For Somali refugees, struggle persists

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"They need some kind of class to teach them that over here it's much different than back at home," said Noor. "They are equal to men."

There may be some measure of equality, but Adan still feels incomplete without her husband.

She has a television in her living room, but there's never anything on to which she can relate. Or maybe there is just too much information.

There are people seemingly addicted to household cleaning products, others in a crisis about furniture or paint options and still others driving sleek cars.

There is the constant crawl of letters across the bottom of news programs that no longer devote any time to Somalis.

Her children, because they are young - the oldest is 15 - will grow up bicultural and bilingual.

"The hope is with the kids," said Noor.

Noor helps Somalis secure jobs, but more help is needed. While the "help wanted" ads may be plentiful for unskilled labor, if the jobs are not on bus routes, it's as if the jobs don't exist.

The Somalis' problems are not insurmountable, but there are many, and all in a language they barely know and in a country that is unlike anything they ever imagined.

Lisa Fontes, a volunteer from Amherst, said the airfare from Africa to the United States, about $3,000, is another level of stress for Somalis, who are asked to pay it back.

Marmor said refugees receive a no-interest travel loan from the International Organization for Migration, made available by the U.S. government. Loans are repaid to the organization.

Three years ago, about 12,000 Somalis were brought to the United States. Although the number settled in Springfield was relatively low in comparison with other communities nationwide, the problems were as big.

They came to Springfield after a majority of the Holyoke City Council voted against the federal resettlement program bringing them to Holyoke, saying their city was saddled with enough poverty.

But problems also are apparent in Springfield, which has seen its municipal fortunes fall amid a massive deficit and state takeover of its local government finances.

This month, the U.S. Department of Education's Office for Civil Rights found that the Springfield school district violated the civil rights of Somali refugees by not giving them an effective education.

Federal officials investigated the education of Somali children in district schools after Springfield resident Jean Caldwell complained that the children were being discriminated against based on their national origin and were not receiving effective instruction in school subjects and the English language.

While district officials have created an agreement listing the many steps that have or will be taken to address the office's compliance concerns, steps have yet to be taken, said Noor.

Fontes said the agencies need to do more to connect with families.

"I go to their house and there's no food in the pantry," said Fontes. "Going to the supermarket is a huge expedition."

Adan's apartment is off a major street, near shops and a bus stop. She has put curtains everywhere, even in doorways, in the tradition of her culture. She cooks traditional meals of chicken stew and injera, a flat bread made of cornmeal.

Although she takes English classes, the words and meanings remain foreign.

Derow Abdullahi, a father of three very young children, works at a doughnut shop, but it's not clear just what he does there. He tries to convey something about his job, using his arms as if carrying a tray. Does he stock the doughnuts? Does he make them? Serve them?

His wife stays at home caring for their babies, still too young for school. She knows no English at all.

The families are surrounded by noises and sounds that are new to them, from the vibrating bass of a passing car radio to muffled footsteps in the snow. Until a year or two ago, they had lived for years in tents in a country that is warm year-round.

Derow is keen on his cellular telephone, though, and fields calls with ease on the novelty. He drives a car even though he can't read road signs.

Kathleen Chaconas, a registered nurse at Mercy Medical Center's community health department, originally worked with several families as a visiting nurse through a grant the hospital received. When the money ran out after a year, Mercy continued the visits to families that needed more medical attention.

"You can't just leave them," Chaconas said. "We kind of haven't cut the strings. They're good people. They were brought over here, hoping for a good life. They deserve a good life."

With the help of Siat Bullé, a Somali interpreter who works with students, and Molly Bresnahan to handle the English part, Chaconas put together a video in English and Somali on health care issues, from when emergency room services are required to healthy nutrition.

She has distributed several and can copy more.

"Ideally, what would be very helpful is for every family to have a sponsor," she said.

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Source: The Republican, April 09, 2006