"They know I have come to forget. They are not even mildly curious of my life or the place I belong to...It is as if they know they live in the most spectacular corner of the world...So when you come here, it does not matter what you left behind. You stand with you mouth open. Because these are mountains, they can fill anything up."
Tishani Doshi
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
why are we here
It is strange how some of the best stories that could change things, make us more tolerant and maybe help us understand and appreciate "others" never get into the newspapers.
Is it because these poor, not-so-elite people are not target audience for the publication? Or maybe those who are at the helm of affairs think these stories are just not important? Why should the readers care, they ask.
Stories on a retail store opening make it to the front page, stories planted by agencies get a thinck headline, but seldom do these stories that tell us of our own biases, of the others' struggles and stories that just reflect the naked, ugly truth that many of us can't bear to see.
Or is it because we don't want the truth?
There could be a thousand reasons. And none justify the neglect of these issues.
Maybe that's why I appreciate the opportunity to blog. At least someone will read it. Maybe it will make someone think, and maybe act.
And then my job is done.
Is it because these poor, not-so-elite people are not target audience for the publication? Or maybe those who are at the helm of affairs think these stories are just not important? Why should the readers care, they ask.
Stories on a retail store opening make it to the front page, stories planted by agencies get a thinck headline, but seldom do these stories that tell us of our own biases, of the others' struggles and stories that just reflect the naked, ugly truth that many of us can't bear to see.
Or is it because we don't want the truth?
There could be a thousand reasons. And none justify the neglect of these issues.
Maybe that's why I appreciate the opportunity to blog. At least someone will read it. Maybe it will make someone think, and maybe act.
And then my job is done.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
where to begin
‘A big challenge’ for MAMI instructors
Oct 20, 2007 @ 11:48 PM
By CHINKI SINHA
Observer-Dispatch
As Terry Chabot and Liliana Vidovic prepare to teach a class of future interpreters, they often wonder where to begin.
The class is a mixed group. A few are professional; others have limited education.
There also is a huge cultural barrier.
“It is a big challenge to keep the brilliant students on board while not overwhelming the new ones,” said Chabot, a registered nurse who teaches medical terminology with MAMI.
Both instructors begin by recognizing the various backgrounds. Sometimes they put a little flag of a student’s country on his or her desk.
Vidovic, a Bosnian refugee who teaches ethics of professional interpreting, said she shares a lot of her experiences with the students, just so they can identify.
“I use a lot of examples,” she said. “You have to be fluent in both cultures.”
Not long ago, she was interpreting for a woman who was wrongly put in a mental health facility at a local hospital because the untrained interpreter did not understand the cultural context.
In a regular session with her doctor, she had said if she did not get more help around the house, she was going to kill someone. She wasn’t serious, Vidovic said.
“The translator interpreted word to word, not by meaning,” she recalled.
The woman had been at the hospital for a few hours when Vidovic came to her rescue.
Chabot, who has been with MAMI since 2005, has encountered similar situations.
“People from other cultures use traditional remedies,” Chabot said.
Interpreters need to know those remedies in order to help the doctor serve them better.
Also, as a professional interpreter, one has to maintain confidentiality and step back from interfering to let the patients make their own decisions, she said.
Oct 20, 2007 @ 11:48 PM
By CHINKI SINHA
Observer-Dispatch
As Terry Chabot and Liliana Vidovic prepare to teach a class of future interpreters, they often wonder where to begin.
The class is a mixed group. A few are professional; others have limited education.
There also is a huge cultural barrier.
“It is a big challenge to keep the brilliant students on board while not overwhelming the new ones,” said Chabot, a registered nurse who teaches medical terminology with MAMI.
Both instructors begin by recognizing the various backgrounds. Sometimes they put a little flag of a student’s country on his or her desk.
Vidovic, a Bosnian refugee who teaches ethics of professional interpreting, said she shares a lot of her experiences with the students, just so they can identify.
“I use a lot of examples,” she said. “You have to be fluent in both cultures.”
Not long ago, she was interpreting for a woman who was wrongly put in a mental health facility at a local hospital because the untrained interpreter did not understand the cultural context.
In a regular session with her doctor, she had said if she did not get more help around the house, she was going to kill someone. She wasn’t serious, Vidovic said.
“The translator interpreted word to word, not by meaning,” she recalled.
The woman had been at the hospital for a few hours when Vidovic came to her rescue.
Chabot, who has been with MAMI since 2005, has encountered similar situations.
“People from other cultures use traditional remedies,” Chabot said.
Interpreters need to know those remedies in order to help the doctor serve them better.
Also, as a professional interpreter, one has to maintain confidentiality and step back from interfering to let the patients make their own decisions, she said.
making sense of the new world
Immigrant community’s growth spurs the need for interpreters
Oct 20, 2007 @ 11:43 PM
By CHINKI SINHA
Observer-Dispatch
UTICA – MAMI ko talash hai nayi bhashaon ke jaankaron ki.
If you can understand the statement above, which is written in Hindi/Urdu, then you know you’re needed at MAMI, a local agency that provides interpreter services.
As the number of non-English speakers in the community grows – fueled by new refugees from Asia and Africa – the demand for interpreters for new languages is growing, according to officials of Multicultural Association of Medical Interpreters of Central New York.
Often that demand is hard to meet. About 10 percent of the population in Utica is composed of immigrants and refugees. While refugees do need help with language, many immigrants, especially seniors or women, also require help with interpretation while seeking medical help.
‘We need to find people’
“We are always looking to add more languages,” MAMI's Director Cornelia Brown said. “We even get requests for Polish. We need to find people who are curious and appreciative. They need to make the commitment of time and energy.”
MAMI recently started its 18th training session in Utica for those interested in becoming an interpreter. With 14 to 15 students taking the course, it is a good class
size, but not quite enough to maintain a high level of service.
Not only have they not found a Farsi or a Vietnamese speaker, there is only one Arabic-speaking woman and one Somali speaker in the class.
The organization also is seeking to add more depth to its existing repertoire of languages, such as Burmese, Arabic and Russian.
“We would appreciate more,” Brown said. “We are still looking to tutor Burmese.”
Already the staff is too busy, and resources are often stretched to the limit, Brown said.
Ali Juma, one of the two full-time Somali/Mai Mai interpreters at MAMI, said it is often difficult to be the bridge, which is how he describes his job. Late-night calls to help women in labor, domestic violence and abuse cases make for a tough job, he said.
“Most of the time I am so busy,” he said. “We connect the provider and the patient.”
One patient’s story
One such patient is Jamila Dume. She was pregnant with Abdaqadir in 2005 when she had been lying down outside the Mohawk Valley Resource Center for Refugees, writhing in pain.
A Somali Bantu refugee who came to the United States in 2004, she knew no English and did not know who to ask for help. Then she saw Lul Mohamed coming her way.
Mohamed, an interpreter with MAMI, helped Dume see a doctor. When Mohamed translated her fears and her pain from one language to another, Dume finally made herself heard.
She was so relieved, she said of Mohamed’s translating for her.
In the beginning, Dume had gone to English as a Second Language classes, but hadn’t been able to learn much. Mostly, because she had never learned to read or write in Mai Mai, her native language.
“I know nothing. I don’t think I can learn anything. I just go to MAMI office,” she said.
Letters from Department of Social Services, schools, doctors – she takes them all to the MAMI office.
“We just help them,” Mohamed said.
Burmese refugees
Another group that requires help with language is refugees from Myanmar, formerly Burma. About 321 refugees from Myanmar came to Utica in August and September, joining many that already arrived.
Among them is Mar Met.
While Met is trying to make sense of the new world through bits and pieces of English that he picked up in the camps in Thailand, the meaning is often lost in translation and chaos returns.
The Burmese/Karen or the Bosnian staff at MAMI are busy around the clock. MAMI currently has one Burmese/Karen staff and four independent contractors, officials said. Yet MAMI is struggling to catch up.
“We are anticipating high demand,” she said.
Immigrant’s tale
Also in demand is Arabic-speaking interpreters.
Enas Alkhader is from Yemen and is the only Arabic-speaking student in the class learning how to interpret for those seeking help in her community.
She already has helped neighbors, friends and others make sense of such things as their prescriptions and doctor appointments. But a “he said and she said” approach doesn’t really work very well, she said. When her neighbor Liliana Vidovic told her about MAMI’s training program, she enrolled.
“They are mistreated, they can’t even say they are in pain,” Alkhader said. “A lot of people just shake their heads … they just take the medication.”
Most people in her community – Lebanese, Egyptians, and those from Yemen – can speak English. It is the elderly who often need help.
Then after the Sept. 11 terror attacks, most of the Arab community in Utica dept to themselves fearing bad treatment because of stereotyping, she said.
“They don’t try to involve themselves,” she said. “We were the victims, too.”
Alkhader is concerned the class does not have more Arabic-speaking students. She asked MAMI’s Cornelia Brown to promote the program more. The problem is not many people know help is there, or they could join these classes to help out others, she said.
“We need at least five between Utica and Syracuse,” she said.
Utica’s high diversity
MAMI offers about 25 languages, but that does not cover Utica’s diversity.
With attitude toward professional interpreting changing, people are warming up to the idea of having trained interpreters help them communicate instead of friends and family members who often edit out bad news or may make bad decisions.
“A lot of people are requiring interpretation,” Brown said. “We have all these languages here by virtue of who lives here.”
Changes in law have also generated more demand.
Under Title VI of the Civil Rights Act, any organization receiving federal funding must provide interpreters to speakers of other languages. While MAMI started in 1999, a cut in funding after 9/11 led the Mohawk Valley Resource Center for Refugees to consider other avenues to generate revenues.
So in 2004, refugee center launched fee-based interpreting services.
Now, the Refugee Center offers about 13 languages, according to Shelly Callahan of the center.
“We have contracts with numerous providers, hospitals, schools and others for whom we provide between 3,000 to 5,000 interpretations each year,” Executive Director Peter Vogelaar said.
That’s just an indication of the demand.
The organization also has added more services, such as 24-hour help for law enforcement agencies, area courts, and for mental-health patients.
Now, the organization is exploring the option to help in the financial-services area.
“Refugees need to buy homes,” Brown said.
Oct 20, 2007 @ 11:43 PM
By CHINKI SINHA
Observer-Dispatch
UTICA – MAMI ko talash hai nayi bhashaon ke jaankaron ki.
If you can understand the statement above, which is written in Hindi/Urdu, then you know you’re needed at MAMI, a local agency that provides interpreter services.
As the number of non-English speakers in the community grows – fueled by new refugees from Asia and Africa – the demand for interpreters for new languages is growing, according to officials of Multicultural Association of Medical Interpreters of Central New York.
Often that demand is hard to meet. About 10 percent of the population in Utica is composed of immigrants and refugees. While refugees do need help with language, many immigrants, especially seniors or women, also require help with interpretation while seeking medical help.
‘We need to find people’
“We are always looking to add more languages,” MAMI's Director Cornelia Brown said. “We even get requests for Polish. We need to find people who are curious and appreciative. They need to make the commitment of time and energy.”
MAMI recently started its 18th training session in Utica for those interested in becoming an interpreter. With 14 to 15 students taking the course, it is a good class
size, but not quite enough to maintain a high level of service.
Not only have they not found a Farsi or a Vietnamese speaker, there is only one Arabic-speaking woman and one Somali speaker in the class.
The organization also is seeking to add more depth to its existing repertoire of languages, such as Burmese, Arabic and Russian.
“We would appreciate more,” Brown said. “We are still looking to tutor Burmese.”
