client came to our office today (not manuel) and while filling out paperwork he asked us for a rosary. His case manager asked everyone in our office, and then asked everyone on the 4th floor and nobody had one. We had to refer the guy to a Catholic Church down the block.....awkward (which is funny because our executive director just gave a speech about embracing our catholic identity as a nonprofit).
A company near Portland contacted us because they need people to record messages for their clients in a variety of languages. They are willing to pay pretty well for some of the more obscure languages (which no longer seem so obscure to me) so we have been going through our files finding people who need extra cash (which is everybody) and who can read in their own language (not so many people). What is funny is that this company is looking for both Swahili and Kiswahili speakers--which are in fact two names for the exact same language. I told the case managers that we should still totally send them two people (or one person who speaks "both" languages) because if multinational corporations are willing to pay $45/hour to refugees for redundant work then we shouldn't stop them. This part of my brain is the same one that is secretly rooting for the Somali pirates every now and then (click here for more on that).
I have been spoiled by very compliant refugee clients. Normally I can just put a paper in front of them and they will sign it before I can even explain what it is--that is not what happened last week. The other day I was asked to take a somali lady and her brother to an appointment. While I was picking them up at their apartment complex the manager came up to me and explained that they needed to sign the application for tenancy (normally this is done when one applies for residency but since we have to furnish apartments and move people in usually after midnight we have a deal with certain managers to fudge the paperwork) I took them to the office but as soon as I started explaining the 6-month lease they informed me that they did not want to sign the application because they didn't want to be obligated to stay in Portland for more than a month at a time. I started to panic (their case manager was out of town and was going to freak out when she heard) and tried to tell them that they were already living in the apartment and had to sign the papers. The apartment manager even said that he would let them go in a month if he could find another family to take their spot. The sister still refused to sign and explained that she didn't want it to hurt her credit history if she decided to move (she just got out of Dadaab Camp four days earlier, how in the hell did she know what a credit history was?). I had these visions of our office getting in trouble, of the manager never renting to us again and of this brother and sister getting tossed out into the street. I ended up finding another Somali client to interpret for me and I explained that it was impossible to live in an apartment in the US without signing papers. They finally signed the papers under duress. It's funny because being concerned about your credit history and refusing to sign a contract you don't understand is a great instinct--it was just a damned inconvenient time for it to kick-in.
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| My house enjoying the sunshine with a vegan BBQ! |
As my time in JVC is starting to wind down, I would like to conclude this post with a short reflection on some of the things I will be taking away from my experiences in Portland:
Skills I have gained while in JVC:
--I can use non-violent communication--including the priceless tip from our area director (paraphrased): if you cannot believe what absurdity a person just said, repeat back to them "so what you're saying is...." just so you have an extra moment to process how stupid it was
--I can correctly-ish fill out an application for food stamps and medical benefits (at least for the state of oregon) I also know how to find a primary care doc if you have medicaid (not easy)--I can have a phone conversation with a person who speaks almost no English (start with "do I know you?" "who are you trying to talk to?" "Are you calling me from the United States?")
--I can beat an apartment manager at his own game (maybe-I haven't been succesful yet but this week is looking really promising)
--I can identify at least 6 different types of greens at the farmers market and cook them with re-hydrated beans into a reasonably delicious meal.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
When it rains, it pours
I realized that I have been telling a lot of stories but I haven't been posting any pictures. This is partially because I have been unsure about whether or not I can post photos of refugees. Today I finally decided that if I am not giving identifying information or telling deeply personal stories then if nobody knows, no one is hurt. So after no photos for five months, here are a bunch of photos from events this year:
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| Our JV christmas card (many of you have seen this and know that there is also an "eye spy" game with this. |
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| A photo of the "tributes" for the JV hunger games in Tacoma last week. Just a reminder, Gresham won. (In this photo you can see our lovely costumes representing Gresham's "industry" of salons) |
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| This is the famous Manuel during his intake with my coworker |
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| This mom was reunited with her son after more than 5 years apart (he was left in the camps when she resettled) |
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| This is a somali family with the CUTEST pair of kids I have ever encountered. You will notice that Somali men do NOT smile for pictures. |
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| During one of our JV parties we all got "hand dragon" temporary tattoos. The next day at church someone asked me if that was a real tattoo--all I could think was "how dumb do you think I am?" although it would give a completely different tone to that book/movie "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo" |
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Just to clarify...
