A Tearful Goodbye

We said goodbye to the refugees tonight.

It was rather sudden. They are moving to Pennsylvania, in hopes of finding jobs over there.

I always knew our time with them would be temporary. Last week when I learned that Samira and her dad were in Pennsylvania, I kind of felt that our time with them was coming to a fast close. The rest of the family joins them a week from today, July 7. We helped them look for flights today.

We didn't get to say goodbye to Samira and Said. In a way, that was almost better, because it would have been really, really hard to say goodbye to Samira. I really learned to love that girl, and toward the end she was really starting to trust me.

I started crying when we left tonight. Then Soher and Salima (the mother) started crying. We hugged a lot, and they called over Sara, who was at a neighbor's house, to say goodbye, too. It was extremely difficult. But it was such a relief, in a way, to see them cry--to know that they loved us, too. That it wasn't a one-way relationship.

Sometimes I think the cultural and language differences made our relationship even more meaningful than it would have been otherwise. They didn't hear our words; they saw our actions. We visited them faithfully every week, helped them with whatever they needed every week, and I think that spoke much more to them than words ever could, Arabic, English or otherwise.

I also think the cultural and language differences made the goodbyes more real. With them, there was none of this meaningless, "We'll keep in touch," said with a polite nod and smile and an anxious get-me-out-of-here-quick look behind the eyes. No--those American rules of etiquette were irrelevant here. We cried, and they cried. And we hugged, obeying the deepest, most honest desires of our hearts. It gave us closure.

Closure is something we all seek at the end of an era, a chapter, a friendship. So many times I think we obey the rules of society instead of the rules of our hearts, and we don't get that closure. America doesn't like goodbyes, I don't think.

The refugees are nomads; their time in Portland, and with us, was always temporary. In a way, their lifestyle better reflects the truth of our existence than the American way does. We are all temporary residents here. One day we'll all say our goodbyes.

I have lots more thoughts on goodbyes, but I think I've said enough for tonight. It's time to take my tears and rest on God, and sleep with peace in His arms.

Refugees in November

I have funny stories to tell.

Abdullah, the son of the oldest girl in the family, is the loudest, most hyper 6-year-old I have EVER met. Ever since we started coming to the refugees a year ago in August, our experience with him has been him bouncing and rolling and screaming and laughing around the living room where we meet with the refugees every time we go over. There was one time he was sick and sleeping. The silence was amazing.

The whole family is rather noisy; they're a huge family and I imagine they've just learned to talk over each other to get heard. It's overwhelming for me just about every time, but for Stephen, who also comes from a big family, it's never been too big a deal. Yesterday even he was getting overwhelmed, so that tells you a lot about the level of craziness in the home yesterday! Abdullah was being the worst, and Stephen, when he was finished helping the three teens out with one e-mail account, finally said to Abdullah, "Abdullah. I have game for you. It's called who can sit down and be quiet the longest." And Stephen proceeded to kneel on the rug as an example, and Mohammad, the social one who speaks really good English, jumped right in as well. I was amazed as Abdullah actually conceded to this "game," sitting down cross-legged on the carpet as well and grinning his eyes out, but managing to not talk, laugh, scream, or make noise in any other way.

The quiet that descended on the house was incredible.

Not only was the little nosiemaker being quiet, but everyone else who was in the room was caught up in disbelief that my husband's trick had actually worked! And just loving it!

Abdullah lost, of course, after about a minute, when a much-suppressed laugh finally erupted from him. And the rest of us also laughed in amazement and wonder and delight. I was very, very, very impressed with my husband and I hope the refugees were too. And then Abdullah, of all things, goes, "One more time!" Which got another round of laughter from everyone watching. So Stephen and Mohammad agreed to another round and the three boys sat again as the rest of us looked on. Abdullah didn't last much longer this time and again an irrepressible laugh was his loss. We all laughed and clapped for him for being quiet for so long, and for Stephen's ingenious trick. And then Abdullah said AGAIN, "One more time!" We were starting to wonder how many rounds they would have to play (What have you gotten yourself into, dear? was my amused thought), when Abdullah said, "Just one more time."

So for the third time, Mohammad, Abdullah and Stephen sat on the carpet keeping quiet. A minute passed, and a second minute; the rest of us had quelled our laughter and we could see Abdullah was really trying this time. We all watched his comical face in great curiosity to see how long he could really go, when all of a sudden he put his hand up and announced in the silence with a grin, "I lose!"

At that we all just fell apart laughing! We laughed and clapped so hard at him. He must have loved it. :) I think we all (including his family) had a brand-new understanding of Abdullah. He really can be quiet! Who knew?? LOL.

That was definitely the best story of us as a community. The best personal story (for me) came at the end of the night. Mohammad went into the kitchen and brought out a plastic bag and two pomegranates, one in each hand. Looking at us, he said, "You like this?" Steve and I are both fond of pomegranates, even though they turn my teeth black. Stephen wasn't paying attention, though, he was absorbed in more computer stuff with the refugees, I think, so I answered for us, "Yeah, we like those."

"Here, you take them." He put them in the bag for us. "I don't know what they are called in English. In Arabic, rumon," he said, rolling the 'r'.