Already the staff is too busy, and resources are often stretched to the limit, Brown said.
Ali Juma, one of the two full-time Somali/Mai Mai interpreters at MAMI, said it is often difficult to be the bridge, which is how he describes his job. Late-night calls to help women in labor, domestic violence and abuse cases make for a tough job, he said.
“Most of the time I am so busy,” he said. “We connect the provider and the patient.”
One patient’s story
One such patient is Jamila Dume. She was pregnant with Abdaqadir in 2005 when she had been lying down outside the Mohawk Valley Resource Center for Refugees, writhing in pain.
A Somali Bantu refugee who came to the United States in 2004, she knew no English and did not know who to ask for help. Then she saw Lul Mohamed coming her way.
Mohamed, an interpreter with MAMI, helped Dume see a doctor. When Mohamed translated her fears and her pain from one language to another, Dume finally made herself heard.
She was so relieved, she said of Mohamed’s translating for her.
In the beginning, Dume had gone to English as a Second Language classes, but hadn’t been able to learn much. Mostly, because she had never learned to read or write in Mai Mai, her native language.
“I know nothing. I don’t think I can learn anything. I just go to MAMI office,” she said.
Letters from Department of Social Services, schools, doctors – she takes them all to the MAMI office.
“We just help them,” Mohamed said.
Burmese refugees
Another group that requires help with language is refugees from Myanmar, formerly Burma. About 321 refugees from Myanmar came to Utica in August and September, joining many that already arrived.
Among them is Mar Met.
While Met is trying to make sense of the new world through bits and pieces of English that he picked up in the camps in Thailand, the meaning is often lost in translation and chaos returns.
The Burmese/Karen or the Bosnian staff at MAMI are busy around the clock. MAMI currently has one Burmese/Karen staff and four independent contractors, officials said. Yet MAMI is struggling to catch up.
“We are anticipating high demand,” she said.
Immigrant’s tale
Also in demand is Arabic-speaking interpreters.
Enas Alkhader is from Yemen and is the only Arabic-speaking student in the class learning how to interpret for those seeking help in her community.
She already has helped neighbors, friends and others make sense of such things as their prescriptions and doctor appointments. But a “he said and she said” approach doesn’t really work very well, she said. When her neighbor Liliana Vidovic told her about MAMI’s training program, she enrolled.
“They are mistreated, they can’t even say they are in pain,” Alkhader said. “A lot of people just shake their heads … they just take the medication.”
Most people in her community – Lebanese, Egyptians, and those from Yemen – can speak English. It is the elderly who often need help.
Then after the Sept. 11 terror attacks, most of the Arab community in Utica dept to themselves fearing bad treatment because of stereotyping, she said.
“They don’t try to involve themselves,” she said. “We were the victims, too.”
Alkhader is concerned the class does not have more Arabic-speaking students. She asked MAMI’s Cornelia Brown to promote the program more. The problem is not many people know help is there, or they could join these classes to help out others, she said.
“We need at least five between Utica and Syracuse,” she said.
Utica’s high diversity
MAMI offers about 25 languages, but that does not cover Utica’s diversity.
With attitude toward professional interpreting changing, people are warming up to the idea of having trained interpreters help them communicate instead of friends and family members who often edit out bad news or may make bad decisions.
“A lot of people are requiring interpretation,” Brown said. “We have all these languages here by virtue of who lives here.”
Changes in law have also generated more demand.
Under Title VI of the Civil Rights Act, any organization receiving federal funding must provide interpreters to speakers of other languages. While MAMI started in 1999, a cut in funding after 9/11 led the Mohawk Valley Resource Center for Refugees to consider other avenues to generate revenues.
So in 2004, refugee center launched fee-based interpreting services.
Now, the Refugee Center offers about 13 languages, according to Shelly Callahan of the center.
“We have contracts with numerous providers, hospitals, schools and others for whom we provide between 3,000 to 5,000 interpretations each year,” Executive Director Peter Vogelaar said.
That’s just an indication of the demand.
The organization also has added more services, such as 24-hour help for law enforcement agencies, area courts, and for mental-health patients.
Now, the organization is exploring the option to help in the financial-services area.
“Refugees need to buy homes,” Brown said.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
in and out of their lives
Bollywood broke the ice between us. It became the common ground, at least for then.
Dev Anand, Rajesh Khanna, and Shahrukh Khan and Amitabh Bachchan. They knew them all. Even hummed some songs for me.
I had been cleaning my apartment when the phone rang. On the other side, Mar Met was trying to tell me they had cooked lunch for me, that I should come to Mary Street instead of Rutger Street. I had totally forgotten I was to visit the Burmese girls and have tea with them on Sunday, the second day of Eid.
I finally figured what Met was saying. Trusting my sense of direction, I did not bother to waste time looking at the map and got on the road. I did not want to be late.
It should be one of the streets branching off from Rutger Street, I thought.
But I ended up in the wrong part of the city. It being a Sunday, there was hardly anybody I could ask for directions. Also, I was in America. You don’t have paan-wallahs and rickshaw drivers here you could turn to for help. It had been so easy in India. You could just lower the window and ask.
In any case, I kept on driving. Finally saw this one guy. So I stopped the car. After several “excuse me”, he turned, smiled and got into the car. yes, without invitation. It would be better if we traveled together, he said, as he rolled up the car window.
His mouth stank of beer. I had been warned not to give rides to people. But he seemed alright. He told me he was going to cook dinner for 40 people, that this aunt of his was very popular in Utica and this one brother of his owned a charity.
After several lefts and rights, we were on the right road or so he said. Finally, I dropped him off and then got on to that elusive Mary Street.
Past old homes, boring signals, closed bakery shops, and numerous stop signs, I saw Oh Mar’s silhouette and I waved to her. She had been standing for an hour outside the house in the cold for me. I felt bad for her. She had a coat one but it wasn’t enough protection against the wind.
I had brought shawls for the two friends. A little Eid thing from my side. We both spoke different languages. There were smiles, and nods and stolen looks, and that’s a language we both understood.
She took my hand and led me to the apartment. The apartment was modest to say the least. There were mats spread on the floor. No chairs, no tables. In the kitchen, women sat in a circle, cooking, chatting and laughing. An easy laughter, carefree almost. After all they have been through – fleeing their country, leaving behind people, knowing it will be near impossible to return to all of it ever – they deserved it. The host family has been here only a month and know nothing of the cold, dreary winters here, of work and difficulties to life as they adjust to the new country and the new life here.
A few men stood in the dining area, smoking. They nodded at me while they were at it. It was the second day of Eid-ul-Fitr. More men came in. I sat on a bed, an old one, its beams creaking. The mattress had been covered with a colorful mat from Thailand.
Women came in to welcome me, a few waved at me from the kitchen.
The two friends, who I met last week while on of my assignments, handed me a bag with traditional Burmese dress and said “gift”. It was for me.
While Oh Mar explained to others I was a journalist, that I was an Indian and that I was Hindu, I noticed I was the only outsider in the family celebrations. But yet in that moment, in their celebration, I was an insider.
Finally, an uncle of theirs I had met the pervious evening came in. He had been a teacher in Myanmar, formerly Burma, and lived in Rangoon. Last evening, we had talked about history, democracy and Jawaharlal Nehru. It had been an easy conversation, though language was still a limiting factor, we had understood each other fairly well.
He was with another man, who had been a guerilla fighter. When things became tough, he fled to Thailand.
Later…
Dev Anand, Rajesh Khanna, and Shahrukh Khan and Amitabh Bachchan. They knew them all. Even hummed some songs for me.
I had been cleaning my apartment when the phone rang. On the other side, Mar Met was trying to tell me they had cooked lunch for me, that I should come to Mary Street instead of Rutger Street. I had totally forgotten I was to visit the Burmese girls and have tea with them on Sunday, the second day of Eid.
I finally figured what Met was saying. Trusting my sense of direction, I did not bother to waste time looking at the map and got on the road. I did not want to be late.
It should be one of the streets branching off from Rutger Street, I thought.
But I ended up in the wrong part of the city. It being a Sunday, there was hardly anybody I could ask for directions. Also, I was in America. You don’t have paan-wallahs and rickshaw drivers here you could turn to for help. It had been so easy in India. You could just lower the window and ask.
In any case, I kept on driving. Finally saw this one guy. So I stopped the car. After several “excuse me”, he turned, smiled and got into the car. yes, without invitation. It would be better if we traveled together, he said, as he rolled up the car window.
His mouth stank of beer. I had been warned not to give rides to people. But he seemed alright. He told me he was going to cook dinner for 40 people, that this aunt of his was very popular in Utica and this one brother of his owned a charity.
After several lefts and rights, we were on the right road or so he said. Finally, I dropped him off and then got on to that elusive Mary Street.
Past old homes, boring signals, closed bakery shops, and numerous stop signs, I saw Oh Mar’s silhouette and I waved to her. She had been standing for an hour outside the house in the cold for me. I felt bad for her. She had a coat one but it wasn’t enough protection against the wind.
I had brought shawls for the two friends. A little Eid thing from my side. We both spoke different languages. There were smiles, and nods and stolen looks, and that’s a language we both understood.
She took my hand and led me to the apartment. The apartment was modest to say the least. There were mats spread on the floor. No chairs, no tables. In the kitchen, women sat in a circle, cooking, chatting and laughing. An easy laughter, carefree almost. After all they have been through – fleeing their country, leaving behind people, knowing it will be near impossible to return to all of it ever – they deserved it. The host family has been here only a month and know nothing of the cold, dreary winters here, of work and difficulties to life as they adjust to the new country and the new life here.
A few men stood in the dining area, smoking. They nodded at me while they were at it. It was the second day of Eid-ul-Fitr. More men came in. I sat on a bed, an old one, its beams creaking. The mattress had been covered with a colorful mat from Thailand.
Women came in to welcome me, a few waved at me from the kitchen.
The two friends, who I met last week while on of my assignments, handed me a bag with traditional Burmese dress and said “gift”. It was for me.
While Oh Mar explained to others I was a journalist, that I was an Indian and that I was Hindu, I noticed I was the only outsider in the family celebrations. But yet in that moment, in their celebration, I was an insider.
Finally, an uncle of theirs I had met the pervious evening came in. He had been a teacher in Myanmar, formerly Burma, and lived in Rangoon. Last evening, we had talked about history, democracy and Jawaharlal Nehru. It had been an easy conversation, though language was still a limiting factor, we had understood each other fairly well.
He was with another man, who had been a guerilla fighter. When things became tough, he fled to Thailand.
Later…
Monday, October 15, 2007
the morning of Eid
Hundreds offer Eid prayers in Utica
Oct 13, 2007 @ 10:37 PM
By CHINKI SINHA
Observer-Dispatch
UTICA - Imam Ferhad Mujkic described his congregation Saturday morning as “white black and mocha.”
“Those are the colors of Islam,” he said.
“It is a like a rainbow,” Samir Omercevic chipped in.
Many of Utica's Bosnians are Muslim, like Mujkic. But many others - Somalis in their colorful kaftans, Afghanis in their sequined jackets and long kurtas, Burmese Muslims in their lungis, and Pakistanis Muslims in their skull caps - bowed down in thanksgiving prayer on the occasion of Eid-ul-Fitr, or the Feast of Fast-breaking, at the Parkway Center Saturday.
That's what made it a beautiful and unique gathering, Imam Mujkic said, Amir Beganovic translating for him.
“Allah is common for all of us,” Mujkic said. “Islam is an equalizer.”