So apparently a few people have been calling my mother very concerned about why I am deferring medical school. So just to clarify: I am NOT pregnant, NOT getting married, I do NOT have cancer, and I am NOT doing a secret government research project (though if I was I wouldn't tell you otherwise). I am planning on deferring medical school because I feel like I need to slow myself down a little bit. I am really passionate about medicine and public health and I know that medical school is right for me but I feel like I have been barreling-along for so long that I don't know what it means to slow down and take care of myself. So I want to spend some time with fewer commitments so that I can figure out what a physical, mental and spiritually sustainable lifestyle would look like for me. I figure that my life isn't going to get any less hectic after I enter medical school so there is no better time to pause than right now--there is nothing at Emory that won't be there in one year. I am sure that within five months I will be cursing the day that I made this decision and will be going insane with wanting to be back in school but that is okay--I'll just take up some bizarre hobbies (I've always wanted to try noodling....).
Manuel está en New Jersey
I owe myself ten bucks--totally was a different state. So we found the Cuban eventually and he will now be forwarded to Portland.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
"¿Dónde está Manuel?" And other stories
First, I am going to Emory (Woot!) but I think that I am going to defer medical school for a year (take a moment, pick up your jaw from the floor). There are a lot of reasons for this but in short I feel like God is poking me in the arm about this and, as a friend recently told me, "you should listen to those pokes in your arm, otherwise he'll start shoving and he's a big guy, that'll hurt." I'll keep y'all posted as that decision develops.
"All Hail Panem"
This weekend was really fun! We had the JV Olympics (hosted by the Tacoma house) themed Hunger games! Each house had to dress up to represent our "district" (We wore hair curlers and big fake nails to represent Gresham: the land of a thousand hair salons). We then had a processional parade with a trumpet and a large banner to a nearby park where we competed in a variety of Hunger Games-themed competitions. (part of the theme was that the rules changed frequently and that the "capitol" sabatoged us frequently--aka the Lutheran Volunteers from Tacoma came with tennis rackets to intercept the water balloon toss). The most important part of this story is that Gresham won! It was a close competition with Hillsboro but in the end our knowledge of Hunger Games trivia carried the day (we studied the trilogy in the car ride over--we are that competitive). Our prize was a large glass goblet decorated in gold rhinestones--I will be shocked if it survives the next JV party without it getting stolen.
"Applying Old Skills"
Our office is chronically short of interpreters so we often have to rely on other clients to interpret for newcomers (does this violate privacy?--probably. Do we have any other choice?--no). There is sort of this "sweet spot" around 3-7 months when English-speaking refugees don't have a lot to do (lots of free time) and have been around long enough to help out a newcomer. My coworker Brendon relied on an amenable Iraqi client--who had been a translator for the US military--during an intake for a recent arrival today. He apparently was an excellent interpreter but his set-up was a little quirky. During the intake held at a round table, Brendon sat at 12 o'clock, his client sat at 3 o'clock, and the guy translating stood behind them at 1:30. Brendon kept offering a chair to the guy but he refused saying that he was used to translating this way and that it was more comfortable. I was laughing about this quirk but occured to me shortly after hearing this story that he probably worked in intelligence for the US military and was a translator for interrogations--erm...at least he's applying his skills?