"Rumon," I imitated him, and his head snapped up at me.

"WOW, she say rumon!" he said to his family.

I was a little taken aback by his response, and I explained, "So easy! In English, pomegranate." Which they had an amusing time trying to figure out. They called it "pomegranny," LOL! I emphasized the 't' sound at the end for them, but I think they'll still call it a "pomegranny" because they think it's funny. :D Mohammad told us that the Kurdish (they're half-Kurdish) word for it was "hadad," which I also imitated, but then I wrinkled up my nose. "I like rumon better," I said, and again that same head-snapping response from Mohammad.

"WOW, she say it again! She say rumon! She say it I think I hear Iraq!" he explained excitedly, and finally I understood why he gave such an energetic response. I said it like an Iraqi! Cool! And even better--"I think you say it better than me!" he went on. I blushed and laughed with delight. Wow, that's high praise! I say an Arabic word better than a bonafide Iraqi! :D

It made me extra happy, because when we were first teaching them English and learning a teeny bit of Arabic from them, Stephen and I both tried to say one thing, and he did a better job than I did, and Mohammad joked, "Stephen, Arabic good! Stephanie, not good!" I felt pretty bad, even though he meant it in a totally lighthearted way. It was just a slight injury to my pride, because I like to think I'm really good at languages. So after that I didn't try to speak Arabic. But now a year later Mohammad is telling me I sound like a true Iraqi, so that's pretty cool! :)

Truly, though... How easy is it to say "rumon"?? So easy.

Anyway. :) I ought to learn more Arabic and impress their socks off... Haha!! I'd love that. :D

Sorry about all the smileys... I just like it when I get stuff right! I'm from "Perfect Country" all right.

Oh, that's a reference to a marriage seminar that Stephen and I went to at our church. We watched a DVD series by a guy named Mark Gungor. It's called "Laugh Your Way to a Better Marriage." It was really, really good! I would love to show it to my family, and Stephen and I might check it out from the church library before we go to my grandparents' for Thanksgiving to do just that.

Goodness, I'm writing and realizing there's so much I haven't updated everybody on in here! Yes, Stephen and I are going to my grandparents' house for Thanksgiving. My sister is there, living with them and going to school, and while we were thinking about the idea of going there for Thanksgiving, my aunt was thinking the same thing, and when we talked about it, we more or less decided yep, that's where we're going. Naturally, when we mentioned how we were all going over there, Mom decided to follow. So we'll have a nice Thanksgiving with all of us (except my other aunt and her family) together at my grandparents' house. :) That'll be fun.

Christmas plans haven't officially solidified yet. Our plan is to go to Stephen's parents' for Christmas, since his brother and sister-in-law are coming, but we just aren't sure what day we'll get up there. Stephen may not get Christmas off. We're still waiting on that end of it.

I think that's all I've got. I've got to dash off to the Real Life Exhibit to volunteer.

Refugees in June

Stephen and I have been working with a refugee family in the area for almost a year now. We go once a week and teach them English or math, whatever they need help with. Usually half the family is there, sometimes only a couple of them. Yesterday it was only Soher, the 21-year-old girl. The rest of her family was at a soccer game. Soher doesn't speak much English, so communication was pretty much nil the whole time.

At one point Soher did try and talk to us, and she explained through her broken English and hand gestures that she and her siblings that are older than 18 have no medical or dental insurance here. She talked about how one of her teeth is broken and how it would cost $1300 to fix it. :S "Big--big money!" she said. "Thirteen one hundreds. In Syria, $100, $200...Here, no. Big money." That really bothered me. Having had thousands of dollars of dental work done on my own teeth, I understand how important it is to have insurance. I told her in the best way I could that I would see if there was some way we could get her dental insurance.

At 9:00 the rest of her family came home along with a few of their friends. Stephen and I usually leave at 9:00, but I really didn't want to go now that everybody was home. We hung around for another hour. Their friends that they had brought home were fun to talk to. They have been in America for about 4 years and speak and understand English just fine.

Soher explained in Arabic to one of them what I had said about trying to find her some dental insurance. He turned to me and translated in English. "She says you're going to find her dental insurance?"

Oh great.

I explained very slowly and thoughtfully that I would sure try. I didn't know if I'd be able to find it or not, but I would sure see what I could do.

Never promise refugees anything you can't follow up on. LOL.

So as if June isn't crazy enough--with one weekend trip back to my hometown (this weekend), a day trip to the beach with our small group and one week-long trip to New Jersey for a family reunion--now I'm the personal assistant for the refugees! But I feel like this is really important. It IS really important. Got to get that girl some health care!

The best part of the night was at the end, when Samira, the 17-year-old girl, stopped us in the door with a troubled look. "Next week? Wednesday, Thursday, Friday - no more school." She looked really bothered, which I thought was sweet. Then she suddenly resolved it in her own mind. "You come visit," she said with a big smile. Yay! They want us to keep coming! We just grinned back at her and said, "We'll come visit."

I am kind of glad that Soher was the only one there tonight for that whole first hour. It forced her to try and communicate with us, and she met with a lot of frustration at not being able to communicate properly. I think it will push her to learn English, which will do her a world of good.

Well, here I go to do research for the refugees!