Middle of Everywhere - Mary Bray Pipher [91]
Saif marveled that Americans teach their children to guard their toys. Iraqi children were taught to be generous. He said that in Iraq, there was really no concept of private property, only the concept of need and distribution. Hamid told me, "If you need something, everyone, even strangers, will give it to you."
Saif told me a story to demonstrate Iraqi generosity. When he was first in Sacramento, he slept in the bed of a countryman who worked nights. He said, "When this guy had a night off, he would make me sleep in the bed. He slept on the floor beside my bed. He didn't even have a cover for himself."
The Iraqis laughed about how some Americans didn't want others in their driveways or on their property, or were afraid of each other. Once Hamid tried to help a man at an ATM. As he moved near him, the man looked scared and ran away. They had all been warned to lock doors and watch out for criminals. In Iraq, they all passionately assured me, except for the government, they could trust everyone.
These men seemed sad as we talked of Iraq. No doubt they had idealized some, but they also genuinely missed their homeland and their families. They all wanted to go back, but they felt it was unlikely they ever would. In America, Saif wanted to become a home health aid. He spoke earnestly of his desire to make the world a better place. Hamid and Mamduh wanted eventually to run a business together. Mamduh joked, "He will be the boss; I will be the employee."
Hamid said that working in a factory he felt like a person of no real value. Mamduh said that none of them could make enough money to buy a house or a car. They were trapped in poverty.
I feared this was true. In spite of their good manners and nice clothes, the feet that these men couldn't read or write in English condemned them to menial work. They had no family or community support and were working at difficult jobs for less than a livable wage. Yet, they were generous with what they had—time and stories. They had lost so much—their homeland, their youth, their language, and their hopes for a traditional life. What was striking was that they had held on to their humanity.
Chapter 8
FAMILY—"A BUNDLE of STICKS CANNOT BE BROKEN"
EVEN START
On a snowy night in late November, I arrived at my favorite conversational Even Start class. This class had three Vietnamese women, Yen, Ha, and Bao, and two Latinas, Rosa from Mexico and Maria from El Salvador. Even Start is a program offered by our public schools to teach English to the parents of ELL students. It is an expensive program, involving transportation, child care, special materials, and ELL teachers. Classes are held in different schools at different times of the day.
I attended an evening class of mothers from Latin America and Vietnam. They arrived on a bus with all their kids in tow and, while they studied and recited, their children played in the next room. Most of the mothers had been in factories all day, but they were happy to be in class and eager to learn.
Ha's husband was disabled and she supported him and five children by working at the water-bed factory. She was tired but good-natured, except when she talked about her teenage daughter. Bao was older than the others and she looked it. Bossy, funny, and filled with newcomer zest, she had most of the attributes of resilience, plus a close family and a community of friends. With her ponytail and makeup, Yen looked like a teenager, but she had six kids and worked full time with Bao and Ha. Rosa was fresh off the bus. She was shy and didn't work outside the home. She had two preschool-age children and was pregnant. Maria, from El Salvador, had six kids and cooked at a Mexican restaurant.
The teacher, Miss Wendy, a redhead from