Friday, April 30, 2004
Hey Grace - After I read your post I was inspired to re-edit mine, copying your idea of the bold headings since it's so much easier to read.
ALSO: Maay word for banana = mau (like Mao Tse-tung!)
ALSO: Maay word for banana = mau (like Mao Tse-tung!)
Thursday, April 29, 2004
This week's visit was chaotic and yes, fun. Khadija was gone - eventually we learned that she was at the hospital with the baby. Couldn't quite figure out if the baby was actually sick, although the neighbor Safia was incredibly amused by my attempts to explain "really sick" and a "little bit sick" which involved varying degrees of sneezing and writhing around the floor in mock pain.
Names. I feel so bad that I keep asking the neighbor and her kids what their names are every week. The neighbor is Safia. Safia, Safia, Safia. Her oldest daughter, who looks about 7, is just beautiful and smiles all the time. I don't know why she doesn't go to school. Her name is Isha (don't know how to spell it though). The neighbor has two other kids whose names I forgot within seconds after hearing them, a little girl and an older boy who we just met for the first time this week. Apparently earlier he was in the hospital with malaria. Yeah, malaria.
Bollywood. When we got to the apartment the kids were just chillin', watching a Bollywood movie from the '80's. We have got to get these children some English videos or they will grow up speaking Hindi.
Light on, light off. Repeat ad nauseum. I tried to teach Noor the concept of on/off today. The topic came up when I picked him up and he became tall enough to pull on the light cord. I got all excited and took him to the bathroom, where we tried to relate on/off to the water faucet (which was running when we came in, although we don't know why.) I think the main thing he got out of it was "water is fun". Every time I think about language I'm totally amazed that I managed to learn one. They teach this stuff to babies! And it actually works!
I like to eat, eat, eat apples and bananas... Grace brought some apples and bananas for the family, since World Relief has asked us to eat fruits and vegetables in front of the family so they understand that Americans don't attach a stigma to fruits and veggies. (Apparently among the Bantu in the refugee camps vegetables are poor people's food... so some families have stopped eating them here now that meat and starch is more available.) I feel like a bad public service announcement - fruit is cool, kids! - after eating almost a banana and a half. The kids ate little pieces when they were offered, possibly just to humor us. Truthfully, the banana wasn't that good and if I were them I too would be skeptical of my intense banana-related enthusiasm.
I gave Noor the last bit of the second banana; he very seriously used the can opener to squish it half (and didn't eat it, I might add). Kids are HILARIOUS.
Money. One of the kids came home with a note saying he needed $6.50 for a field trip; the oldest Ali needs $22 for a gym outfit. I don't know where they will get the money. I want to help them out but know we are not supposed to, and I'm always afraid that if we help them with one thing they won't understand when we can't help them with something else. This is the worst part about working with refugees. There is so much need, and I feel guilty in my relative wealth, yet helpless to do anything.
Names. I feel so bad that I keep asking the neighbor and her kids what their names are every week. The neighbor is Safia. Safia, Safia, Safia. Her oldest daughter, who looks about 7, is just beautiful and smiles all the time. I don't know why she doesn't go to school. Her name is Isha (don't know how to spell it though). The neighbor has two other kids whose names I forgot within seconds after hearing them, a little girl and an older boy who we just met for the first time this week. Apparently earlier he was in the hospital with malaria. Yeah, malaria.
Bollywood. When we got to the apartment the kids were just chillin', watching a Bollywood movie from the '80's. We have got to get these children some English videos or they will grow up speaking Hindi.
Light on, light off. Repeat ad nauseum. I tried to teach Noor the concept of on/off today. The topic came up when I picked him up and he became tall enough to pull on the light cord. I got all excited and took him to the bathroom, where we tried to relate on/off to the water faucet (which was running when we came in, although we don't know why.) I think the main thing he got out of it was "water is fun". Every time I think about language I'm totally amazed that I managed to learn one. They teach this stuff to babies! And it actually works!
I like to eat, eat, eat apples and bananas... Grace brought some apples and bananas for the family, since World Relief has asked us to eat fruits and vegetables in front of the family so they understand that Americans don't attach a stigma to fruits and veggies. (Apparently among the Bantu in the refugee camps vegetables are poor people's food... so some families have stopped eating them here now that meat and starch is more available.) I feel like a bad public service announcement - fruit is cool, kids! - after eating almost a banana and a half. The kids ate little pieces when they were offered, possibly just to humor us. Truthfully, the banana wasn't that good and if I were them I too would be skeptical of my intense banana-related enthusiasm.
I gave Noor the last bit of the second banana; he very seriously used the can opener to squish it half (and didn't eat it, I might add). Kids are HILARIOUS.
Money. One of the kids came home with a note saying he needed $6.50 for a field trip; the oldest Ali needs $22 for a gym outfit. I don't know where they will get the money. I want to help them out but know we are not supposed to, and I'm always afraid that if we help them with one thing they won't understand when we can't help them with something else. This is the worst part about working with refugees. There is so much need, and I feel guilty in my relative wealth, yet helpless to do anything.
Friday, April 23, 2004
Good post Grace....
moments that stuck out for me (i know they're a little dark but I still wanted to write them down)
1) When we first came in Ahmed (that's the translator's name) was sitting on the bed, his back to the open window. At some point during Khadija's long speech about the report cards the window (fourth floor, no screen - scary with all those little ones around) slams shut. Ahmed jumps about a foot. Everybody laughs, including him. "I thought it was a gunshot maybe," he says. "Because you're always thinking it's that, you know..."
