Last year, while volunteering for a local organization, I met a girl named Khadija -- a giggly twelve year old with bright, sparkling eyes who, along with her family, which included a paraplegic sister, managed to travel millions of miles from the Central African Republic. "Here..." she exclaimed excitedly, "I can finally dream of being something." I also met the Djabo family, who was just thankful that they could get up every morning and actually hear sounds of quiet and serenity rather than the sounds of gunshots in the background. And there was Rashida, who lived in multiple refugee camps where there were no schools, and now finally at age 19, she is enrolled in 8th grade here in the U.S. -- a fact that she was thrilled about.
As the summer came around, like the other thousands of high school students, I had to figure out what I wanted to do. The reality of summer is unlike the one that we might have envisioned -- (you know the High School Musical 2 type summer -- working in a country club with your friends like Troy Bolton). But this summer's choice was easy -- I knew where I wanted to work. I applied as a camp counselor and was accepted for an internship for a summer camp for refugee kids in grades K-6.
On my first day, I didn't know what to expect. I walked in, and saw all the kids smiling and coloring, with not a care in the world. They were just kids being kids! I went around and asked them their names and where they were from; most were from Nepal, Afghanistan, Congo, Myanmar, or Malaysia, but there were many more as well; it was like a little map of the world. The kids were split into three classes according to age. Each class had its own dynamic personality and atmosphere; they were all so different. The younger ones were absolutely adorable and loved learning cool facts, and surprisingly, loved cooking as well. The middle ones were the ones I worked with the most; there were so many different types of kids in that one class, and it was amazing to get to know them and work with them all. They had their disagreements, but when it came to things like music, dancing, or being read a story at the end of the day, they would all come together. The older ones were more mature, and walked with an air of confidence that was amazing to see. But what stood out among all of these kids was their curiosity and exuberance -- they would get so excited about something that they would start speak their native languages, forgetting that I could understand many of them. They never failed to point out anything that interested them, or ask the most bizarre questions, like if there were security cameras on all the planets to capture footage of aliens or if houses could fly so we wouldn't need cars.
When I would ask the kids about how they like it in America, a lot of them would talk wistfully about their home and would explain that they liked it better in their native country. They would talk about the smells and sounds of the homes they left, and the friends and families that they missed. Most people would think, "But why would they miss a home full of violence?" The bottom line is, it feels strange for them to adjust here, in a land like America where almost everything is different from their hometowns. And these children were so young while they were going through it, most of the absurdity of it went straight over their heads. While being with them, I realized that it really wasn't their choice -- they just had no other option. A Somali poet very aptly wrote:
I want to go home
But home is the mouth of a shark
Home is the barrel of the gun
And no one would leave home
Unless home chased you to the shore
Unless home told you to quicken your legs
Leave your clothes behind
Crawl through the desert
Wade through the oceans
America is the place that these refugees are made to call home. They come here -- not just looking for security or prosperity -- but in search of hope. And it is that feeling of hope that helps them through. Even in all these feelings of alienation, there is still a strong feeling of belonging. There is a common thread of struggle and courage. They don't feel like outcasts in this group of themselves -- it's a precious mutual bond that they share and will always share.
All of them loved to learn and never failed to think outside the box. Their hands would shoot up whenever a question was asked. Although some of them could hardly speak English but they all tried hard. Some people forget that they're still kids; they need and want anything that an average child growing up here wants: games, playtime, yummy food, movies, and more. Just playing chess or connect four with them would brighten their day. Since they haven't been exposed to these luxuries very long, they found so much joy in them, whereas a privileged kid growing up here who is attending a summer camp (I've counseled those kids too, trust me I'm not exaggerating) would just complain about how they can't use their cell phones during camp, and how much more fun they would be having at home.
Working with these kids is an experience different to anything that I may have encountered in my lifetime. On paper it might seem like I did some good -- I was supposed to be teaching them. But in all honesty, I learned more about life and hope from them than they did from me. The sad frowns and gloomy eyes they gave us when we told them (at the very end of camp) that none of the teachers would be coming back for the school year were unbearable; those last hugs I'll savor forever. You hear about refugees every day. The horrific images are posted and shared widely; people lament about it, but after the initial outrage, there is silence. After all, we say to ourselves, what can be done about a situation millions of miles away? But in this case, where I met them was just mere 30 minutes away from my world. When you meet them, you realize how lame your first world problems are (why do I have nothing to wear even though my closet is full?). These extraordinary people started their journey of thousand miles, literally with a single step -- their journey might be long and tedious, but we can help them along at their stops.