So San Win and Oh Mar will start work next week. The daily drudgery will earn them minimum wages with which they will buy all they want, all they can. But $7.50 an hour for 40 hours a week will not take them too far into the aisles.
They told me about their job at the laundrmart Sunday. A sewing company hired them.
Obviously they are excited.
I am happy for them too. And relieved too. Now at least they can buy shoes and some warm clothes.
In the chilly November months, they wear sandals. When I ask them, they smile. Then they tell me they will buy shoes when they get their first salary.
Sometimes, I wonder if they negotiated for this life.
The other day at my apartment, Oh Mar told me she wanted to come to America. It was a big price she paid for it. Her parents are still in Myanmar. She will visit them in 2010, she said.
Often I wonder what makes us leave our countries. Often it is war, persecution...sometimes it is the lure of a better life, free of wants, free of expectations that society heaps on us.
Why did I want to leave?
I guess I was just curious.
For Oh Mar and San Win, it is from one camp to the other till they can go back to their country. That homeland...it is always there, our hearts clutching to that faint notion with so much ferocity and tenderness lest the fragile dream breaks.
This is not their country, they said.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Monday, November 05, 2007
Somali Bantus - from A Hut to an Apartment
By chinki sinha
Seeking home...
They killed Jeylani Hassan's mother after they raped her. And then the soldiers raped his sister and shot his younger brother, seven at the time, because he happened to offend them. As Hassan recalled the days of terror that made escape from Somalia the only option, his eyes seemed to reflect the horror that he witnessed.
Hassan had stood there, petrified, he said. The soldiers from Mogadishu, who roamed around killing and raping, had guns. One wrong reaction and he too would have been dead.
"You could not even cry. They (soldiers) were scary," he said. As he spoke, his friend Amjad, folded his pants to show bullet marks on his right thigh. He saw his seven brothers being shot at the same time by the soldiers. They had left him for dead in a carnage that left around 5,000 dead in his village. Ahmad, bleeding, crawled 500 feet to safety where people rescued him.
The soldiers were everywhere. There was no escaping them but by traveling to Kenya. And the travel would take days. They had to walk through the deserts, the swamps and fields - without food or water.
"It took seven days. No food, no water. We had like one gallon and 700 people," he said.
Sidi, another refugee from Somalia, said he had no choice but to drink urine as that was the only way to survive.
When the time to leave came, there were no goodbyes. Hassan's family members ran in different directions. He lost his father and siblings, he said. And like thousands of other displaced people, he walked to what he thought was safe haven. In some ways the refugee camp in Kenya represented what they had always sought - security. But the refugee camp was mid-way between heaven and hell. They could not go out. They had rationed food, had to live in one-room tenements with many people, and had no work. There were around 50,000 refugees in the camp from Sudan, Somalia, Uganda and other African nations that had been ravaged by dictatorships and civil wars.
Hassan lived in the refugee camp in Kenya for 12 years. It was bad in Kenya, he said, "We could not go out. We did nothing," he said.
He met his uncle and aunt in the refugee camp and now after 14 years, he has finally found his father, who is still in the refugee camp.
Now Hassan lives in Utica, works as a cleaner at Planet Fitness and dreams of going to school. Eventually, he wants to go back to Kenya to help and meet his own people. Also, he thinks he has better opportunities in Africa now that he knows English. Some of it he learned at the refugee camp in Kenya.
"I will be a big manager there. If I know little English, I can get a good job in Africa," he said.
But the option of returning to Somalia does not exist. "I don't think Somalia is going to be fine. There are many tribes and there is in-fighting. Everybody is killing someone," he said.
There are around 236 refugees in Utica from Somalia. Most of them are Somali Bantus. A few arrived in 1996 but the bulk started coming in 2003 and after.
Somali Republic gained independence in 1960. However, things got worse with in-fighting between various tribes. There is no national government in place to control the civil war and parts of Somalia are controlled by rebel groups and military. This has resulted in mass starvation and displacement of thousands of people over the years. Even after years of intervention, order is yet to be restored.
Life is tougher in America than what they thought. First there are the differences in culture and then there are bills to pay.
"In Africa you take the money and keep it in your pocket," said Hassan. Here, he has to worry about insurance bills, phone bills, rent, and electricity bills. In his village, they did not have electricity. Last month he received a phone bill for $500 and he just threw the phone out of the window. Nine dollars an hour and 38 hours a week is not too much money even in Utica, where housing is cheap. And he has to send money to his friends and family, who are still in the camp.
"It is hard. Sometimes, they don't eat for two days, often nothing from morning to evening," he said.
Insurance is another issue. Hassan has been suffering from back pain but he does not go to the hospital. "I buy medicines at the store. I don't have Medicaid," he said.