2) We brought a picture book of Somalia for the little kids to look at. One of the older boys (Mohammed?) found a picture on the last page of "Somalia today" - soldiers with guns, and some people distributing white bags from the back of a truck. Hassan (7) and some of the younger kids (both Khadija's and the neighbor's) all gathered around staring. I asked what they were looking at; they showed me the book and pointed at the white bags, saying "food", and the truck, telling me it was a "lorry". They were more interested in the soldiers, however. Mohammed said "beba" and made a motion like shooting a rifle. "Soldiers?" I asked. "Yes," they all said. Grace suggested on the bus that he probably meant "gun" and that makes more sense... he doesn't know many English words and I really hope "soldier" isn't one of them.
3) So many kids. The eating was definitely a crazy experience - rice everywhere. Rice on the baby, rice on our pants, the kids with their own plate of rice in the kitchen and little Noor for some reason with his own bowl of rice and spoon. How would I deal with nine kids, 24/7? (I think that's the total number of Khadija's and her neighbor's children)
moments that stuck out for me (i know they're a little dark but I still wanted to write them down)
1) When we first came in Ahmed (that's the translator's name) was sitting on the bed, his back to the open window. At some point during Khadija's long speech about the report cards the window (fourth floor, no screen - scary with all those little ones around) slams shut. Ahmed jumps about a foot. Everybody laughs, including him. "I thought it was a gunshot maybe," he says. "Because you're always thinking it's that, you know..."
2) We brought a picture book of Somalia for the little kids to look at. One of the older boys (Mohammed?) found a picture on the last page of "Somalia today" - soldiers with guns, and some people distributing white bags from the back of a truck. Hassan (7) and some of the younger kids (both Khadija's and the neighbor's) all gathered around staring. I asked what they were looking at; they showed me the book and pointed at the white bags, saying "food", and the truck, telling me it was a "lorry". They were more interested in the soldiers, however. Mohammed said "beba" and made a motion like shooting a rifle. "Soldiers?" I asked. "Yes," they all said. Grace suggested on the bus that he probably meant "gun" and that makes more sense... he doesn't know many English words and I really hope "soldier" isn't one of them.
3) So many kids. The eating was definitely a crazy experience - rice everywhere. Rice on the baby, rice on our pants, the kids with their own plate of rice in the kitchen and little Noor for some reason with his own bowl of rice and spoon. How would I deal with nine kids, 24/7? (I think that's the total number of Khadija's and her neighbor's children)
Wednesday, April 21, 2004
Quick summary of the family for future reference:
Khadija - single mother with five young sons. She has lived in a refugee camp in Kenya for the last 9 years.
Ali - eldest son, 15 years old. Just started high school last week. Speaks a little English.
Mohammed - 9 years old.
Hassan - 7 years old.
Noor - 3 or 4, we think.
Abdi - the baby. Probably around 1.
Ali, Mohammed and Hassan have all started school; Noor and Abdi are at home with Khadija, who is also attending English class in the mornings. They all live in an apartment on Sawyer, near Foster and Kedzie.
Also, a really interesting link on Bantu culture . If you scroll down to the section on medical practices, you'll see it says something about burning small holes in the skins to cure various illnesses. I wonder if that's the source of the marks we noticed today on Mohammed?
Khadija - single mother with five young sons. She has lived in a refugee camp in Kenya for the last 9 years.
Ali - eldest son, 15 years old. Just started high school last week. Speaks a little English.
Mohammed - 9 years old.
Hassan - 7 years old.
Noor - 3 or 4, we think.
Abdi - the baby. Probably around 1.
Ali, Mohammed and Hassan have all started school; Noor and Abdi are at home with Khadija, who is also attending English class in the mornings. They all live in an apartment on Sawyer, near Foster and Kedzie.
Also, a really interesting link on Bantu culture . If you scroll down to the section on medical practices, you'll see it says something about burning small holes in the skins to cure various illnesses. I wonder if that's the source of the marks we noticed today on Mohammed?
This little blog is primarily about two Northwestern University students' experiences working with refugee families in Chicago. We've been doing this since January 2002 - first meeting weekly with an Iraqi family, and now with a family originally from Somalia.
We were matched up with our first (and eventually our second) family through a Christian organization called World Relief. Their Chicago office deals primarily with refugee resettlement. After 12 hours of training (in two six-hour chunks) we were off. Since then ... well, it's been interesting.
The family we work with right now is Bantu. They've been here since February; we visit them at their apartment every week.
The idea for this blog came on the bus on the way home today talking with Grace. I guess I want to record the experience more for myself than anyone, so if you're reading this and you're not me or Grace, I'm sorry if it's boring and overly introspective. :)
We were matched up with our first (and eventually our second) family through a Christian organization called World Relief. Their Chicago office deals primarily with refugee resettlement. After 12 hours of training (in two six-hour chunks) we were off. Since then ... well, it's been interesting.
The family we work with right now is Bantu. They've been here since February; we visit them at their apartment every week.
The idea for this blog came on the bus on the way home today talking with Grace. I guess I want to record the experience more for myself than anyone, so if you're reading this and you're not me or Grace, I'm sorry if it's boring and overly introspective. :)