"Speaking of Iraqis" part I
I helped enroll five Iraqi kids in school this week (two older brothers and a set of triplets!) The family seems really sweet. One of the triplets is developmentally disabled and has never gone to school before--I am really excited for him because I think that the United States' school system does a great job helping kids with special needs (especially compared to Jordan and Iraq)--I think he will flourish. The dad is a character--very intense, very Iraqi--who cares a lot about his kids. He doesn't speak English very well so he is very intense and focused when trying to force out sentences. When two of the kids started school yesterday he waited with them at the bus stop. He noticed the other kids at the stop and--thinking they lived in the same complex as his kids (true) and wanting them to be available to help his kids if they ran into trouble (valid)--turned to them and said very loudly and intensely "What is your apartment number?!" The kids kinda panicked (stranger-danger radar going off to the nth degree I am sure) and my coworker had to reassure them that they weren't going to be kidnapped. Later, the Dad wanted to make sure his kids had gotten to school okay so he took a bus and just marched through the hallways of the school, without a visitor's pass, looking for them. Luckily, my coworker again intercepted him and tried to explain the concept of school security so that he won't get arrested some day in a grand cultural misunderstanding.
"¿Dónde está Manuel?" or "La Jefa"
I have spent the last several days trying to locate an elderly cuban man. Rather, more specifically, I have been trying to figure out where he will be resettled next week. This guy came into our drop-in center last week seeking help for getting his brother's case (Manuel is the brother) transfered to Portland. Apparently Manuel, being 75 and having never left Cuba, forgot the name of the city where his brother lived and so was sent to whatever resettlement city had room. His arrival is imminent so the brother needs to get in touch with his case manager to arrange the switch but no one know which resettlement agency he is coming through. Furthermore, the city to which he says he is being sent does not actually have a resettlement agency. We called the nearby cities but no one had heard of his case. I am convinced he is remembering the state wrong (he's old and there are several cities by this name in other states) but the brother swears it is correct. (I'm not too worried, when he arrives he can call his brother and tell him where he is--ten bucks says it's a different state.) But the whole time I am helping this guy I keep thinking back to a book exercise we did in spanish class where we wrote repeatedly "¿Dónde está Manuel?" and then practiced saying where he could be. ¿Dónde está Manuel? Manuel está en Cuba. Manuel está en el aeroplano. Manuel no está in Portland. ¿Dónde está Manuel? They gave us his refugee case number and I told his friend (the interpreter) that Cecilia would try to find him (side note: this interpreter was resettled by Cecilia 13 yrs. before--he was shocked that she was still around) When he explained this to Manuel's brother he said "La jefa va a buscarlo." I told Cecilia that the Cuban guy referred to her as "La jefa" she said "Oh yeah, they used to call me that." [NBD] I am not calling her anything else from now on.
"Speaking of Iraqis" part 2
This older Iraqi lady was just resettled by us and I went with her case manager (brendon) to visit her at home. We knocked on the door repeatedly and called her name but there was no answer. She spoke no English and had only arrived a few days prior so it was highly unlikely that she had gone out. The door was unlocked (oops--guess that part of "cultural orientation" didn't stick) so we pushed it open and continued to shout her name. There was still no answer so I was sent in (because I was a woman and therefore not as threatening) to see if she was in her room. I saw that she was laying on her bed so I quickly tip-toed out to confer with Brendon. We couldn't just leave--she might be dead for all we know--but I was afraid to go into her bedroom and wake her up--if she wasn't dead, I might kill her from shock. In the end I awkwardly knocked on the frame of her bedroom door and yelled her name really loudly several time. She finally woke up--startled and discomforted that we just walked in--and we spent some time trying to explain to her that she needed to lock her door when she went to sleep because "anybody" could come in (clearly we did).
Well, I have to go speak to a man about a horse (or rather, to a Somali about a job). Until next time! (which hopefully won't be longer than 2 weeks like last time)
"All Hail Panem"
This weekend was really fun! We had the JV Olympics (hosted by the Tacoma house) themed Hunger games! Each house had to dress up to represent our "district" (We wore hair curlers and big fake nails to represent Gresham: the land of a thousand hair salons). We then had a processional parade with a trumpet and a large banner to a nearby park where we competed in a variety of Hunger Games-themed competitions. (part of the theme was that the rules changed frequently and that the "capitol" sabatoged us frequently--aka the Lutheran Volunteers from Tacoma came with tennis rackets to intercept the water balloon toss). The most important part of this story is that Gresham won! It was a close competition with Hillsboro but in the end our knowledge of Hunger Games trivia carried the day (we studied the trilogy in the car ride over--we are that competitive). Our prize was a large glass goblet decorated in gold rhinestones--I will be shocked if it survives the next JV party without it getting stolen.