For years Imam Mujkic, who arrived in Utica in 1997, has lead the prayers. And each time he addresses the Eid congregation, he is delighted to see the diversity. And even though the languages they speak are different, the language of the prayer is the same, he said.
“We all understand prayer. I am very, very happy,” he said. “Most different people … that's unique.”
The month of Ramadan, one of the most-sacred times of the years for Muslims, ended Friday with the sighting of the new moon. During the 29-, 30-day period of fasting, during which Muslims abstain from food, drink and sexual intimacy, praying and doing charity are most important, said Imam Malik Najeeullah.
“It is payday for us, a day of reward,” Najeeullah said.
A cardboard box marked for Zakat or mandatory charity had been placed at the entrance. As people walked in, they put money in the box. The money later will be used to provide for the needy in the Utica community, Najeeullah said. Throughout the month, Muslims share meals and do charity. In fact, the Muslim Community Association has been holding Iftar or fast-breaking dinners on weekends for the community throughout the month of Ramadan.
“Charity is the biggest thing,” he said, as he put money in the box.
On a table, trays of food had been arranged. These had been brought by the congregation members to share with others. Later, people would share a breakfast at the mosque on Kemble Street.
“Everybody is included,” he said, pointing to the gathering.
It will be a busy day for both Imams as they will visit prisoners in jail, sick people in hospitals and others to pray with them and wish them “Eid Mubarak” (Happy Eid).
The prayers that began at around 8 a.m., was followed by a sermon from Imam Mujkic. As people exited the hall, greetings were exchanged, and invitations for dinner and lunch extended.
Women, who sat on the other side, embraced each other, and complimented each other on their clothes, as they exited the building. Friends and family would be visiting and there was cooking to be done, they said.
A gift of love
For days, Somali refugee Muslima Osman, 18, had been putting in dollar bills, quarters and dimes in a little box. When she had collected $20, she gave it to her husband as Eidi, cash or gifts that elders normally give to children on Eid-Ul-Fitr.
“I put all in my box … what he give,” she said, smiling shyly. “Then I give my husband.”
At the Parkway Center Saturday morning, Osman was dressed in bright peach-colored traditional dress, with sequins and embroidery, a gift from her husband, and she showed it off, told her friends her husband bought it for her. With new gold earrings, bangles, and henna-colored hands, she looked lovely.
“I put henna last night,” she said, showing her palms, which were colored dark burgundy.
Many Muslim women decorate their hands and feet with henna the night before the Eid day. In South Asia, the night of the sighting of the new moon is called Chand Raat, and women get together, go out to the market, buy sweets, wear bangles and put henna, which is considered auspicious.
Later in the day, she was going to cook traditional African food and celebrate the festival with her family and friends.
“I cook food, calling people, eating at my house,” she said. “Rice, meat, pasta.”
And to top that, she would cook Halwa, a dessert.
Eid-Ul-Fitr is called Mithi Eid in many countries. Mithi means sweet as many cook Sivvyan or a dish of fine, toasted vermicelli for the occasion, or other traditional sweet dish.
Remembering a son left behind
She sat on the floor quietly at the prayer gathering Saturday morning, seemingly lost in her thoughts. Hser He Da Be, 43, a Muslim refugee from Burma, missed her son Ha San, 26, who still in the Thai refugee camp. Her six children sat around her, the seventh present through his absence, in her thoughts, her prayers, she said.
This is her first Eid she will celebrate without her son. But such is the case, she said, her daughter Ra Be Ya, 20, translating for her.
“I miss him a lot,” she said.
The family arrived in Utica 23 days ago. Without a phone, it is even more difficult. Wishing “Happy Eid” to her son is wishful thinking, at least for now.
“No phone, how to contact,” she said, haltingly. “I remember him in prayers.”
The family cooked noodles in the morning for breakfast, Ra Be Ya said. For now they can't afford more than that.
“No money to make something,” Ra Be Ya said. “But we are happy that Eid is here.”
Maybe they would visit the mosque at Kemble Street for breakfast after the morning prayers, they said. An important part of Eid and the month of Ramadan is the spirit of charity, said Imam Malik Najeeullah of the Muslim Community Association.
Some members had even brought food at the morning prayers, to share it with the less fortunate.
For the family, maybe next year things will be better. Maybe Ha Sen will join them. Maybe they will get a job, and money and can buy new clothes and cook good food for Eid next year. Maybe it will all work out, they said.
In the right religion
As she sat in her chair, watching the women kneel down in prayer, Sian Walker of Utica said she knew she was in the right religion.
“It is beautiful even to look at the differences, how everybody comes together,” she said.
Five years ago, Walker converted to Islam, inspired by her husband, Willie Walker, she said.
Her first Ramadan had been tough, the fasting too rigorous. But she is always grateful for Eid, the day when it is all over, when they can look back and feel happy they were able to do it, she said.
“I still appreciate this day,” she said. “It is making me stronger.”
Women praying with men
For Razia Sattar, who came to United States in 1981, it is the small, close-knit community in Utica that makes Eid special for her. In their country, women did not go to the mosque. Here, women participate in prayers and at gatherings at the mosque, she said.
“In our culture, women don't go to the mosque,” she said. “I like it here … we meet the people, Africans, Bosnians, all people.”
Javeria Qureshi, who has been here for eight years, said she missed her Eids back home, but the community here made sure they celebrated the festival as best as they could. Here, there's more chance to get involved, she said.
“There's more participation,” she said. “Ladies come to the mosque. That's definitely good.”
While Sattar has been here for decades, she misses wearing bangles and visiting crowded markets in Pakistan on the eve of Eid. The streets were decorated, festoons and colorful light bulbs are hung on windows, and shops are full of glittering bangles, earrings, clothes and sandals.
“We went out, got henna in meena bazaars, came home at 3 a.m. sometimes,” she said. “I miss that.”
In this small community, the families, most of them immigrants, visit each other's houses on Eid, and during Ramadan, exchanging greetings and sharing food, trying to re-create the sense of the homeland through similar festivities but at a smaller scale.
Friday evening, some Muslim families got together to celebrate Chand Raat, colored their hands with henna, and ate dinner together just how did it in their countries, Sattar said.
* The Eid prayer is followed by the sermon and then a prayer asking for forgiveness, mercy and help. Imam Ferhad Mujkic delivered a sermon in Bosnian before the Eid prayers Saturday morning.
* Muslims spend the day meeting family members, enjoying and praying.
รค Public Eid prayers are held in mosques and public places throughout the world.
* Ramadan is the one month — usually lasting 29 or 30 days — when Muslims abstain from food, drink, smoking and sexual intimacy from the break of dawn to sunset. The period marks the month Muslims believe the prophet Muhammad received the Quran, the Islamic holy book, through the angel Gabriel.
* Ramadan occurs each year during the ninth month of the lunar year. Muslims pray five times daily, and during Ramadan an extra prayer is added, called the taraweeh.
* The end of Ramadan is marked by communal prayers called Eid ul-Fitr or Feast of the Fast-Breaking.
Source: IslamiCity, archives
Oct 13, 2007 @ 10:37 PM
By CHINKI SINHA
Observer-Dispatch
UTICA - Imam Ferhad Mujkic described his congregation Saturday morning as “white black and mocha.”
“Those are the colors of Islam,” he said.
“It is a like a rainbow,” Samir Omercevic chipped in.
Many of Utica's Bosnians are Muslim, like Mujkic. But many others - Somalis in their colorful kaftans, Afghanis in their sequined jackets and long kurtas, Burmese Muslims in their lungis, and Pakistanis Muslims in their skull caps - bowed down in thanksgiving prayer on the occasion of Eid-ul-Fitr, or the Feast of Fast-breaking, at the Parkway Center Saturday.
That's what made it a beautiful and unique gathering, Imam Mujkic said, Amir Beganovic translating for him.
“Allah is common for all of us,” Mujkic said. “Islam is an equalizer.”
For years Imam Mujkic, who arrived in Utica in 1997, has lead the prayers. And each time he addresses the Eid congregation, he is delighted to see the diversity. And even though the languages they speak are different, the language of the prayer is the same, he said.
“We all understand prayer. I am very, very happy,” he said. “Most different people … that's unique.”
The month of Ramadan, one of the most-sacred times of the years for Muslims, ended Friday with the sighting of the new moon. During the 29-, 30-day period of fasting, during which Muslims abstain from food, drink and sexual intimacy, praying and doing charity are most important, said Imam Malik Najeeullah.
“It is payday for us, a day of reward,” Najeeullah said.
A cardboard box marked for Zakat or mandatory charity had been placed at the entrance. As people walked in, they put money in the box. The money later will be used to provide for the needy in the Utica community, Najeeullah said. Throughout the month, Muslims share meals and do charity. In fact, the Muslim Community Association has been holding Iftar or fast-breaking dinners on weekends for the community throughout the month of Ramadan.
“Charity is the biggest thing,” he said, as he put money in the box.
On a table, trays of food had been arranged. These had been brought by the congregation members to share with others. Later, people would share a breakfast at the mosque on Kemble Street.
“Everybody is included,” he said, pointing to the gathering.
It will be a busy day for both Imams as they will visit prisoners in jail, sick people in hospitals and others to pray with them and wish them “Eid Mubarak” (Happy Eid).
The prayers that began at around 8 a.m., was followed by a sermon from Imam Mujkic. As people exited the hall, greetings were exchanged, and invitations for dinner and lunch extended.
Women, who sat on the other side, embraced each other, and complimented each other on their clothes, as they exited the building. Friends and family would be visiting and there was cooking to be done, they said.
A gift of love
For days, Somali refugee Muslima Osman, 18, had been putting in dollar bills, quarters and dimes in a little box. When she had collected $20, she gave it to her husband as Eidi, cash or gifts that elders normally give to children on Eid-Ul-Fitr.
“I put all in my box … what he give,” she said, smiling shyly. “Then I give my husband.”
At the Parkway Center Saturday morning, Osman was dressed in bright peach-colored traditional dress, with sequins and embroidery, a gift from her husband, and she showed it off, told her friends her husband bought it for her. With new gold earrings, bangles, and henna-colored hands, she looked lovely.
“I put henna last night,” she said, showing her palms, which were colored dark burgundy.
Many Muslim women decorate their hands and feet with henna the night before the Eid day. In South Asia, the night of the sighting of the new moon is called Chand Raat, and women get together, go out to the market, buy sweets, wear bangles and put henna, which is considered auspicious.
Later in the day, she was going to cook traditional African food and celebrate the festival with her family and friends.
“I cook food, calling people, eating at my house,” she said. “Rice, meat, pasta.”
And to top that, she would cook Halwa, a dessert.
Eid-Ul-Fitr is called Mithi Eid in many countries. Mithi means sweet as many cook Sivvyan or a dish of fine, toasted vermicelli for the occasion, or other traditional sweet dish.
Remembering a son left behind
She sat on the floor quietly at the prayer gathering Saturday morning, seemingly lost in her thoughts. Hser He Da Be, 43, a Muslim refugee from Burma, missed her son Ha San, 26, who still in the Thai refugee camp. Her six children sat around her, the seventh present through his absence, in her thoughts, her prayers, she said.
This is her first Eid she will celebrate without her son. But such is the case, she said, her daughter Ra Be Ya, 20, translating for her.
“I miss him a lot,” she said.
The family arrived in Utica 23 days ago. Without a phone, it is even more difficult. Wishing “Happy Eid” to her son is wishful thinking, at least for now.
“No phone, how to contact,” she said, haltingly. “I remember him in prayers.”
The family cooked noodles in the morning for breakfast, Ra Be Ya said. For now they can't afford more than that.
