Middle of Everywhere - Mary Bray Pipher [57]
The spelling words—"toothbrush," "toothpaste," "soap," "comb"—were to be used in sentences. Khoa called toothbrushes "toothbutts," and everyone laughed. Grace said, "No more nasty stuff now, Khoa." Deena returned from the nurse and I asked about her family. She whispered, "My mother wants to go back to Bosnia."
Grace showed the class health books. One about hair was entitled Mama, Do You Love Me? Khoa joked about flakes in hair and about Ignazio's cowlick. Fatima explained that in her country women wore veils when they went out. She said that only little girls could wear shorts. Older girls must wear dresses.
Ignazio explained that it was hard to stay clean in Mexico. Some mornings there was water and sometimes there wasn't. He said there were rats, not like Nibbles who loved to play, but rats that bit and stole the family's corn. Mai said that her mother had gotten sick in Vietnam because of dirty water. Fatima said that it was the same in Iraq, not enough water and big mean rats. For some reason this got Walat thinking of Iraq. He told the class that in Iraq his dad was rich, but his enemies had threatened to hurt them. They had to move. Abdul had been drawing dolphins. But as he listened to Walat, he switched to sharks.
Grace said the kids could draw something from their old countries. Trinh drew a river with black water. Mai drew a picture of her hut in Vietnam. In front was her mother, a stick figure, holding the hand of Mai, also a stick figure, but with a big smile.
Many refugees yearn for connection with missing or dead parents. Grace encouraged them to bring pictures of their family to school and to look at or kiss the picture whenever they felt like it. She recommended they bring an object from the missing parent. Kids are concrete thinkers and can more easily imagine a parent if they are touching something that stands for the parent.
Ly drew a plane that looked like a silver bird. She told me the villagers thought that she rode on this silver bird to her home in the clouds. She giggled, "We thought America would be in the sky."
Khoa drew a rice field with an old man in it and said, "That is my dead grandpa." Walat drew his fancy home that was burned down by his father's enemies. Pavel drew a picture of his family at a dinner table with empty plates and he said, "In Russia people had no money to buy soup." Deena drew a street filled with dead bodies.
I marveled at these kids' resilience. Many had only been here a few months. They had been starved, shot at, and terrorized, and yet here they were drawing and talking. Some seemed more mangled emotionally than others. Walat and Ly were in good shape; Ignazio and Pavel were basically comfortable with their lives. However, Khoa's constant hyperactive chatter suggested a bad case of nerves, and Trinh and Abdul seemed almost mute from the stress of living in war zones. It is not surprising that traumatized kids who don't speak much English have trouble learning. What is surprising is given their circumstances how much and how quickly most kids learn.
Grace and I talked about rituals—lighting a candle in memory of relatives who died in a war or making a toast to what one most appreciates—small acts that can have great power. I suggested a flower day in the spring when everyone could bring flowers for the people they loved who were no longer with them.
November 4, 1999
The day was cool and cloudy, the sycamore's brown leaves blew in the wind. A few swirled to the ground. When I arrived at the classroom, Walat was drawing a map of train tracks with switching stations and overpasses. Deena looked at a book on horses as she caressed Nibbles. When she smiled at me, I noticed her two front teeth were missing. Mai read a book about a girl who ran away from