"Applying Old Skills"
Our office is chronically short of interpreters so we often have to rely on other clients to interpret for newcomers (does this violate privacy?--probably. Do we have any other choice?--no). There is sort of this "sweet spot" around 3-7 months when English-speaking refugees don't have a lot to do (lots of free time) and have been around long enough to help out a newcomer. My coworker Brendon relied on an amenable Iraqi client--who had been a translator for the US military--during an intake for a recent arrival today. He apparently was an excellent interpreter but his set-up was a little quirky. During the intake held at a round table, Brendon sat at 12 o'clock, his client sat at 3 o'clock, and the guy translating stood behind them at 1:30. Brendon kept offering a chair to the guy but he refused saying that he was used to translating this way and that it was more comfortable. I was laughing about this quirk but occured to me shortly after hearing this story that he probably worked in intelligence for the US military and was a translator for interrogations--erm...at least he's applying his skills?
"Speaking of Iraqis" part I
I helped enroll five Iraqi kids in school this week (two older brothers and a set of triplets!) The family seems really sweet. One of the triplets is developmentally disabled and has never gone to school before--I am really excited for him because I think that the United States' school system does a great job helping kids with special needs (especially compared to Jordan and Iraq)--I think he will flourish. The dad is a character--very intense, very Iraqi--who cares a lot about his kids. He doesn't speak English very well so he is very intense and focused when trying to force out sentences. When two of the kids started school yesterday he waited with them at the bus stop. He noticed the other kids at the stop and--thinking they lived in the same complex as his kids (true) and wanting them to be available to help his kids if they ran into trouble (valid)--turned to them and said very loudly and intensely "What is your apartment number?!" The kids kinda panicked (stranger-danger radar going off to the nth degree I am sure) and my coworker had to reassure them that they weren't going to be kidnapped. Later, the Dad wanted to make sure his kids had gotten to school okay so he took a bus and just marched through the hallways of the school, without a visitor's pass, looking for them. Luckily, my coworker again intercepted him and tried to explain the concept of school security so that he won't get arrested some day in a grand cultural misunderstanding.
"¿Dónde está Manuel?" or "La Jefa"
I have spent the last several days trying to locate an elderly cuban man. Rather, more specifically, I have been trying to figure out where he will be resettled next week. This guy came into our drop-in center last week seeking help for getting his brother's case (Manuel is the brother) transfered to Portland. Apparently Manuel, being 75 and having never left Cuba, forgot the name of the city where his brother lived and so was sent to whatever resettlement city had room. His arrival is imminent so the brother needs to get in touch with his case manager to arrange the switch but no one know which resettlement agency he is coming through. Furthermore, the city to which he says he is being sent does not actually have a resettlement agency. We called the nearby cities but no one had heard of his case. I am convinced he is remembering the state wrong (he's old and there are several cities by this name in other states) but the brother swears it is correct. (I'm not too worried, when he arrives he can call his brother and tell him where he is--ten bucks says it's a different state.) But the whole time I am helping this guy I keep thinking back to a book exercise we did in spanish class where we wrote repeatedly "¿Dónde está Manuel?" and then practiced saying where he could be. ¿Dónde está Manuel? Manuel está en Cuba. Manuel está en el aeroplano. Manuel no está in Portland. ¿Dónde está Manuel? They gave us his refugee case number and I told his friend (the interpreter) that Cecilia would try to find him (side note: this interpreter was resettled by Cecilia 13 yrs. before--he was shocked that she was still around) When he explained this to Manuel's brother he said "La jefa va a buscarlo." I told Cecilia that the Cuban guy referred to her as "La jefa" she said "Oh yeah, they used to call me that." [NBD] I am not calling her anything else from now on.