“No money to make something,” Ra Be Ya said. “But we are happy that Eid is here.”
Maybe they would visit the mosque at Kemble Street for breakfast after the morning prayers, they said. An important part of Eid and the month of Ramadan is the spirit of charity, said Imam Malik Najeeullah of the Muslim Community Association.
Some members had even brought food at the morning prayers, to share it with the less fortunate.
For the family, maybe next year things will be better. Maybe Ha Sen will join them. Maybe they will get a job, and money and can buy new clothes and cook good food for Eid next year. Maybe it will all work out, they said.
In the right religion
As she sat in her chair, watching the women kneel down in prayer, Sian Walker of Utica said she knew she was in the right religion.
“It is beautiful even to look at the differences, how everybody comes together,” she said.
Five years ago, Walker converted to Islam, inspired by her husband, Willie Walker, she said.
Her first Ramadan had been tough, the fasting too rigorous. But she is always grateful for Eid, the day when it is all over, when they can look back and feel happy they were able to do it, she said.
“I still appreciate this day,” she said. “It is making me stronger.”
Women praying with men
For Razia Sattar, who came to United States in 1981, it is the small, close-knit community in Utica that makes Eid special for her. In their country, women did not go to the mosque. Here, women participate in prayers and at gatherings at the mosque, she said.
“In our culture, women don't go to the mosque,” she said. “I like it here … we meet the people, Africans, Bosnians, all people.”
Javeria Qureshi, who has been here for eight years, said she missed her Eids back home, but the community here made sure they celebrated the festival as best as they could. Here, there's more chance to get involved, she said.
“There's more participation,” she said. “Ladies come to the mosque. That's definitely good.”
While Sattar has been here for decades, she misses wearing bangles and visiting crowded markets in Pakistan on the eve of Eid. The streets were decorated, festoons and colorful light bulbs are hung on windows, and shops are full of glittering bangles, earrings, clothes and sandals.
“We went out, got henna in meena bazaars, came home at 3 a.m. sometimes,” she said. “I miss that.”
In this small community, the families, most of them immigrants, visit each other's houses on Eid, and during Ramadan, exchanging greetings and sharing food, trying to re-create the sense of the homeland through similar festivities but at a smaller scale.
Friday evening, some Muslim families got together to celebrate Chand Raat, colored their hands with henna, and ate dinner together just how did it in their countries, Sattar said.
* The Eid prayer is followed by the sermon and then a prayer asking for forgiveness, mercy and help. Imam Ferhad Mujkic delivered a sermon in Bosnian before the Eid prayers Saturday morning.
* Muslims spend the day meeting family members, enjoying and praying.
รค Public Eid prayers are held in mosques and public places throughout the world.
* Ramadan is the one month — usually lasting 29 or 30 days — when Muslims abstain from food, drink, smoking and sexual intimacy from the break of dawn to sunset. The period marks the month Muslims believe the prophet Muhammad received the Quran, the Islamic holy book, through the angel Gabriel.
* Ramadan occurs each year during the ninth month of the lunar year. Muslims pray five times daily, and during Ramadan an extra prayer is added, called the taraweeh.
* The end of Ramadan is marked by communal prayers called Eid ul-Fitr or Feast of the Fast-Breaking.
Source: IslamiCity, archives
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Seeking refuge
More Burmese seek fresh start in Utica
Oct 09, 2007 @ 10:35 PM
By CHINKI SINHA
Observer-Dispatch
UTICA – Virtually every new refugee arrival in Utica is from Myanmar, with hundreds more expected in the next year.
Residents of the country formerlly known as Burma have become the largest single source of refugees since Bosnians arrived in the 1990s.
After spending around seven years in refugee camps in Thailand, Oh Mar and her friends, refugees from Myanmar, are waiting for a fresh start. UTICA AND REFUGEES
They already have taken the first few steps — rented an apartment, joined ESL classes at Mohawk Valley Resource Center for Refugees and have started to think big.
A job, a television set, a telephone, a sofa and a computer are next on the list.
They are grateful for a second chance in life and for freedom. In fact, Mar said “freedom” several times during the conversation. As Bengali Muslims, they had been victims of religious persecution. Mosques had been destroyed in her village, she recalled.
“We like the freedom,” she said. “It’s very comfortable and very beautiful.”
Mar and her three friends are four of the 321 refugees from Myanmar that arrived in the Mohawk Valley in August and September.
Altogether, 13,896 refugees from Myanmar came to the United States from Jan. 1 to Sept. 30 of this year, according to Rob McInturff of the U.S. State Department.
Every summer, there is a surge in refugee arrivals nationwide as the federal government seeks to meet the arrival targets set each year by the president. Utica is host to one of the largest Burmese communities, a target group, and the combination of these two factors drove up the numbers for the end of the federal fiscal year, said MVRCR Executive Director Peter Vogelaar.
“We anticipate in a 15-month period July 2007 through September 2008 welcoming upward of 800, 900 people. In the past 11 weeks alone, we welcomed nearly 300 new arrivals,” said Vogelaar in an e-mail.
About 469 refugees from Myanmar came to Utica since January, the largest group this year. Total refugee arrivals for 2007 till September stand at 497, according to refugee center estimates.
Not related to current junta
For many that have come to Utica in recent years, their displacement began with the 1988 student uprising, Vogelaar said.
“Those individuals arriving from Thailand today are not coming as a direct result of the current uprising. Most of those coming today have lived in refugee camps for upwards of 10 or more years,” he said.
Hundreds more are expected to arrive. Though these arrivals are not a direct outcome of the recent military crackdown in Myanmar, the current uprising will contribute to future resettlement as many fled to Thailand after the protests, officials said.
However, the recent protests and images from Myanmar will help demonstrate to the local community why so many flee their country, said Rev. Mark Caruana, pastor of the Tabernacle Baptist Church in downtown Utica. The church helps Karen refugees, who are Baptist, by providing them with clothes, rice cookers and food. Utica is the second-largest community for ethnic Karen in the United States for the American Baptist denomination, he said.
“It raises sensitivity towards the needs of the refugees,” he said.
The majority of refugees from Myanmar are Karen. However there are also Karenni, Burman, Arakanese, Shan, and Mon that either have arrived or will arrive in Utica, according to refugee center officials.
New home
The apartment is sparsely furnished. The living room has one bed. No couches, no tables. The walls are stripped bare. But for Oh Mar, San Win, Aung Thi Ha, and Cho Lay, it is just a matter of days before it all changes.
From bamboo huts and oppression in Myanmar and near-starvation in Thai refugee camps, it has been a long journey.
Mar, 27, wants to study science in a college. She would like to become a journalist, she said.
“I have plans,” she said.
Aung Thi Ha, 21, wants to get more money to buy snow coats. And yes, he would like to have more friends.
There is no more living in fear. Thi Ha goes to the mosque on Kemble Street at least three times a day to pray. It is the month of Ramadan. In the evening, all four break the fast with rice, chicken, fish, fruits and juice.
And for Eid-Ul-Fitr on Saturday, the women are excited about wearing new clothes, cooking traditional food and inviting friends over. In Myanmar, it hadn’t been so.
“This is freedom country,” Mar said.
Community pulls together to help refugees
Oct 09, 2007 @ 10:41 PM
By CHINKI SINHA
Observer-Dispatch
While there will always be needs and demands for refugees, local agencies are trying to make the transition smooth.
As the refugee center tries to step up the resettlement process, it is partnering with churches, schools and other service providers to help.
In response to the increase in Burmese arrivals, the Mohawk Valley Resource Center for Refugees has hired a number of Burmese/Karen speakers as case workers, employment specialists, and some Burmese/Karen speakers for interpretation and translation, particularly in hospitals, officials said.
Currently, the refugee center has 10 Burmese/Karen speakers working with the center in addition to numerous volunteers, according to officials.
An increase in funding made it possible for the refugee center to hire linguistically and culturally appropriate staff to work with the new arrivals. On average, a new arrival will have a Social Security card issued within 45 days after arrival, Resource Center Executive Director Peter Vogelaar said.
So far, medical checks for new arrivals have not posed any problems. Patrice Bogan of the Oneida County Health Department said with smaller numbers, health assessment is faster. However, with more refugees coming in, the staff is busier, but they expect to complete it within the stipulated 90-day period.
“I anticipate it won’t be a problem,” she said.
However, Cornelia Brown of Multicultural Association of Medical Interpreters, said it is some times difficult to fill in demands for Burmese interpreters.
Currently, they have one Burmese interpreter.
“We need more. Because of a large number, there is more demand,” she said. “As soon as we reach a critical point, we will hire more.”
For Saw Chit, spokesperson of the Utica Karen Organization, there aren’t enough Karen people on refugee center staff considering the number of new arrivals seeking help. Often, it takes months for them to get jobs or even a driver’s license, he said.
“We need more people,” he said. “People have to wait a long time. They don’t know where to go, how to go. Karen people should have more help.”
“When they encounter problems with the bureaucracy, they become frustrated,” said Rev. Mark Caruana, pastor of the Tabernacle Baptist Church in downtown Utica. “They are not asking for too much.”
Learning English, job training, living in an apartment, maintaining it, transportation, and adapting to 2 feet of snow are a few of the initial challenges for these refugees, he said.
Iraqi Refugee update
In the fiscal year ending Sept. 30, only 1,608 Iraqi refugees have come to United States. The state department set the target at 2,000 for fiscal year 2007.
“We focused on 2,000 as a more realistic goal,” said Rob McInturff, a state department spokesperson.
In fiscal year 2008, the target has been set at admitting around 1,000 Iraqi refugees to United States every month, McInturff said. The refugees will most likely not be coming to Utica.
“We have not resettled any Iraqi refugees in recent years,” said MVRCR Executive Director Peter Vogelaar. “I do not anticipate any Iraqi arrivals to Utica while we are resettling so many Burmese.”
* Refugees have arrived from at least 23 different countries in 28 years.
* At least 10 percent of Uticans are considered refugees.
* The largest single group of refugees has been Bosnian.
* This decade, Utica has seen close to 600 refugees arrive either directly or indirectly from Myanmar, formerly Burma. Another 250 to 300 people are expected in coming months.
MYANMAR AND THE U.S.
* The Karen National Union fighting the government in Myanmar is considered a terrorist group, and under the Material Support Provision of the 2001 Patriot Act, anyone seen as helping such an organization is not supposed to be allowed in the country.
Condoleezza Rice waived that exclusion in 2006 for thousands of the more than 100,000 Karen refugees living in camps on Thailand’s border with Myanmar.
* Some have lived in the camps for more than 20 years, and the numbers have grown as thousands have fled from attacks by the Myanmar army over the last 10 years, according to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees.
* The State Department designated the refugees a “population of special humanitarian concern to the United States due to the privations they have experienced” and determined that resettlement was the only “durable solution” for many, according to information on the State Department's Web site.
Oct 09, 2007 @ 10:35 PM
By CHINKI SINHA
Observer-Dispatch
UTICA – Virtually every new refugee arrival in Utica is from Myanmar, with hundreds more expected in the next year.
Residents of the country formerlly known as Burma have become the largest single source of refugees since Bosnians arrived in the 1990s.
After spending around seven years in refugee camps in Thailand, Oh Mar and her friends, refugees from Myanmar, are waiting for a fresh start. UTICA AND REFUGEES
They already have taken the first few steps — rented an apartment, joined ESL classes at Mohawk Valley Resource Center for Refugees and have started to think big.
A job, a television set, a telephone, a sofa and a computer are next on the list.
