Middle of Everywhere - Mary Bray Pipher [30]
When I ask refugees what America means to them, many say, "Freedom." This may mean many things. To the Kurdish sisters it is the freedom to wear stylish American clothes and walk about freely. It's the freedom to go swimming and shopping and make a living. To many of the poor and disenfranchised, it is the radical message that everyone has rights, even though at first many refugees do not know what their rights are.
America means a system of laws, a house, a job, and a school for every child. In America people can strive for happiness, not even a concept in some parts of the world. They are free to become whomever they want to become. Refugees learn they can speak their minds, write, and travel. They shed the constraints of more traditional cultures. As one Bulgarian woman put it to me, "In America, the wives do not have to get up and make the husbands' breakfasts."
People from all over the world want to come here. They want a chance at the American dream. They come because they want to survive and be safe and anywhere is better than where they were. However, the process of adjusting is incredibly traumatic. The Kurdish sisters were in culture shock for about six months. After a year, they are still deeply in debt, lonely, haunted by the past, and struggling to master our language and our culture. They are overwhelmed every time their bills arrive. Nasreen and Zeenat still dream nightly of their homeland.
It is difficult to describe or even imagine the challenges of getting started in a new country. Imagine yourself dropped in downtown Rio de Janeiro or Khartoum with no money, no friends, and no understanding of how that culture works. Imagine you have six months to learn the language and everything you need to know to support your family. Of course, that isn't a fair comparison because you know that the earth is round, what a bank is, and how to drive a car. And you have most likely not been tortured or seen family members killed within the last few months.
Picture yourself dropped in the Sudanese grasslands with no tools or knowledge about how to survive and no ways to communicate with the locals or ask for advice. Imagine yourself wondering where the clean water is, where and what food is, and what you should do about the bites on your feet, and your sunburn, and the lion stalking you. Unless a kind and generous Sudanese takes you in and helps you adjust, you would be a goner.
Chapter 3
Into the HEART of the HEARTLAND
LINH
"I will never see my brothers again."
A teacher who loved and respected Linh set up a meeting between us. Linh had been a straight-A student in high school and college, but this year she was discouraged with college. She had been skipping classes and had resigned from many activities, which she had formerly led.
We met at The Mill, a coffeehouse near campus. Linh was tall and thin and wore jeans, a sweatshirt, and a delicate Asian necklace. Like many Vietnamese, she spoke less clearly than she wrote. (This is the opposite of Arabic-speaking people who quickly learn to speak English, but have a hard time with our written language.)
I apologized for scheduling our meeting over her noon hour, but she said that she always skipped lunch anyway, to keep her weight down. I said, "That's a very American thing to do."
She smiled softly. "Vietnamese girls worry about weight all die time."
I thanked her for the gift of her time and asked her how long she had been in this country. She responded, "Five years." Then, without any questions from me, Linh told me about her history. She had five living brothers and one older sister, but only one of her brothers was in Nebraska. One of her brothers had died during the war when her parents were running from soldiers. The other brothers