An Afternoon with Syrian Refugees

Yesterday was a day that will mark me forever.

When volunteering to help out at the Samaritas office earlier on in the week, I learned of two New American (refugee) families who each needed transportation to Children's Hospital in Detroit. Being in between jobs right now I have more time available than usual so I signed up to help. By the time Friday rolled around only one of the families still needed a ride so I received their information and plotted my route. I was a little nervous about being able to communicate since I knew the mother only knew a little English, but I was excited to be able to help.

Upon arriving at their home I was greeted warmly by the father. The mother came to the door, small child in her arms, smiled and said "Jessica? Hospital?". I smiled and confirmed. By this time another young child is standing next to me, beautiful big brown eyes looking up into mine, sweet little smile on her face. I smile at her and introduce myself. She beams and does the same. 4 years old. My heart melts a little.

We head to my van and secure the appropriate car seats. It's now that I realize that the small child in the mother's arms is severely handicapped. Unable to even hold her own head up, tiny legs lying limp and unused, the only seemingly voluntary movement she's able to make is to bring her hand to her mouth to suck on it. I thank God I still have my 5 point harness car seat. I help adjust the seat belt as she is so small I need to tighten it as far as I can get it to go. I readjust her head and push her deep brown curls out of her eyes. 3 years old. My heart breaks a little.

We don't really talk much on the ride to the hospital as it's hard to beat the language barrier when you have to keep your eyes on the road and the mother (I'm going to call her "Gratitude") has to sit in the seat next to her 3 year old (I'm going to call her "Love") so she can keep her head from falling forward. I figure this is what an Uber driver feels like. We arrive at the hospital and I manage to park in the world's tightest parking structure without damaging any vehicles. It's a win.

I've been to this hospital before with one of my own daughters, so I remember that the elevator system is rather confusing. This does nothing to stop me from taking us to the wrong level immediately however, so there goes the illusion that I know what I'm doing! We figure it out with the help of a parking lot attendant however and make it inside the main lobby. I ask Gratitude if she knows where she is going, and she does not, so we head to the information desk. It's here where I start my role as advocate or, more accurately called, clumsy non-interpreter. I give the woman at the desk the family's name, she sends us on our way. We reach the appropriate office and I approach the registration desk. As the man behind the desk starts explaining the paperwork we need to fill out, he offers us a copy of one form in Arabic. One form out of five. "Better than nothing!" I say, then we sit down in the waiting room to try to fill the forms out. Surprisingly, we get it done with little trouble (The whole time I forget that I downloaded the Google Translate app on my phone for this day. I never think to bring it out. Not once.). Shortly thereafter a nurse calls Love's name and, Praise God!, this wonderful nurse starts speaking to Gratitude in Arabic. We establish what is going to be done and that I am going to be here to drive them back home when it is finished. I head back into the waiting room while Gratitude, Love, and the 4 year old I'll call "Light" headed for the MRI machine.

After about an hour and a half the family re-enters the waiting room, surprising as that was half the amount of time I was told it would take. Everything is all set so we head back out to the parking structure designed by a fan of Smart Cars and loaded ourselves back into the van. Light could not be more excited as she was gifted a purple child's tea set by someone at the hospital. She hugs it to her chest, giggling and smiling, chatting constantly. She's munching on graham crackers she also got from the hospital and Gratitude hands me an unopened package and says "Please, eat.". I'm touched she thought of me. We smile at each other as I thank her and take the crackers. My heart smiles a lot.

As we pull out I suddenly hear some Arabic man singing behind me. It's Gratitude's phone. I hear her speaking softly. A prayer. It's brief but beautiful. I have no idea what it said, but I love the sound. Sacred.