They are grateful for a second chance in life and for freedom. In fact, Mar said “freedom” several times during the conversation. As Bengali Muslims, they had been victims of religious persecution. Mosques had been destroyed in her village, she recalled.
“We like the freedom,” she said. “It’s very comfortable and very beautiful.”
Mar and her three friends are four of the 321 refugees from Myanmar that arrived in the Mohawk Valley in August and September.
Altogether, 13,896 refugees from Myanmar came to the United States from Jan. 1 to Sept. 30 of this year, according to Rob McInturff of the U.S. State Department.
Every summer, there is a surge in refugee arrivals nationwide as the federal government seeks to meet the arrival targets set each year by the president. Utica is host to one of the largest Burmese communities, a target group, and the combination of these two factors drove up the numbers for the end of the federal fiscal year, said MVRCR Executive Director Peter Vogelaar.
“We anticipate in a 15-month period July 2007 through September 2008 welcoming upward of 800, 900 people. In the past 11 weeks alone, we welcomed nearly 300 new arrivals,” said Vogelaar in an e-mail.
About 469 refugees from Myanmar came to Utica since January, the largest group this year. Total refugee arrivals for 2007 till September stand at 497, according to refugee center estimates.
Not related to current junta
For many that have come to Utica in recent years, their displacement began with the 1988 student uprising, Vogelaar said.
“Those individuals arriving from Thailand today are not coming as a direct result of the current uprising. Most of those coming today have lived in refugee camps for upwards of 10 or more years,” he said.
Hundreds more are expected to arrive. Though these arrivals are not a direct outcome of the recent military crackdown in Myanmar, the current uprising will contribute to future resettlement as many fled to Thailand after the protests, officials said.
However, the recent protests and images from Myanmar will help demonstrate to the local community why so many flee their country, said Rev. Mark Caruana, pastor of the Tabernacle Baptist Church in downtown Utica. The church helps Karen refugees, who are Baptist, by providing them with clothes, rice cookers and food. Utica is the second-largest community for ethnic Karen in the United States for the American Baptist denomination, he said.
“It raises sensitivity towards the needs of the refugees,” he said.
The majority of refugees from Myanmar are Karen. However there are also Karenni, Burman, Arakanese, Shan, and Mon that either have arrived or will arrive in Utica, according to refugee center officials.
New home
The apartment is sparsely furnished. The living room has one bed. No couches, no tables. The walls are stripped bare. But for Oh Mar, San Win, Aung Thi Ha, and Cho Lay, it is just a matter of days before it all changes.
From bamboo huts and oppression in Myanmar and near-starvation in Thai refugee camps, it has been a long journey.
Mar, 27, wants to study science in a college. She would like to become a journalist, she said.
“I have plans,” she said.
Aung Thi Ha, 21, wants to get more money to buy snow coats. And yes, he would like to have more friends.
There is no more living in fear. Thi Ha goes to the mosque on Kemble Street at least three times a day to pray. It is the month of Ramadan. In the evening, all four break the fast with rice, chicken, fish, fruits and juice.
And for Eid-Ul-Fitr on Saturday, the women are excited about wearing new clothes, cooking traditional food and inviting friends over. In Myanmar, it hadn’t been so.
“This is freedom country,” Mar said.
Community pulls together to help refugees
Oct 09, 2007 @ 10:41 PM
By CHINKI SINHA
Observer-Dispatch
While there will always be needs and demands for refugees, local agencies are trying to make the transition smooth.
As the refugee center tries to step up the resettlement process, it is partnering with churches, schools and other service providers to help.
In response to the increase in Burmese arrivals, the Mohawk Valley Resource Center for Refugees has hired a number of Burmese/Karen speakers as case workers, employment specialists, and some Burmese/Karen speakers for interpretation and translation, particularly in hospitals, officials said.
Currently, the refugee center has 10 Burmese/Karen speakers working with the center in addition to numerous volunteers, according to officials.
An increase in funding made it possible for the refugee center to hire linguistically and culturally appropriate staff to work with the new arrivals. On average, a new arrival will have a Social Security card issued within 45 days after arrival, Resource Center Executive Director Peter Vogelaar said.
So far, medical checks for new arrivals have not posed any problems. Patrice Bogan of the Oneida County Health Department said with smaller numbers, health assessment is faster. However, with more refugees coming in, the staff is busier, but they expect to complete it within the stipulated 90-day period.
“I anticipate it won’t be a problem,” she said.
However, Cornelia Brown of Multicultural Association of Medical Interpreters, said it is some times difficult to fill in demands for Burmese interpreters.
Currently, they have one Burmese interpreter.
“We need more. Because of a large number, there is more demand,” she said. “As soon as we reach a critical point, we will hire more.”
For Saw Chit, spokesperson of the Utica Karen Organization, there aren’t enough Karen people on refugee center staff considering the number of new arrivals seeking help. Often, it takes months for them to get jobs or even a driver’s license, he said.
“We need more people,” he said. “People have to wait a long time. They don’t know where to go, how to go. Karen people should have more help.”
“When they encounter problems with the bureaucracy, they become frustrated,” said Rev. Mark Caruana, pastor of the Tabernacle Baptist Church in downtown Utica. “They are not asking for too much.”
Learning English, job training, living in an apartment, maintaining it, transportation, and adapting to 2 feet of snow are a few of the initial challenges for these refugees, he said.
Iraqi Refugee update
In the fiscal year ending Sept. 30, only 1,608 Iraqi refugees have come to United States. The state department set the target at 2,000 for fiscal year 2007.
“We focused on 2,000 as a more realistic goal,” said Rob McInturff, a state department spokesperson.
In fiscal year 2008, the target has been set at admitting around 1,000 Iraqi refugees to United States every month, McInturff said. The refugees will most likely not be coming to Utica.
“We have not resettled any Iraqi refugees in recent years,” said MVRCR Executive Director Peter Vogelaar. “I do not anticipate any Iraqi arrivals to Utica while we are resettling so many Burmese.”
* Refugees have arrived from at least 23 different countries in 28 years.
* At least 10 percent of Uticans are considered refugees.
* The largest single group of refugees has been Bosnian.
* This decade, Utica has seen close to 600 refugees arrive either directly or indirectly from Myanmar, formerly Burma. Another 250 to 300 people are expected in coming months.
MYANMAR AND THE U.S.
* The Karen National Union fighting the government in Myanmar is considered a terrorist group, and under the Material Support Provision of the 2001 Patriot Act, anyone seen as helping such an organization is not supposed to be allowed in the country.
Condoleezza Rice waived that exclusion in 2006 for thousands of the more than 100,000 Karen refugees living in camps on Thailand’s border with Myanmar.
* Some have lived in the camps for more than 20 years, and the numbers have grown as thousands have fled from attacks by the Myanmar army over the last 10 years, according to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees.
* The State Department designated the refugees a “population of special humanitarian concern to the United States due to the privations they have experienced” and determined that resettlement was the only “durable solution” for many, according to information on the State Department's Web site.
Saturday, September 08, 2007
lost in the making
the india of today intimidates me, scares me...me who was all confident of walking through its streets brimming with people, of the very life that i missed, the pulse i craved for, the stinking sweaty smell and curry chicken and cousins and the colors that is home.
so much has changed. things have become expensive and holidays are not the same. long ago, over ramadan neighbors and friends would send the iftari and invite all to the festivities...now, they tell me it is so expensive they can't afford to cook nice dishes themselves.
well, so much for that...
i don't belong anywhere and if I ever did, it would be the verandah i sit in...book in hand, staring into space, the space i once inhabited, the space which has failed to suck me in this time for i have drifted afar, so far i can't be reclaimed or redeemed...
but this is the closest i can get to home. home is what we all keep in the dark, deep recesses of our minds. the idea of it lurks in the expanse of the heart, the soul with the good and the bad mixed, one overpowering the other...sometimes giving in to the dark lord, sometimes the white old man, the good god, crying out triumphantly...confirming the good over the bad as we all say and find comfort in
myopic i have turned or the vice versa. i don't much concern myself with the correct terminology...at any rate not of all this scientific jargon for i was never good at it, screwed up the most basic experiments
everything looks shrunken. i click pics, and stare at them for long hours trying to solve the mystery which is so annoying
each year i go back, things become smaller, distances seem shrunken as if someone put a cashmere shawl, a precious heirloom, passed down from generations, a figment of the past, so important, into a dryer and it came out shrunken, like a kids' muffler
but back to the reality of the life here. mosquitoes bite me in dozen places and mountains and plateaus form aplenty on my body as a cnsequence but i hold on, waiting for something...what is it I don't know
maybe not. for the soul never connects right, it is the illusion it falls for and is forever trapped into
love is for the mighty. i was always the meek one...forever escaping the pain, and in it also missing out on the pleasure, if love ever offered any
once i failed, the courage failed me the second time, maybe the third. who can keep count of not-so-measurable emotions...they always deceive, don't they
here, now and then, i want to connect with the lost world, the life that was and will never be again, i want to sit and mourn, a silent mourning, shedidng of small tears for its passing...for what was will never be...at any rate now how it was
revisitations are for the dreamy-eyed, in the real world they call them lunatics
forever they, the lunatics, mourn the loss of innocence and feign it in order to be for the past is their connection to the life force
me, no...i am sane, rendered so by this world.
ranting is not for me so i vomit it out on the kkeypad for we have outgrown, outlived the era of pen and paper and here i see my old notebooks where i scribbled shakespeare poetry in chelpark ink and i want to revisit but alas, no time machine for us. we were born in the twilight zone. the science stripped us of the innocence, telling us things that we feared most, making us lose our faith and dignity to the machines, enslaving us, but again no time machine for science teased us, keeping us suspended in time, in place and in universe...and we traveled through mindspaces, in the hazy spaces blurring lines between what happened and what memory, which is not so reliable, made it seem like
no time machines...science played the trick here
however much we yearned for the push into the future or be thrown back into the past, it won't let us
while we continue to walk in the lands of memory, unreal, surreal, dark, yet oozing bulb-like lights in places lest we fall and come out of the stupor...
yes, we walk
we, the hybrids, continue to close the distance between continents and increase by immeasurable yards the space between the self and the created...for in transit we grow tired, we lose and give up
so much has changed. things have become expensive and holidays are not the same. long ago, over ramadan neighbors and friends would send the iftari and invite all to the festivities...now, they tell me it is so expensive they can't afford to cook nice dishes themselves.
well, so much for that...
i don't belong anywhere and if I ever did, it would be the verandah i sit in...book in hand, staring into space, the space i once inhabited, the space which has failed to suck me in this time for i have drifted afar, so far i can't be reclaimed or redeemed...
but this is the closest i can get to home. home is what we all keep in the dark, deep recesses of our minds. the idea of it lurks in the expanse of the heart, the soul with the good and the bad mixed, one overpowering the other...sometimes giving in to the dark lord, sometimes the white old man, the good god, crying out triumphantly...confirming the good over the bad as we all say and find comfort in
myopic i have turned or the vice versa. i don't much concern myself with the correct terminology...at any rate not of all this scientific jargon for i was never good at it, screwed up the most basic experiments
everything looks shrunken. i click pics, and stare at them for long hours trying to solve the mystery which is so annoying
each year i go back, things become smaller, distances seem shrunken as if someone put a cashmere shawl, a precious heirloom, passed down from generations, a figment of the past, so important, into a dryer and it came out shrunken, like a kids' muffler
but back to the reality of the life here. mosquitoes bite me in dozen places and mountains and plateaus form aplenty on my body as a cnsequence but i hold on, waiting for something...what is it I don't know
maybe not. for the soul never connects right, it is the illusion it falls for and is forever trapped into
love is for the mighty. i was always the meek one...forever escaping the pain, and in it also missing out on the pleasure, if love ever offered any
once i failed, the courage failed me the second time, maybe the third. who can keep count of not-so-measurable emotions...they always deceive, don't they
here, now and then, i want to connect with the lost world, the life that was and will never be again, i want to sit and mourn, a silent mourning, shedidng of small tears for its passing...for what was will never be...at any rate now how it was
revisitations are for the dreamy-eyed, in the real world they call them lunatics
forever they, the lunatics, mourn the loss of innocence and feign it in order to be for the past is their connection to the life force
me, no...i am sane, rendered so by this world.