"Speaking of Iraqis" part 2
This older Iraqi lady was just resettled by us and I went with her case manager (brendon) to visit her at home. We knocked on the door repeatedly and called her name but there was no answer. She spoke no English and had only arrived a few days prior so it was highly unlikely that she had gone out. The door was unlocked (oops--guess that part of "cultural orientation" didn't stick) so we pushed it open and continued to shout her name. There was still no answer so I was sent in (because I was a woman and therefore not as threatening) to see if she was in her room. I saw that she was laying on her bed so I quickly tip-toed out to confer with Brendon. We couldn't just leave--she might be dead for all we know--but I was afraid to go into her bedroom and wake her up--if she wasn't dead, I might kill her from shock. In the end I awkwardly knocked on the frame of her bedroom door and yelled her name really loudly several time. She finally woke up--startled and discomforted that we just walked in--and we spent some time trying to explain to her that she needed to lock her door when she went to sleep because "anybody" could come in (clearly we did).
Well, I have to go speak to a man about a horse (or rather, to a Somali about a job). Until next time! (which hopefully won't be longer than 2 weeks like last time)
Monday, April 9, 2012
The good, the bad, and the baby!
[Side note: thanks for all of the support concerning Emory! The interview weekend was really neat. I didn't get the scholarship but it was great to get another look at the school and I am glad that I went.]
The Good
Remember how I got cursed a few weeks ago? That family managed to make it to Minnesota to see their relatives! The dad's dying wish was fulfilled despite the best efforts and confusion of the medical establishment. Also in the "good" category--last week we took an 11 yr old Afghani boy to outdoors camp. He has only been in the US for a few months but he is super brave and wanted to participate in the outdoors camp (something that every 6th grader gets to do in this district). He didn't have anything on the packing list so we were scrambling to find a sleeping bag, flashlight, etc.. His mom was probably the most nervous--she cried and blessed him with the Koran when we went to pick him up. But he had a fabulous time and even won a "best camper" award!
The Bad
Not all refugees make it in the United States. One of our guys who struggles with mental illness just lost his housing when his benefits ended. I'm really struggling with this one--this guy was the very first refugee who I worked with by myself (remember that frantic post during my first week about the Iranian father and daughter?). I feel like once we decide to resettle a refugee in the United States then we have a certain responsibility towards them. There is something fundamentally wrong about bringing an unwell man to the United States to be homeless. It is hard to feel good about your work when the system completely fails.
The Baby!!!
On the other side of the emotional spectrum, I visited a new baby the other day--the first american citizen in this family! Even more precious than the newborn were the new parents. They were so nervous and careful with this little guy, and every time the baby yawned the Dad would exclaim with delight. It was even more special because these parents were from two different cultures--one was a somali muslim and one was an ethiopian christian (the wife told me that if she wants to tease her husband she brings up Israel). They should be the poster family for world peace.
The Good
Remember how I got cursed a few weeks ago? That family managed to make it to Minnesota to see their relatives! The dad's dying wish was fulfilled despite the best efforts and confusion of the medical establishment. Also in the "good" category--last week we took an 11 yr old Afghani boy to outdoors camp. He has only been in the US for a few months but he is super brave and wanted to participate in the outdoors camp (something that every 6th grader gets to do in this district). He didn't have anything on the packing list so we were scrambling to find a sleeping bag, flashlight, etc.. His mom was probably the most nervous--she cried and blessed him with the Koran when we went to pick him up. But he had a fabulous time and even won a "best camper" award!
The Bad
Not all refugees make it in the United States. One of our guys who struggles with mental illness just lost his housing when his benefits ended. I'm really struggling with this one--this guy was the very first refugee who I worked with by myself (remember that frantic post during my first week about the Iranian father and daughter?). I feel like once we decide to resettle a refugee in the United States then we have a certain responsibility towards them. There is something fundamentally wrong about bringing an unwell man to the United States to be homeless. It is hard to feel good about your work when the system completely fails.