There are myths too to deal with. There are many expectations to counter. "They say you have a good life. We explain but they do not believe," Hassan said, referring to the constant calls from friends and relatives in Africa asking for money. "With $100, a family of eight people can live in Somalia comfortably for two months," he added.
Hassan works from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. He wants to get the other shift so that he can attend college but it is difficult. Some of the men live together in a dorm-like setting with 2-3 mattresses thrown in a room. It is cheaper this way, they said. And till their families arrive, they live a shared life to save up enough to get a house and support them.
If life in Africa was hard and dangerous, American way of life intimidates Somali Bantus. Hassan and many like him, who now Utica their home lived in huts and were farmers. Some of them had never seen fans or even electric bulbs. They burned oil lamps and mostly lived on the farms.
The flight that took Hassan from Kenya to Nairobi was a small carrier and Hassan said he was terrified and felt lumps in his throat when there was turbulence. The bigger plane that brought him from Nairobi to United States was better, he said. And then he saw snow for the first time.
They are not used to the culture and way of life here.
When Hussein, another Somali Bantu who lives with Amjad, got his picture with his newly-wed wife taken at a studio in Somalia against the backdrop of Statue of Liberty and the skyline in New York City, he thought America would be a cure to all his problems. Now he is here and his two wives are still in Africa.
For them it is a huge shift in cultural and traditional roles, ways of work and even eating habits. They stick to each other, watch Indian movies, smoke and eat together.
"We meet other people but not like this," said Hassan referring to their interactions with other African people, refugees and the local community.
Hassan just broke up with his fiancée, who he met here. He does not like American girls. "They make trouble, they talk too much. They get drunk and wear little clothes," he said.
They are Muslims and their women are covered. Another thing that bothers Ahmad is how he will get his three wives here. They are all in the refugee camp still. Polygamy is common for Somali Bantus and it is not uncommon to have four wives.
"We follow Prophet Mohamed. He had four wives," said Hassan, hiding away his cigarettes. Did Prophet Mohamed smoke too? He smiled and said no.
For Amjad it is the costs involved with bringing up his four children here. "In Somalia we have no child support system after you separate from your wife. It is different here," he said.
Even here they have to fight the myths associated with being a refugee in the Promised Land, the United States. No. They do not just receive money from the government. They have to work hard for it.
The phone rang and Amjad pointed to the number flashing on the cell phone and said the call was from Africa. May be it is one of his wives calling. Amjad pays for their phone.
Suddenly, all six of them started laughing. Hassan said his wives are asking for money. "They always call for money. That is the only thing," he said.
The struggles remain. Many of the Somali Bantus like Utica but have no attachment.
"Everything is somehow," said Hassan, summing up what many Somali Bantus feel. They are waiting for things to get better. Maybe it will be too long before they settle down and call Utica home.
NOTE- Some names have been used in part to protect the identities of people
This was written as part of series on refugees and integration in America that I worked on during summer of 2006.
Seeking home...
They killed Jeylani Hassan's mother after they raped her. And then the soldiers raped his sister and shot his younger brother, seven at the time, because he happened to offend them. As Hassan recalled the days of terror that made escape from Somalia the only option, his eyes seemed to reflect the horror that he witnessed.
Hassan had stood there, petrified, he said. The soldiers from Mogadishu, who roamed around killing and raping, had guns. One wrong reaction and he too would have been dead.
"You could not even cry. They (soldiers) were scary," he said. As he spoke, his friend Amjad, folded his pants to show bullet marks on his right thigh. He saw his seven brothers being shot at the same time by the soldiers. They had left him for dead in a carnage that left around 5,000 dead in his village. Ahmad, bleeding, crawled 500 feet to safety where people rescued him.
The soldiers were everywhere. There was no escaping them but by traveling to Kenya. And the travel would take days. They had to walk through the deserts, the swamps and fields - without food or water.
"It took seven days. No food, no water. We had like one gallon and 700 people," he said.
Sidi, another refugee from Somalia, said he had no choice but to drink urine as that was the only way to survive.
When the time to leave came, there were no goodbyes. Hassan's family members ran in different directions. He lost his father and siblings, he said. And like thousands of other displaced people, he walked to what he thought was safe haven. In some ways the refugee camp in Kenya represented what they had always sought - security. But the refugee camp was mid-way between heaven and hell. They could not go out. They had rationed food, had to live in one-room tenements with many people, and had no work. There were around 50,000 refugees in the camp from Sudan, Somalia, Uganda and other African nations that had been ravaged by dictatorships and civil wars.
Hassan lived in the refugee camp in Kenya for 12 years. It was bad in Kenya, he said, "We could not go out. We did nothing," he said.