ranting is not for me so i vomit it out on the kkeypad for we have outgrown, outlived the era of pen and paper and here i see my old notebooks where i scribbled shakespeare poetry in chelpark ink and i want to revisit but alas, no time machine for us. we were born in the twilight zone. the science stripped us of the innocence, telling us things that we feared most, making us lose our faith and dignity to the machines, enslaving us, but again no time machine for science teased us, keeping us suspended in time, in place and in universe...and we traveled through mindspaces, in the hazy spaces blurring lines between what happened and what memory, which is not so reliable, made it seem like
no time machines...science played the trick here
however much we yearned for the push into the future or be thrown back into the past, it won't let us
while we continue to walk in the lands of memory, unreal, surreal, dark, yet oozing bulb-like lights in places lest we fall and come out of the stupor...
yes, we walk
we, the hybrids, continue to close the distance between continents and increase by immeasurable yards the space between the self and the created...for in transit we grow tired, we lose and give up
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
walking through the glass doors
the confessions have yet to come
for i have no soul
no goddamn soul to rake the ashes
for i fear the fire will kindle again
and burn all
exhume the possibility of a rare moment
a moment where i shall be in peace yet again, when i will walk unfazed
for long i have been in denial
seeing not what lay before me
overlooking perhaps
i cry over the lost world
shed many in its passing
for that which is gone
will never return
on closed doors
i knock, pound and knock yet again
i pause
consider, think of the rights and the wrongs of the past
all behind the shut doors
do i dare confront them
the lies, twisted truths
the betreyals, stories of passion, pain of goodbyes
the naked truth
the ugly reality
oh, how long shall i squirm in my seat
how long will i delay the admittance
the fire burns
hot embers, red and orange
it is an angry fire
eager to burn
it spreads
it is wild too like me
it invites me to step into it
i hesitate
but it spreads
like i don't matter
i will have to pass throrugh it
i am in the purgatory
long i have borne the illnesss
like cancer it spread
now i must burn it
and burn my skin, my soul with it
yes, it hurt then
a year later, i am still inching toward sanity
long i have kept a face
denying the pain, proclaiming it did not matter at all
so long the smile started to hurt
now, when i see the 'other' in your life
it feels like a scorpion sting
the poison spreading
and i become angry
but they say
with anger comes the confession
the strength to walk through the glass doors, beyond it
where the grass grows tall
i had been trapped within those
not seeing them, always yearning for what lay on the other side
my past
and i shed a tear, just one
for that lost world
as i glance back at what burns behind those glass doors
and i walk
for i have no soul
no goddamn soul to rake the ashes
for i fear the fire will kindle again
and burn all
exhume the possibility of a rare moment
a moment where i shall be in peace yet again, when i will walk unfazed
for long i have been in denial
seeing not what lay before me
overlooking perhaps
i cry over the lost world
shed many in its passing
for that which is gone
will never return
on closed doors
i knock, pound and knock yet again
i pause
consider, think of the rights and the wrongs of the past
all behind the shut doors
do i dare confront them
the lies, twisted truths
the betreyals, stories of passion, pain of goodbyes
the naked truth
the ugly reality
oh, how long shall i squirm in my seat
how long will i delay the admittance
the fire burns
hot embers, red and orange
it is an angry fire
eager to burn
it spreads
it is wild too like me
it invites me to step into it
i hesitate
but it spreads
like i don't matter
i will have to pass throrugh it
i am in the purgatory
long i have borne the illnesss
like cancer it spread
now i must burn it
and burn my skin, my soul with it
yes, it hurt then
a year later, i am still inching toward sanity
long i have kept a face
denying the pain, proclaiming it did not matter at all
so long the smile started to hurt
now, when i see the 'other' in your life
it feels like a scorpion sting
the poison spreading
and i become angry
but they say
with anger comes the confession
the strength to walk through the glass doors, beyond it
where the grass grows tall
i had been trapped within those
not seeing them, always yearning for what lay on the other side
my past
and i shed a tear, just one
for that lost world
as i glance back at what burns behind those glass doors
and i walk
Friday, August 10, 2007
in the land of abundance...
My beautiful Africa, my land, my fields
the mud walls of my hut
the lantern in there, the shadows on the wall of my people
the smell of the familiar cooking
rice and meat and vegetables
ah, the maize too
delicious, he says
the mattress here hurts
the lights, the comforts
he would turn them in for home
He does not understand America
they pass by him
never acknowledge him
the white men, women
they smoke together, they go out together
they never ask him
he smokes by himself thinking of home
how they all shared stories
and cigarettes too
this is different
so different it confuses him
he does not how to behave
they tell him, no advise him
smile always, say thank you always
and ask "how are you?" always, to anyone on the street
weird, he thinks
can't go back, he says aloud
so that he can hear it too
but this is not home, he says in a meek voice
lest they call him ungrateful
for all the mercy they showed in the promised land
he eats well here
but he does not relish the taste
at the stores, he sees big eggplants, big onions
abundance is America, he feels
by the dumpster, he sees them throwing away doughnuts, pizzas, everything
he could feed so many back home with all that
can he just take them home?
no, they tell him
they can't, the law does not permit them
he argues
i will eat them, it will be dinner for me, my children, my neighbors
they cost so much, i can't afford them with my minimum wages
no, no, they repeat
what if you sue us? what if this food is bad?
no, it looks fine
don't throw it
i starved for many days
i drank urine, chewed leaves
on the way to kenya
they throw it nonetheless
he gasps
can he redeem them from the garbage after they leave?
yes, of course, the heart cries out
the mind says...no, don't
In America they don't do it
they would call you uncivilized if you did
and he walks away
with a heavy heart, with a guilty mind
my people there
oh, i know how they survive
so many have never tasted a doughnut
never dug their teeth into the cheesy layers of the pizza
wonder what they would say
the mud walls of my hut
the lantern in there, the shadows on the wall of my people
the smell of the familiar cooking
rice and meat and vegetables
ah, the maize too
delicious, he says
the mattress here hurts
the lights, the comforts
he would turn them in for home
He does not understand America
they pass by him
never acknowledge him
the white men, women
they smoke together, they go out together
they never ask him
he smokes by himself thinking of home
how they all shared stories
and cigarettes too
this is different
so different it confuses him
he does not how to behave
they tell him, no advise him
smile always, say thank you always
and ask "how are you?" always, to anyone on the street
weird, he thinks
can't go back, he says aloud
so that he can hear it too
but this is not home, he says in a meek voice
lest they call him ungrateful
for all the mercy they showed in the promised land
he eats well here
but he does not relish the taste
at the stores, he sees big eggplants, big onions
abundance is America, he feels
by the dumpster, he sees them throwing away doughnuts, pizzas, everything
he could feed so many back home with all that
can he just take them home?
no, they tell him
they can't, the law does not permit them
he argues
i will eat them, it will be dinner for me, my children, my neighbors
they cost so much, i can't afford them with my minimum wages
no, no, they repeat
what if you sue us? what if this food is bad?
no, it looks fine
don't throw it
i starved for many days
i drank urine, chewed leaves
on the way to kenya
they throw it nonetheless
he gasps
can he redeem them from the garbage after they leave?
yes, of course, the heart cries out
the mind says...no, don't
In America they don't do it
they would call you uncivilized if you did
and he walks away
with a heavy heart, with a guilty mind
my people there
oh, i know how they survive
so many have never tasted a doughnut
never dug their teeth into the cheesy layers of the pizza
wonder what they would say
Thursday, August 09, 2007
the flashes
it comes in flashes
it is there now
no, it's gone
and I wait
it comes again
there it is, hazy, voices muffled
while i am driving or cooking or looking out of the window
i steer the wheel too much, skip red lights, even hit the curb
the tea boils over staining the stove
while i try to hold on to the glimpse just one more second
it's precious, but it's fleeting
never stays
and i wait by the window
for it to show me who i am
long hours go by
and i devour the smells, all i can
to force the moment
but no...it doesn't come
i boarded the train from patna, then a flight to America
hoping for nothing, yet desiring so much
i slept the whole journey, waking up in my dreams
oh, they were manufactured dreams
ready-made perhaps
I had woven in my memories, experiences, scents, sights and all
all I could pack in
all that would remain
there was the lemon tree, the orange flowers on the vine
the flower pots on the old window sill
my aunt's bed that smelt of IODEX and balms
so soothing
and so much more
i did not want to lose them all
so I stored them
visiting them quietly
so they remain pristine
uncorrupted by the new
it is there now
no, it's gone
and I wait
it comes again
there it is, hazy, voices muffled
while i am driving or cooking or looking out of the window
i steer the wheel too much, skip red lights, even hit the curb
the tea boils over staining the stove
while i try to hold on to the glimpse just one more second
it's precious, but it's fleeting
never stays
and i wait by the window
for it to show me who i am
long hours go by
and i devour the smells, all i can
to force the moment
but no...it doesn't come
i boarded the train from patna, then a flight to America
hoping for nothing, yet desiring so much
i slept the whole journey, waking up in my dreams
oh, they were manufactured dreams
ready-made perhaps
I had woven in my memories, experiences, scents, sights and all
all I could pack in
all that would remain
there was the lemon tree, the orange flowers on the vine
the flower pots on the old window sill
my aunt's bed that smelt of IODEX and balms
so soothing
and so much more
i did not want to lose them all
so I stored them
visiting them quietly
so they remain pristine
uncorrupted by the new
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
an idea hijacked, distorted and commercialised...where are we headed?
the commentary on hippifest...
it was funny how the they sold an idea...and how it became a fashion statement more than anything else. at first, i was angry, then amused and then angry again. here is the commentary that was published in Observer-Dispatch July 29,2007.
Meant to be a general assignment on the fest, I just could not write a straight piece on how people were enjoying. It had to be this way. Sometimes, we write to let it out.
Peace, love — and Christian Dior?
Past, present mingle at Vernon Downs' Hippiefest
July 29, 2007
By Chinki Sinha
VERNON — At first glance, a walk through Vernon Downs on Saturday seemed like a trip into the past.
On men's bare chests, painted peace lockets proclaimed "make love, not war."
"Peace for all, freedom for all," some Hippiefest fans shouted.
As bands such as The Turtles took the stage, long-haired people wearing tie-dye cheered.
Look more closely, however, and Hippiefest was very much an event of the present.
Some concert fans sported Coach bags and Christian Dior sunglasses.
Tickets cost $30, and everyone was searched before entering.
A beer sponsorship advertisement hung on top of the stage, while people bought $5 beers and listened to the music that brought back the ideas they had once stood for.
June Fillman of Lyons says she grew up in the Hippie Era but had never been to a concert because she became a mom. Attending this concert made her feel 19 once again.
"I'm a flower child," Fillman said, pointing to her heavily-embroidered purple outfit.
Still, she noted the contrasts between the free-and-easy past and the corporate-dominated present.