The Baby!!!
On the other side of the emotional spectrum, I visited a new baby the other day--the first american citizen in this family! Even more precious than the newborn were the new parents. They were so nervous and careful with this little guy, and every time the baby yawned the Dad would exclaim with delight. It was even more special because these parents were from two different cultures--one was a somali muslim and one was an ethiopian christian (the wife told me that if she wants to tease her husband she brings up Israel). They should be the poster family for world peace.
Monday, March 19, 2012
The good, the bad, and the supernatural
The good: I got a call from Emory School of Medicine's dean of admissions who told me that I am a finalist for a full-tuition scholarship to the school! The school is flying me out to Atlanta next week for another round of interviews. (for perspective: 12 finalists, 4 scholarships) WOOOOOT!!!!!!
The bad: I nicknamed an iraqi family "sketchy mcsketchers" last week when i found out that they are in the process of arranging for a russian bride for their son over the internet. Sketchy....
The supernatural: I was officially cursed by a Somali elder on Friday-or rather, I and the medical establishment were cursed. This was during a palliative care team meeting which I was invited to sit in on while we talked with one of our Somali family's about Dad's end-stage cancer (Dad is 80+). They had only arrived a week earlier and I started out very upset that we brought a man to the US just to die in a foreign land. It turns out that it is not quite a foreign land--he has friends in Minnesota and he wants to see them before he dies so that they can bury his body correctly. When the doctor tried to explain that he wouldn't survive a trip to Minnesota, the wife got very agitated and the translator had to awkwardly explain that we were being cursed for not following the wishes of an elder. I have discovered that I really am a romantic--I am totally on the family's side and believe that there is something sacred about a man's dying wish. I am also pretty sure that they will get him there--it might involve kidnapping him out of hospice and pulling a 'little miss sunshine' in the back of a VW van. But seriously, they will get him there--if an 80 yr old guy could survive a two day trip from the other side of the world with metastatic tumors, they will find a way to get him to Minnesota. (I might slip them a train schedule on the sly to help).
The bad: I nicknamed an iraqi family "sketchy mcsketchers" last week when i found out that they are in the process of arranging for a russian bride for their son over the internet. Sketchy....
The supernatural: I was officially cursed by a Somali elder on Friday-or rather, I and the medical establishment were cursed. This was during a palliative care team meeting which I was invited to sit in on while we talked with one of our Somali family's about Dad's end-stage cancer (Dad is 80+). They had only arrived a week earlier and I started out very upset that we brought a man to the US just to die in a foreign land. It turns out that it is not quite a foreign land--he has friends in Minnesota and he wants to see them before he dies so that they can bury his body correctly. When the doctor tried to explain that he wouldn't survive a trip to Minnesota, the wife got very agitated and the translator had to awkwardly explain that we were being cursed for not following the wishes of an elder. I have discovered that I really am a romantic--I am totally on the family's side and believe that there is something sacred about a man's dying wish. I am also pretty sure that they will get him there--it might involve kidnapping him out of hospice and pulling a 'little miss sunshine' in the back of a VW van. But seriously, they will get him there--if an 80 yr old guy could survive a two day trip from the other side of the world with metastatic tumors, they will find a way to get him to Minnesota. (I might slip them a train schedule on the sly to help).