He met his uncle and aunt in the refugee camp and now after 14 years, he has finally found his father, who is still in the refugee camp.
Now Hassan lives in Utica, works as a cleaner at Planet Fitness and dreams of going to school. Eventually, he wants to go back to Kenya to help and meet his own people. Also, he thinks he has better opportunities in Africa now that he knows English. Some of it he learned at the refugee camp in Kenya.
"I will be a big manager there. If I know little English, I can get a good job in Africa," he said.
But the option of returning to Somalia does not exist. "I don't think Somalia is going to be fine. There are many tribes and there is in-fighting. Everybody is killing someone," he said.
There are around 236 refugees in Utica from Somalia. Most of them are Somali Bantus. A few arrived in 1996 but the bulk started coming in 2003 and after.
Somali Republic gained independence in 1960. However, things got worse with in-fighting between various tribes. There is no national government in place to control the civil war and parts of Somalia are controlled by rebel groups and military. This has resulted in mass starvation and displacement of thousands of people over the years. Even after years of intervention, order is yet to be restored.
Life is tougher in America than what they thought. First there are the differences in culture and then there are bills to pay.
"In Africa you take the money and keep it in your pocket," said Hassan. Here, he has to worry about insurance bills, phone bills, rent, and electricity bills. In his village, they did not have electricity. Last month he received a phone bill for $500 and he just threw the phone out of the window. Nine dollars an hour and 38 hours a week is not too much money even in Utica, where housing is cheap. And he has to send money to his friends and family, who are still in the camp.
"It is hard. Sometimes, they don't eat for two days, often nothing from morning to evening," he said.
Insurance is another issue. Hassan has been suffering from back pain but he does not go to the hospital. "I buy medicines at the store. I don't have Medicaid," he said.
There are myths too to deal with. There are many expectations to counter. "They say you have a good life. We explain but they do not believe," Hassan said, referring to the constant calls from friends and relatives in Africa asking for money. "With $100, a family of eight people can live in Somalia comfortably for two months," he added.
Hassan works from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. He wants to get the other shift so that he can attend college but it is difficult. Some of the men live together in a dorm-like setting with 2-3 mattresses thrown in a room. It is cheaper this way, they said. And till their families arrive, they live a shared life to save up enough to get a house and support them.
If life in Africa was hard and dangerous, American way of life intimidates Somali Bantus. Hassan and many like him, who now Utica their home lived in huts and were farmers. Some of them had never seen fans or even electric bulbs. They burned oil lamps and mostly lived on the farms.
The flight that took Hassan from Kenya to Nairobi was a small carrier and Hassan said he was terrified and felt lumps in his throat when there was turbulence. The bigger plane that brought him from Nairobi to United States was better, he said. And then he saw snow for the first time.
They are not used to the culture and way of life here.
When Hussein, another Somali Bantu who lives with Amjad, got his picture with his newly-wed wife taken at a studio in Somalia against the backdrop of Statue of Liberty and the skyline in New York City, he thought America would be a cure to all his problems. Now he is here and his two wives are still in Africa.
For them it is a huge shift in cultural and traditional roles, ways of work and even eating habits. They stick to each other, watch Indian movies, smoke and eat together.
"We meet other people but not like this," said Hassan referring to their interactions with other African people, refugees and the local community.
Hassan just broke up with his fiancée, who he met here. He does not like American girls. "They make trouble, they talk too much. They get drunk and wear little clothes," he said.
They are Muslims and their women are covered. Another thing that bothers Ahmad is how he will get his three wives here. They are all in the refugee camp still. Polygamy is common for Somali Bantus and it is not uncommon to have four wives.
"We follow Prophet Mohamed. He had four wives," said Hassan, hiding away his cigarettes. Did Prophet Mohamed smoke too? He smiled and said no.
For Amjad it is the costs involved with bringing up his four children here. "In Somalia we have no child support system after you separate from your wife. It is different here," he said.
Even here they have to fight the myths associated with being a refugee in the Promised Land, the United States. No. They do not just receive money from the government. They have to work hard for it.
The phone rang and Amjad pointed to the number flashing on the cell phone and said the call was from Africa. May be it is one of his wives calling. Amjad pays for their phone.
Suddenly, all six of them started laughing. Hassan said his wives are asking for money. "They always call for money. That is the only thing," he said.
The struggles remain. Many of the Somali Bantus like Utica but have no attachment.
"Everything is somehow," said Hassan, summing up what many Somali Bantus feel. They are waiting for things to get better. Maybe it will be too long before they settle down and call Utica home.
NOTE- Some names have been used in part to protect the identities of people
This was written as part of series on refugees and integration in America that I worked on during summer of 2006.
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