No one could bring drinks in to Hippiefest, not even water.
"Back then, you could take drinks and food in," Fillman said. "Here, if you're thirsty, you have to buy a $3 soda."
She shrugged.
"It's today world," she said.
That world simply means survival for Vernon Downs. The harness track continues its attempts at revival following years of bankruptcy and a dark track. New video lottery gambling machines are part of the effort to become profitable.
And so, strangely, is Hippiefest.
Bringing in a tour of countercultural favorites from nearly four decades ago — The Zombies, Mountain, Mitch Ryder, Badfinger and Country Joe McDonald, among them — offered an opportunity to draw attention and crowds to the Downs. Not to mention an infusion of funds.
"It's all for profit," regional marketing director Douglas Tudman said of the concert's primary goal.
He acknowledged he was hoping for a turnout of 3,500 people by evening. During the afternoon, there were maybe 500 or 600 people present. It wasn't clear late in the day if Tudman's attendance goal would be met.
Across the track infield, people sat in lawn chairs wearing tie-dye and beads. Some adorned themselves with leaves and flowers.
Older fans squeezed into decades-old clothing, while young people simply bought the styles. For those without, Hippiefest shirts went for $35.
The concert had an anti-profanity rule in place. Many fans routinely flouted it.
Beers in hand, they smoked. They danced. They spoke of peace and happiness and freedom. And then about peace again.
In the 1960s, it was Vietnam that galvanized the Hippie movement. Today, some said, it's Iraq.
Eddie Johnson was there to sell beer. He said the 1970s music that Hippiefest bands played was a bonus for him because he enjoys it.
He was quite pleased with the pace at which fans were buying the $5 beers.
"It's beautiful as long as they're buying beer,"Johnson said.
Beyond all the $5 beer and $3 Cokes and anti-profanity rules, it was modern-day hippies such as Andrew Gray of Verona, 43, who caught the day's vibe.
Gray, who also goes by Ghandii, saw the concert as historical.
Attached to his ear and nearly covered by his long hair, Gray wore a purple feather similar to a Native American dreamcatcher. He described himself as an advocate of peace and camaraderie.
"Look at the people here," Gray said. "They are not here for commercialization. They are here for the music."
Friends of 45 years
July 29, 2007
Friends of 45 years
Sometimes traveling down memory lane doesn't come cheap, said Mary Hill and Teri Mayo, friends for 45 years.
The tickets were $30 each, the peace sign that hung around their waists cost $1 and the beers and sodas were "too much."
"They are selling peace for a dollar and don't forget the taxes," Hill said, pointing to the green peace sign. "It's typical of 2007. They are taking away from the Hippie freedom."
Bringing in food or drinks to the event wasn't allowed.
"We should have the freedom of choice. I got searched," Hill said. "Jesus, this is a Hippiefest."
But the friends did not mind so much. They were babies during the Hippie era, they said, always "wannabe hippies". Wearing beads, flowing skirts, tye-dye tees, they made peace signs, danced to the music and drank beer. Peace is what being a hippie means, they said.
'Flower power times'
They wore "granny" sunglasses and swayed to the music from the 1970s.
John George wore floral-print pants and a jacket, while Anne DiDominick wore a headband from the '70s and a necklace with "peace" written on it. The hippies in them had waited for this moment.
"Today we are from the flower power times," George said. "We are normal people ... with 8 to 5 jobs."
"We feel 40 years younger," DiDominick said. "It's hysterical. Lots of memories."
— Chinki Sinha, O-D
it was funny how the they sold an idea...and how it became a fashion statement more than anything else. at first, i was angry, then amused and then angry again. here is the commentary that was published in Observer-Dispatch July 29,2007.
Meant to be a general assignment on the fest, I just could not write a straight piece on how people were enjoying. It had to be this way. Sometimes, we write to let it out.
Peace, love — and Christian Dior?
Past, present mingle at Vernon Downs' Hippiefest
July 29, 2007
By Chinki Sinha
VERNON — At first glance, a walk through Vernon Downs on Saturday seemed like a trip into the past.
On men's bare chests, painted peace lockets proclaimed "make love, not war."
"Peace for all, freedom for all," some Hippiefest fans shouted.
As bands such as The Turtles took the stage, long-haired people wearing tie-dye cheered.
Look more closely, however, and Hippiefest was very much an event of the present.
Some concert fans sported Coach bags and Christian Dior sunglasses.
Tickets cost $30, and everyone was searched before entering.
A beer sponsorship advertisement hung on top of the stage, while people bought $5 beers and listened to the music that brought back the ideas they had once stood for.
June Fillman of Lyons says she grew up in the Hippie Era but had never been to a concert because she became a mom. Attending this concert made her feel 19 once again.
"I'm a flower child," Fillman said, pointing to her heavily-embroidered purple outfit.
Still, she noted the contrasts between the free-and-easy past and the corporate-dominated present.
No one could bring drinks in to Hippiefest, not even water.
"Back then, you could take drinks and food in," Fillman said. "Here, if you're thirsty, you have to buy a $3 soda."
She shrugged.
"It's today world," she said.
That world simply means survival for Vernon Downs. The harness track continues its attempts at revival following years of bankruptcy and a dark track. New video lottery gambling machines are part of the effort to become profitable.
And so, strangely, is Hippiefest.
Bringing in a tour of countercultural favorites from nearly four decades ago — The Zombies, Mountain, Mitch Ryder, Badfinger and Country Joe McDonald, among them — offered an opportunity to draw attention and crowds to the Downs. Not to mention an infusion of funds.
"It's all for profit," regional marketing director Douglas Tudman said of the concert's primary goal.
He acknowledged he was hoping for a turnout of 3,500 people by evening. During the afternoon, there were maybe 500 or 600 people present. It wasn't clear late in the day if Tudman's attendance goal would be met.
Across the track infield, people sat in lawn chairs wearing tie-dye and beads. Some adorned themselves with leaves and flowers.
Older fans squeezed into decades-old clothing, while young people simply bought the styles. For those without, Hippiefest shirts went for $35.
The concert had an anti-profanity rule in place. Many fans routinely flouted it.
Beers in hand, they smoked. They danced. They spoke of peace and happiness and freedom. And then about peace again.
In the 1960s, it was Vietnam that galvanized the Hippie movement. Today, some said, it's Iraq.
Eddie Johnson was there to sell beer. He said the 1970s music that Hippiefest bands played was a bonus for him because he enjoys it.
He was quite pleased with the pace at which fans were buying the $5 beers.
"It's beautiful as long as they're buying beer,"Johnson said.
Beyond all the $5 beer and $3 Cokes and anti-profanity rules, it was modern-day hippies such as Andrew Gray of Verona, 43, who caught the day's vibe.
Gray, who also goes by Ghandii, saw the concert as historical.
Attached to his ear and nearly covered by his long hair, Gray wore a purple feather similar to a Native American dreamcatcher. He described himself as an advocate of peace and camaraderie.
"Look at the people here," Gray said. "They are not here for commercialization. They are here for the music."
Friends of 45 years
July 29, 2007
Friends of 45 years
Sometimes traveling down memory lane doesn't come cheap, said Mary Hill and Teri Mayo, friends for 45 years.
The tickets were $30 each, the peace sign that hung around their waists cost $1 and the beers and sodas were "too much."
"They are selling peace for a dollar and don't forget the taxes," Hill said, pointing to the green peace sign. "It's typical of 2007. They are taking away from the Hippie freedom."
Bringing in food or drinks to the event wasn't allowed.
"We should have the freedom of choice. I got searched," Hill said. "Jesus, this is a Hippiefest."
But the friends did not mind so much. They were babies during the Hippie era, they said, always "wannabe hippies". Wearing beads, flowing skirts, tye-dye tees, they made peace signs, danced to the music and drank beer. Peace is what being a hippie means, they said.
'Flower power times'
They wore "granny" sunglasses and swayed to the music from the 1970s.
John George wore floral-print pants and a jacket, while Anne DiDominick wore a headband from the '70s and a necklace with "peace" written on it. The hippies in them had waited for this moment.
"Today we are from the flower power times," George said. "We are normal people ... with 8 to 5 jobs."
"We feel 40 years younger," DiDominick said. "It's hysterical. Lots of memories."
— Chinki Sinha, O-D
Saturday, July 28, 2007
my tryst with America
in the crowd, which swayed to the music from the 1970, wore peace signs on them, had tucked flowers in their hair...mostly people who were the flower children, i felt home. not because i am wannabe hippie but because the abandon with which they relived their past got on to me.
I should have been born then...then when the movements hadn't been hijacked, when crass commercialism hadn't been so rampant when it did not take away from the idea...when things had not been corrupted so much.
everything costs now...peace too or maybe stading for it. At the Hippiefest, a beer adverstisement hung on top of the stage...to me it took away from all that being hippie stood for. money rules. we are slaves..not free anymore
more later...
I should have been born then...then when the movements hadn't been hijacked, when crass commercialism hadn't been so rampant when it did not take away from the idea...when things had not been corrupted so much.
everything costs now...peace too or maybe stading for it. At the Hippiefest, a beer adverstisement hung on top of the stage...to me it took away from all that being hippie stood for. money rules. we are slaves..not free anymore
more later...
Monday, May 21, 2007
bombay...
the waves crashing against the rocks
the energy unmatched, unthinkable
the waves...
they are huge
unbound and strong
yet frustrate themselves trying to take over the city
the city...its buildings stand tall
overlooking, assessing the waves in their regalia
mocking them in their space
"back off"...they say
it is night time in the city
and lights reflect on the waves, the sea is never calm
maybe it takes from the city's throbbing energy
so full that it engulfs all
all that come into that ever-sprawling city
adding suburbs after suburbs to its expanse
claiming the sea too
for land to house us all
who come to it to be consumed
taken away, swept away
the energy unmatched, unthinkable
the waves...
they are huge
unbound and strong
yet frustrate themselves trying to take over the city
the city...its buildings stand tall
overlooking, assessing the waves in their regalia
mocking them in their space
"back off"...they say
it is night time in the city
and lights reflect on the waves, the sea is never calm
maybe it takes from the city's throbbing energy
so full that it engulfs all
all that come into that ever-sprawling city
adding suburbs after suburbs to its expanse
claiming the sea too
for land to house us all
who come to it to be consumed
taken away, swept away
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
a shard of poetry that encompasses the refugee experience
buraambur composed by Hawa Jibril in Toronto
Indeed Canadians welcome refugees
And do not let them starve
Yet one is always unsatisfied and broke
For the little we get
Hardly suffices our food and shelter.
They are strange people coming from everywhere
Never notice you or even greet you
Each one keeps to himself
Always hastily locking his door.
I feel isolated and sick with loneliness
Deprived from my beautiful Africa
And the land of my inspirations and songs.
I must be contended with the fate
That my God has reserved for me.
Indeed Canadians welcome refugees
And do not let them starve
Yet one is always unsatisfied and broke
For the little we get
Hardly suffices our food and shelter.
They are strange people coming from everywhere
Never notice you or even greet you
Each one keeps to himself
Always hastily locking his door.
I feel isolated and sick with loneliness
Deprived from my beautiful Africa
And the land of my inspirations and songs.
I must be contended with the fate
That my God has reserved for me.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
i call out to the dead
I see the dead
sometimes...
many times
in my dreams they come
and at times linger on
even in my dreams
i know they are long dead
but they don't scare me
not more than a mice would
I saw my granmother once
my aunt propping pillows
so that she could sit up
she was back
and the mattress, rolled over since she died, was being spread again
gangajali dusted the room
lit some incense too
and my grandmother looked around
i caught her eye
and we looked at each other for a long time
i wanted to ask her
how was the land of the dead?
why do you return?