Upon arrival at the family's home, Gratitude invites me into their home for coffee. I excitedly accept, thanking God that the appointment took half the time it should have so that I still had time before needing to go pick up my own children from school. Gratitude's husband, who had been out on a driving lesson, was home again (I'll call him Peace), and we all sat in the living room drinking small cups of strong, earthy coffee and getting to know one another as best we could. Gratitude, originally from Jordan, had come here from Syria 2 months prior. As she spoke to me, insisting I eat another of the chocolates from the dish she had placed before me, she translated for Peace who speaks no English and repeatedly wiped and kissed the face of Love as she laid on the couch beside her. Light was busy delightedly serving everyone tea from her new tea set. Gratitude asked me something about breakfast, which I thought to be very random as it was after 1 in the afternoon. She says something to Peace in Arabic and he disappears into the kitchen. Shortly after he reemerges with a plate of chicken shawarma and a bottle of water and I realize she was trying to ask me if I'd like to have lunch. Gratitude smiles and tells me "please, eat!". I obliged her happily. So good. We talked about the food. She was so happy I liked it. Next thing I know she's bringing me a can of Hawaiian punch. It's like she knew how much I love beverages. I drink and eat and we talk. Peace was a auto mechanic in Syria, but he's having trouble finding work here. Light "paints" my nails with  a bubble wand she's brought out to show me. We laugh and pretend to put makeup on each other. Everyone laughs. Children are one of our many common denominators. My heart nearly bursts.

The time comes when I have to leave. I'm overwhelmed by their warmth and hospitality. I feel I have made new friends and I make a note to let Samaritas know I want to help this family out again so we can build this relationship. Gratitude obviously feels it too, as I try to communicate that I hope to see her again soon, she says "you can come here everyday". Peace looks at me and says "thank you", yet again. Light giggles and waves, giggles and waves, then suddenly disappears into the house and comes running back out to hand me yet another can of Hawaiian punch. Gratitude and I both laugh as I thank both her and Light for their generosity. I think on how isolating being a New American must be, despite it being "much better" than the situation Gratitude's family had found themselves in before coming here. My heart aches for them.

The ride to get my kids was full of emotions. From joy to sorrow, smiles to tears. My world had grown again and I was struggling to process it all. Then I hear of what the now leader of my country has done to ban refugees, and I have to fight off despair. What will become of Gratitude, Peace, Love, and Light in this new and more hostile country? I struggle to understand how anyone claiming to believe in God could do such a monstrous thing. I wonder if he's ever sat down with a New American family and genuinely listened with a heart to find what unites us rather than divides us. If he's ever experienced the hospitality of people who want to share with him what little they have because they are fellow human beings, longing for connection, and understanding. I'm guessing the answer is no, as if it were otherwise, he wouldn't dream of signing that order. That's the danger of living in your own bubble. That's what happens when your focus is only on "your own".

We can't let our doors be slammed in the face of fellow human beings who desperately need our help. We can't be those people who turn away and choose indifference. Please, call, write, march, advocate, and volunteer to show this new leader that We The People believe in an America where there is justice and liberty for all, no matter where your country of origin may be. Remember, he works for US. Not the other way around. Make your voice heard and, more importantly, get up and make your presence felt. Help in anyway you can, and we ALL can.

Every choice you make determines the life you live. What will you choose to do now?

Call your legislators, you can even use a script! http://thesixtyfive.org/home
Sign a petition! http://www.unhcr.org/refugeeday/petition/
Volunteer! From office work to teaching ESL, there is something for everyone! www.samaritas.org

Welcome Home

In my previous post I mentioned that I have started volunteering with Samaritas, an agency who, among many other things, helps refugees get resettled here in Michigan. I have longed to help those forced to flee what's left of their homes with nothing more than what they could carry, which is more often than not, their children. I couldn't bear to think of how absolutely terrifying that would be to endure without vowing to help in whatever way that I can, and last week I got to do just that.

One of a myriad of services Samaritas provides is meeting refugee families at the airport, getting them to their new home (or transitional home if theirs is not ready), and providing them with a hot meal. These families have traveled long hours on multiple flights, most after having lived in refugee camps abroad for an average of 3 years. Three. Years. They've been through an exhaustive 13 step process (in some cases, 14) just to be eligible to come to the United States, and are finally seeing their dream of restarting their lives begin to unfold. They still have a long way to go once they arrive, and an extensive list of things they must do within the first 3 months to remain here, but just managing to get here at all is huge step.

Last week I had the privilege to go along with a Samaritas caseworker to meet an Afghan family of 8 at the airport. Our job was to greet them as they exited airport security, help them get their luggage, drive them to their new home (in this case, "home" was a hotel for 2 nights before their permanent home was ready), feed them a hot meal, and get them acquainted with whatever they immediately needed to know before we left them to get their much needed rest. I was full of excitement, anticipation, and honestly, a touch of anxiety as I followed the caseworker to the airport that evening. What would they be like? What would they think of me? How would we communicate? How do I make sure I communicate mutual respect rather than pity? I prayed and prayed all the way there for God to use me how He wanted, and to keep myself from getting in the way.

