Strangers
An Undocumented Worker in Washington, D.C., Talks About Life in America
Call him Abdullah. That’s what I call him, though it’s not his real name. He’s an undocumented worker who has held three different service-sector jobs in as many years, using three different identities. “I have too many names, man,” he says. He could be arrested and deported at any moment.
He’s a slender, boyishly handsome 24-year-old who traveled with a student visa from his native Morocco to the United States. Upon arrival, he was 20 years old and full of ambitious dreams. Today, he’s still ambitious, but his dreams are giving way to more realistic expectations.
He came from the Moroccan capital, Rabat, where his father worked for a car rental company. Until she went to work to support the family, his mother stayed home to care for Abdullah and his sisters. After his father died, Abdullah worked for his mother in the small restaurant she started. As the end of his school days neared, he thought of reaching out to relatives in both France and America. His curiosity was stronger than the warnings of anti-American relatives and neighbors, and after jumping through the necessary bureaucratic hoops he joined an uncle in North Carolina, where Abdullah spent a year studying English. When his money ran out, he moved to Washington, D.C., where a friend of his father’s found him a job in a restaurant, under an assumed name. (The student visa limits his ability to work.)
Abdullah is part of a community of strangers — the apt word he uses for “foreigners” (étrangers in his native French) — thriving openly in America’s shadows. Using borrowed or forged documents, these workers find jobs using names they assume for the purpose. Often, as in Abdullah’s case, they take the name of a friend or acquaintance legally able to work. That person may have left the country, or may be working at another job. The government may learn, in other words, that “Abdullah” has two jobs — but that is not unusual, even for legal residents and citizens, and little or no suspicion is aroused.
Abdullah knows “strangers” with similar stories to tell. Like him, they came to America planning to go to college, but when the financial burden grew too heavy, they fell through the cracks in the system and entered the workforce. Abdullah’s first American job was in a restaurant, and so was his second — where he became Abdullah, and where we met — and then he found the job he currently holds, under the name of Jean, in a retail store not far from the White House.
When the real Abdullah grew anxious and pressured him to stop using the name, “Abdullah” ended up jobless for three months, living on his small savings, as word spread through the community of strangers that one of its members needed work. Finally, a friend of a friend offered him the name he is currently using.
It can be tricky to find someone the right age who is willing to share an identity; to memorize his or her information well enough to secure a job; and then to answer consistently to the new name. Attention and concentration are required. Abdullah’s new boss knows him only as Jean. “I’m used to Abdullah,” he says.
In the restaurant where we met, he waited on me with professionalism and good humor. He was cheerful, efficient, and courteous — everything an employer or customer could want. “At work,” he says, “I always try to do my best.”
He spoke little English when he arrived, and is now fluent. I take this as another sign of his intelligence. In French, Abdullah’s first language, Revolutionary leader Georges Danton wrote: Après le pain, l’éducation est le premier besoin du peuple. “After the piece of bread, man needs an education,” Abdullah translates, adding, “I would love to go to college.” He hopes to study art and design so that he can develop his skills in 3-D computer modeling, a pursuit that absorbs much of his free time. His dream is to find a job in the motion picture industry, or perhaps making video games.
Sitting across the table from me on a warm day in Washington, wearing cargo shorts and a shirt with a small American flag decorating its sleeve, Abdullah offers a balanced appraisal of the United States. Part of his assessment springs from disillusionment. “When I got here,” he says, “it was very different from what I was expecting. It happens to a lot of people. They think American life is easy, but there’s a reality they don’t know until they get on the field.”
In the “land of opportunity,” Abdullah has learned that opportunities can be hard to find — especially for a stranger, hemmed in by a combination of laws and regulations, workplace norms, and lack of experience. He appreciates the chance America gives him to make money and be independent, but he misses Moroccan social life. “When I got here,” he says, “I was really surprised at first, because Americans don’t live like we live back home. In Morocco, there’s a lot of poor people, and a few rich people. The difference is, here there is a middle class, and everybody’s busy. Here, when you try to talk to people, they’re very scared. You can see it in their eyes. They’re on alert, especially in the street. When I talk to people in places like a restaurant, they feel more comfortable.”
He doesn’t take personally the American reluctance to speak with him, but finds it “a little bit sad.” Attributing the high level of violence in America to our particular brand of capitalism, he reflects, “If you don’t have money, you’re nothing. If you have money, you get everything. I think this drives some people crazy. Life is really expensive here, compared to my country. If you don’t have a nice job, you just survive. That’s what happens to most strangers here. I’m just working to survive. I save almost nothing.”
Abdullah’s disappointment is tempered by optimism and a sense of accomplishment. “I’m from a poor Muslim family,” he says. “I’m not very into religion. I was really curious, questioning a lot. In Islam, you’re not supposed to question the religion; just to have faith. People would say to me, ‘Just wait, one day you’ll have faith. You’ll open your eyes.’ They said, ‘This world is just an illusion. The real life is what’s coming after.’”
His natural curiosity keeps Abdullah focused on this world, and helps him maintain his cheerfulness and confidence. “I know a lot of undocumented people who are really scared they’re going to be deported,” he says. “I think about it sometimes, but I’m not worried. I’m a very positive person.”
He is working 25 hours a week at the store, and supplements his income by doing odd jobs. “In the U.S.,” he says, “the jobs that pay the most are the easiest, least physical.” For now, his youth and energy allow him to work hard and have energy left over for his own interests, though he knows this will become more challenging as the years pass and that he is lucky to enjoy good health. “Since I’ve been here,” he says, “I’ve never been sick” — a fact he attributes to his African immune system. One of the things he likes about the United States is that Americans, on the whole, enjoy cleaner air and water than he is used to in Africa.
Another surprise he found in America: “The government doesn’t really represent the people,” he says. “Americans themselves are really different from the government. A lot of them are opposed to the things that happen in the Middle East. That’s one of the good things I noticed here. A lot of people back home gage America by the government.”
When I ask him to tell me the best thing about coming to America, Abdullah reflects for a moment. “I think a lot of best things happen here. I’m happy here. I dated a lot of nice girls, pretty girls. We go to movies, or to eat. I play a lot of video games. I spend a lot of time on 3-D modeling. In Morocco, I was a mama’s boy. I came here, and I was able for once in my life to work, be a man, not depending on anybody, be on my own. I think that’s a good thing. I grew up. I like the fact that I came to the U.S.; I don’t regret it. It’s a big adventure.”
He isn’t sure how his adventure might end. Assuming the authorities don’t deport him, he could voluntarily go back to Morocco, or he could stay here and try to get married, which might give him a chance to go back to school and pursue his dreams. “I’m probably going to go back home,” he says. “It’s hard to just get married. I know a lot of strangers who try to do that, and they end up having problems with the girl, with Immigration, all that stuff. You have to find the right person.”
If he leaves the United States, it will probably be impossible for him to come back. When Immigration officials notice he has not been in school, it will likely bar any chance of returning.
I wish him the best and tell him it feels strange now to call him the name by which I have known him for so long. He smiles and says, “Abdullah’s fine.”