And will you go back again?
Sometimes the dead call out to me
and I listen
the calling faint and muffled
and I wake up
and find nobody
They are the ghosts of my past
dead long ago when I was just a child
now they revisit me
and we talk
I am always in the old rooms where they once lived
where my grandmother chewed her betel nuts
and my grandfather read his law books
They don't come to where I live
perhaps they would feel misplaced too like me
if they did
so i travel to them
And I long for those conversations
but they haven't come in a long time
and I wonder why
And I call out to them
come visit me
come to me from whereever you are
and let's talk about home and the past
I am a dweller of the past
like them I do not belong anywhere
like them i am restless too
they are the living dead
and i am a walking ghost
sometimes...
many times
in my dreams they come
and at times linger on
even in my dreams
i know they are long dead
but they don't scare me
not more than a mice would
I saw my granmother once
my aunt propping pillows
so that she could sit up
she was back
and the mattress, rolled over since she died, was being spread again
gangajali dusted the room
lit some incense too
and my grandmother looked around
i caught her eye
and we looked at each other for a long time
i wanted to ask her
how was the land of the dead?
why do you return?
And will you go back again?
Sometimes the dead call out to me
and I listen
the calling faint and muffled
and I wake up
and find nobody
They are the ghosts of my past
dead long ago when I was just a child
now they revisit me
and we talk
I am always in the old rooms where they once lived
where my grandmother chewed her betel nuts
and my grandfather read his law books
They don't come to where I live
perhaps they would feel misplaced too like me
if they did
so i travel to them
And I long for those conversations
but they haven't come in a long time
and I wonder why
And I call out to them
come visit me
come to me from whereever you are
and let's talk about home and the past
I am a dweller of the past
like them I do not belong anywhere
like them i am restless too
they are the living dead
and i am a walking ghost
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
the smells of my past
the smell is a connector
everytime the rain falls and the grass is soaked
and the earth is drenched
the smell seeps in my house, my lungs and my soul
and my spirit dances with complete abandon
drunk with the smell
enchanted with its richness
it is same smell, the smell of my being
I breathe in too much
and quickly too
and keep doing it
Because I know soon the sky will be clear
and the light will pierce through the intricate web of dreams and memories
I wove in my drunken stupor
and the dance will come to a halt
the cruel, brutal light
so bright it hurts the eyes
and scorches the soul
it rips apart my little world
like a hot rod through flesh
then I turn inwards
to shut off that light
i rummage through the stuff in my old suitcase
a black one, the straps coming off
the buckles rusted
i sniff through the papers, i scan the pictures
somewhere in those old letters, crinkled books, faded photos
I live
drugged by the weak smells
Someplace in those little pockets of the old suitcase
my childhood lingers
waiting to be rescued
that suitcase, tucked away in the closet
with all its smells and sights
is my escape
and my solace
a retreat and a refuge
everytime the rain falls and the grass is soaked
and the earth is drenched
the smell seeps in my house, my lungs and my soul
and my spirit dances with complete abandon
drunk with the smell
enchanted with its richness
it is same smell, the smell of my being
I breathe in too much
and quickly too
and keep doing it
Because I know soon the sky will be clear
and the light will pierce through the intricate web of dreams and memories
I wove in my drunken stupor
and the dance will come to a halt
the cruel, brutal light
so bright it hurts the eyes
and scorches the soul
it rips apart my little world
like a hot rod through flesh
then I turn inwards
to shut off that light
i rummage through the stuff in my old suitcase
a black one, the straps coming off
the buckles rusted
i sniff through the papers, i scan the pictures
somewhere in those old letters, crinkled books, faded photos
I live
drugged by the weak smells
Someplace in those little pockets of the old suitcase
my childhood lingers
waiting to be rescued
that suitcase, tucked away in the closet
with all its smells and sights
is my escape
and my solace
a retreat and a refuge
Monday, April 23, 2007
the unseenamerica exhibit
When I attended the unseenamerica NYS class, I did not anticipate so many would turn up at the refugee center to see the pictures. The pictures were hung in the hallway and it was like a journey of its own...offering a glimpse into a refugee's life in a strange land. The connections with the past were so visible...the eagerness to merge with the new also visible in the smiles.
And i went around comparing the similarities in my own little house with those in those haunting pictures.
The story was published in Utica Observer-Dispatch April 21. I am copying the text here.
Refugees capture lives through lens
By CHINKI SINHA
Observer-Dispatch
csinha@utica.gannett.com
UTICA- The photograph of a refugee sleeping at the Mohawk Valley Resource Center for Refugees taken by Bosnian refugee Tatjana Kulalic touched Hamilton College student Rita Tran.
Tran was among those Friday taking in the unseenamerica NYS project on display at the refugee center. The caption of Kulalic's photo described how refugees are always waiting for something.
"It hit me that you are always waiting," Tran said. "The pictures are so simple yet they tell you a lot."
For many community members, the exhibit of about 50 photos shot by 15 refugees offered insight into the struggles of adapting to a new culture, new weather and new people. Hamilton College student Emily Powell said the pictures showed how hard it is for refugees trying to cross over to a different country and another culture.
unseenamerica NYS, a project that gives cameras to working-class people so they can document their lives, worked with refugees in the Utica area to put together the exhibit. It is open for public viewing until Memorial Day.
The pictures show everyday life in a refugee household, pictures of snow and the city of Utica.
Sylvia Wilson, a visiting chaplain from Atlanta at Hamilton College, said she had heard of the strong refugee presence in the area. She learned about their lives through the photos that hung in the hallway at the refugee center.
"They are beautiful snapshots of these people and their lives," she said.
All the pictures had captions underneath them written by refugees describing the scene or the context.
Joan Carlon, who came from Syracuse, said the descriptions were powerful.
"It is compelling ... to give up everything and try to change," she said.
Connie Frisbee Houde, a photographer who helped with the project, said she loved the diversity communicated through the descriptions.
"You get a view into the person who took these," she said. "They are looking at it in a different way."
Utica is home to many refugees from around the world, and refugees make up about 15 percent of the city's population. Through projects such as unseenamerica NYS, the refugee center is trying to showcase the region's new residents to the community, said Daniel Sargent, director of multicultural affairs at the center.
One of the refugee center's missions is to help refugees lead a dignified life and Sargent said the exhibit supports that mission. A refugee's life is not just about struggles, and they can be artists, too, he said.
"It is going to add sophistication to the refugees," he said. "Rarely do we see refugees having a sublime vision."
Sidi Chivala, whose pictures were on display, said he was excited to see so many people at the show.
To him, the photographs served as a bridge to the community and helped local residents understand where refugees are coming from.
"People know who I am," he said. "Now they will have a background."
And i went around comparing the similarities in my own little house with those in those haunting pictures.
The story was published in Utica Observer-Dispatch April 21. I am copying the text here.
Refugees capture lives through lens
By CHINKI SINHA
Observer-Dispatch
csinha@utica.gannett.com
UTICA- The photograph of a refugee sleeping at the Mohawk Valley Resource Center for Refugees taken by Bosnian refugee Tatjana Kulalic touched Hamilton College student Rita Tran.
Tran was among those Friday taking in the unseenamerica NYS project on display at the refugee center. The caption of Kulalic's photo described how refugees are always waiting for something.
"It hit me that you are always waiting," Tran said. "The pictures are so simple yet they tell you a lot."
For many community members, the exhibit of about 50 photos shot by 15 refugees offered insight into the struggles of adapting to a new culture, new weather and new people. Hamilton College student Emily Powell said the pictures showed how hard it is for refugees trying to cross over to a different country and another culture.
unseenamerica NYS, a project that gives cameras to working-class people so they can document their lives, worked with refugees in the Utica area to put together the exhibit. It is open for public viewing until Memorial Day.
The pictures show everyday life in a refugee household, pictures of snow and the city of Utica.
Sylvia Wilson, a visiting chaplain from Atlanta at Hamilton College, said she had heard of the strong refugee presence in the area. She learned about their lives through the photos that hung in the hallway at the refugee center.
"They are beautiful snapshots of these people and their lives," she said.
All the pictures had captions underneath them written by refugees describing the scene or the context.
Joan Carlon, who came from Syracuse, said the descriptions were powerful.
"It is compelling ... to give up everything and try to change," she said.
Connie Frisbee Houde, a photographer who helped with the project, said she loved the diversity communicated through the descriptions.
"You get a view into the person who took these," she said. "They are looking at it in a different way."
Utica is home to many refugees from around the world, and refugees make up about 15 percent of the city's population. Through projects such as unseenamerica NYS, the refugee center is trying to showcase the region's new residents to the community, said Daniel Sargent, director of multicultural affairs at the center.
One of the refugee center's missions is to help refugees lead a dignified life and Sargent said the exhibit supports that mission. A refugee's life is not just about struggles, and they can be artists, too, he said.
"It is going to add sophistication to the refugees," he said. "Rarely do we see refugees having a sublime vision."
Sidi Chivala, whose pictures were on display, said he was excited to see so many people at the show.
To him, the photographs served as a bridge to the community and helped local residents understand where refugees are coming from.
"People know who I am," he said. "Now they will have a background."
echoes...
"Whenever I leave Bosnia,
I feel I am guilty of something;
I feel time, not contentment,
And it's worse
Than the worst injection.
I have several Bosnian friends
who fall ill when they leave the country.
In Bosnia nothing disgusts me.
I could eat from the floor here in Bosnia."
by Bosnian poet Goran Samardzic
I feel I am guilty of something;
I feel time, not contentment,
And it's worse
Than the worst injection.
I have several Bosnian friends
who fall ill when they leave the country.
In Bosnia nothing disgusts me.
I could eat from the floor here in Bosnia."
by Bosnian poet Goran Samardzic
the spirit shall run amuck
ahh...the people, so many of them
they tire me
i feel awkward
Often times I don't know how to act
or to react
so many personalities
they split me
and stifle me
i feel gagged
and choked too
my spirit reined in
my soul entangled
but the mesh shall not hold me long
aah..the people...
they measure you
they take you in
they interpret you
body, mind and soul
and you are at display
you need to breathe
break free
tell them all
think all you can you fools, do all you can you bearers of wisdom
the spirit shall break free
and run amuck
I am the child of the wild
I am the child of unrealized dreams
while in the womb, my mother whispered to me
how she wanted me to be free
I was bred to be untamed
like a wild horse let loose
a disruptive force
within and without
you shall not hold me down
no god...do what you will
the spirit shall rise yet again
and run amuck
the heart will bleed
the soul will hurt
and hurt bad
but the spirit will be untouched
and will run wild
they tire me
i feel awkward
Often times I don't know how to act
or to react
so many personalities
they split me
and stifle me
i feel gagged
and choked too
my spirit reined in
my soul entangled
but the mesh shall not hold me long
aah..the people...
they measure you
they take you in
they interpret you
body, mind and soul
and you are at display
you need to breathe
break free
tell them all
think all you can you fools, do all you can you bearers of wisdom
the spirit shall break free
and run amuck
I am the child of the wild
I am the child of unrealized dreams
while in the womb, my mother whispered to me
how she wanted me to be free
I was bred to be untamed
like a wild horse let loose
a disruptive force
within and without
you shall not hold me down
no god...do what you will
the spirit shall rise yet again
and run amuck
the heart will bleed
the soul will hurt
and hurt bad
but the spirit will be untouched
and will run wild
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