We ended up waiting around for quite a bit, trying to make sure we hadn't missed their arrival even though we were right on time and so was their flight. When I found out that the family consisted of the mother and father and 6 children ages 2-12 years old, I realized they would most likely be the last ones off the plane. I know I would hang back and let other passengers off first to make it easier for me to get my 4 kids off the plane if it were me. Add two more children to the mix and the fact that this was their 4th flight in roughly 36 hours and I knew they'd be the last ones to disembark. Sure enough, as the Pilot rounded the corner to the last security checkpoint, he was followed closely by a very large family who were visibly exhausted and confused. Finally we had our new neighbors in sight.

The father led his family to us, smile on his face, repeating the words "Thank you. Thank you." The fact that the father was with them and not stuck back in their home country, in the refugee camp, or dead, meant that this family had fared better than most as the majority of refugees arriving in the U.S. are women and children alone. The mother and children were straight up exhausted and the youngest boy was in full on meltdown mode as the father tried to explain to us something about losing his toy bike at one checkpoint. I looked sympathetically at the mother as I have a bit of experience in the toddler tantrum area and, I must say, she handled it better than I used to! This was the first of many moments to come where I was struck with the realization that, deep down where it matters, we are all the same. She may have been covered head to toe in a burka but, when our eyes met, the connection of mother to mother was the same as if I'd seen her in the check out at Trader Joe's.

Suddenly we were greeted by two other men and a young boy who we'd seen waiting in the airport earlier. They embraced the father and exchanged greetings in their native tongue. The caseworker turned to me and said "They have friends here, thank God!". Having just arrived in a new country totally different from their own in so many ways, having these familiar faces to help them navigate all they need to accomplish within the next 90 days would be a enormous blessing. Already they were helping to relay information from the father (who spoke some English) to us. We all headed to baggage claim, except the tantruming 2 year old. He took a little more convincing. Kids. :o)

Once the baggage carousel had rotated for the final time, we realized their luggage had not made the flight. The men and caseworker sprung into action while the mother and children sat down to wait. I tried my best to make it obvious, through warm smiles and glances, that I was willing to try to communicate with them if they were interested. I had downloaded a translating app to my phone just in case, but I could tell they were completely worn out. I couldn't blame them; what a journey they had just made from Afghanistan, to Germany, to Washington D.C., and finally Detroit. I wasn't going to push them any further as I would've appreciated the same if it were me in their shoes.

There were 8 total seats where we were, and two of the sisters had left one empty between them, so I sat down. I wanted the family, and any others who glanced our way in the airport (which was pretty much everyone) to get the sense that they belonged here, that this is their home. As I sat there people watching, noticing just how diverse the population of that baggage claim area was, I was overcome by a sense of peace. I felt that, even though I was really not doing anything, God was doing something. He always is, isn't He? The girl to my right nodded off, the little boy had calmed down, the mother seemed to be fighting off sleep herself, and the young girl to my left was curious about my iPhone. People are people. I would meet each of their tentative glances with a smile, and each time their travel weary faces softened a little more.

After a little while the caseworker told me I could head home since their friends wanted to help drive them from the airport. On one hand I was disappointed not to be able to help further, but on the other I realized that, at this point all they wanted to do was get to the hotel, eat, and rest, and they had all the help they needed. I stood up to go and the young girl who had been sitting to my left subtly glanced at me and met my gaze. I stopped, smiled, and waved goodbye, and she smiled back. I would never have thought that a simple smile from a complete stranger would warm my heart so much as this one did. I'll never forget it.

It is simple, really, to live as Jesus commands us. To love our neighbor as ourselves is second only to loving God himself.  To God, everyone is a neighbor, regardless of how close they live to us. Don't let yourself be tricked into thinking that this is a difficult thing to do. Extending basic human decency to others in need is something we can all do. I challenge everyone to find a way to do it everyday. I promise you that the blessings you pour on others in even the most seemingly small ways will splash back onto you many times over. I played the tiniest of parts in welcoming a new family to our country, but the impact it had on me will last a lifetime. Now I'm hooked.