Friday, March 2, 2012
Different Perspectives
Funny story--I got really sick. Like really sick, and I had to miss nearly two weeks of work in favor of lying in bed and resenting the outside world that I could not join. Since I am a part of a Luddite-loving organization, I do not have internet access at home so I was unable to complain about feeling sick in blog form. After some intense western medicine, however, I am significantly improved and have (thank God) returned to work. And thus resume my de-contextualized stories of the refugee-in-Portland world. I have two stories today that I can sort of label "different perspectives"
1) There is this Burmese family that was being cheated in a major way by their ex-landlord who wanted close to $2,000 for "extreme damages" to their old apartment (minus the security deposit that still meant the family owed about $900). This family has 7 kids and only government assistance for an income so when they came to us I was ready to "go to bat" for them in a major way. I researched tenant/landlord laws, spoke to renters rights hotlines, contacted friends in law offices, etc.--I didn't want the family paying anything extra. After we had drafted one letter, the landlord and the case manager spoke and the landlord agreed to knock off $200 in charges. Legal action really wasn't an option for the family so the case manger just sent them the revised bill. I was not thrilled. But the family came in to see us later that day and they were ecstatic. They were so excited, mom kept shaking our hands saying "thank you" and the teenage boy (the only english speaker) asked us to look over the check he wrote to make sure it was correct. They even brought an envelope and a stamp and asked us to write out the landlord's address. They didn't even know what they were paying for--in their eyes they were just asked for a large sum of money, they came to us for help and they saw a concrete result from our advocacy. They were so happy that someone cared enough to help them. Despite my frustrations I decided it was a success story--even though I still think the land lord is a crook--because in the end what matters is that we made someone feel like they mattered enough to be helped.
2) I have made friends with this really sweet Ethiopian lady who is about to have her first baby (thousands of miles away from any relatives--and she is only a year older than me). She has been translating for us (for free) and I stopped by her apartment the other day to say thank you and to give her a baby blanket I made. She and her neighbor were sharing coffee and invited me to join them. It turns out that the two of them watch Jerry Springer together every afternoon (they asked me if the people were real.....I wasn't sure how to answer). This episode had this crazy lady (as per usual) who was in a fight with her boss--both of them happened to be African American. We were chatting about the show and I discovered that the two women thought that all black people in the US must be like this and consequently they were afraid of Portland's African American community. I spent some time trying to explain "stereotypes," "non-representative samples" and the general problems with reality TV but I don't know if I made any difference. So thank you Jerry Springer--you have successfully made Africans afraid of African Americans.
1) There is this Burmese family that was being cheated in a major way by their ex-landlord who wanted close to $2,000 for "extreme damages" to their old apartment (minus the security deposit that still meant the family owed about $900). This family has 7 kids and only government assistance for an income so when they came to us I was ready to "go to bat" for them in a major way. I researched tenant/landlord laws, spoke to renters rights hotlines, contacted friends in law offices, etc.--I didn't want the family paying anything extra. After we had drafted one letter, the landlord and the case manager spoke and the landlord agreed to knock off $200 in charges. Legal action really wasn't an option for the family so the case manger just sent them the revised bill. I was not thrilled. But the family came in to see us later that day and they were ecstatic. They were so excited, mom kept shaking our hands saying "thank you" and the teenage boy (the only english speaker) asked us to look over the check he wrote to make sure it was correct. They even brought an envelope and a stamp and asked us to write out the landlord's address. They didn't even know what they were paying for--in their eyes they were just asked for a large sum of money, they came to us for help and they saw a concrete result from our advocacy. They were so happy that someone cared enough to help them. Despite my frustrations I decided it was a success story--even though I still think the land lord is a crook--because in the end what matters is that we made someone feel like they mattered enough to be helped.
2) I have made friends with this really sweet Ethiopian lady who is about to have her first baby (thousands of miles away from any relatives--and she is only a year older than me). She has been translating for us (for free) and I stopped by her apartment the other day to say thank you and to give her a baby blanket I made. She and her neighbor were sharing coffee and invited me to join them. It turns out that the two of them watch Jerry Springer together every afternoon (they asked me if the people were real.....I wasn't sure how to answer). This episode had this crazy lady (as per usual) who was in a fight with her boss--both of them happened to be African American. We were chatting about the show and I discovered that the two women thought that all black people in the US must be like this and consequently they were afraid of Portland's African American community. I spent some time trying to explain "stereotypes," "non-representative samples" and the general problems with reality TV but I don't know if I made any difference. So thank you Jerry Springer--you have successfully made Africans afraid of African Americans.
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