Refugee neighbors changed my life
Nine years ago, I ended up managing an apartment complex that housed refugees who would now be banned entry into the United States. This experience taught me that sometimes all we need in life to be happy is a fresh perspective, and that perspective can often come from surprising places.
As our nation continues to turn its back on the current refugee crisis, I thought it was important to share my firsthand experience helping new refugees adapt to life in the U.S.
Around the time I was pregnant with our first child, both my husband and I were in college and working full-time. After crunching the numbers again and again, we realized that I would still need to work once the baby was born.
As a result, we moved to a dingy apartment complex so that I could be the manager. The first year was tough. We witnessed drug deals, encountered loud and sometimes furious tenants and dealt with a suicide, domestic and child abuse, break-ins, and even roach and bedbug infestations, which led to a mass exodus of tenants. The owners soon found a solution to the vacancies. They would place refugee families from Iran, Iraq and Bhutan in our apartment complex.
My initial response (I am ashamed to say) was, “This is going to make my job so much harder!”
The apartments themselves weren’t terrible. Although clean, they were outdated. It had been difficult to rent them at even a reasonable rate.
As the refugee families started arriving I was humbled when I saw their faces as they crossed over the thresholds. It’s one of those things that stays with you. To them the apartments might as well have been the most luxurious suites at a five-star hotel. Happiness, hope and excitement filled their faces.
As I moved them in, something began to nag at my mind. They came with nothing. All the International Rescue Committee could provide at the time were beds, blankets, some dishes and access to federal welfare programs. Many of these families had babies or ones on the way.
As their apartment manager, I was in a unique position to see their immediate needs. I was in their homes. I knew what they didn’t have, which was a lot by our standards. I looked at the local classifieds, in the “Items Wanted” section, and requested various things, like baby and kid’s clothes, pack n’ plays and toys.
The response was incredible.
My church also got involved. Several volunteers were able to use church funds to provide non-food items for the refugees, take them shopping for clothes and help them find employment.
As time passed, my neighbors did forget some house rules. They knocked at all hours of the morning and night. But when I would answer the door, I was never met with anger. They were there to ask where the library was, or to give me mangos or a box of cereal they found for a great deal at the store. (As I write that, it fills my heart with laughter and my eyes with tears.)
There is one little face I will never forget. She arrived from Iraq along with her new baby sister, mom and dad. They fled their home because her dad’s brother had been shot in front of him. The next day a car bomb went off just a stone’s throw from their house. As they fled, this little girl’s mom, pregnant at the time, was yanked from a car and had a gun held to her head. I still don’t know how her dad talked his way through that horrifying moment to bring them safely to the U.S.
When they moved into our apartment complex, I saw a beautiful family that still had the scars of fear lingering in their eyes. Yet with time, they began to heal.
As the weeks passed, we became aware that this little girl, age 2, had PTSD from the car bomb that had exploded. She never slept longer than two hours and would often wake up screaming and drenched in sweat. I will never forget the desperate look of worry in her mom and dad’s eyes, as they realized she was not going to just phase out of this. Even with the limited conversations we could have, I understood and connected with them as a fellow parent willing to do anything for one of their children.
I think of them often. I can still picture the happiness, hope and excitement in their faces as they crossed over that threshold and into a new home, despite all the difficulties they went through to get there.
When my life seemed dark, these were the people who taught me resilience, love and happiness. I thank God that He put me in hell, so I could see the spaces where He loves all of us the same, regardless of religion.
I will fight for their refuge here because life is a better place with them as our neighbors.
We need them as much as they need us.
