Refugee & Immigration Services
Volunteer Testimony

Why I Love Being a Mentor for the Refugee Program - by Michele Smith

When I started volunteering as a mentor for a refugee family from Somalia, I was under the impression that I would be teaching them ways to navigate in our American society.  I had no idea that I would be the one learning.  Through the eyes of my African friends, I have looked at life here in a new way.    

One of my first lessons came during a spring outing at the zoo.  I had driven two women and their children in my van.  My son and the kids were playing and running from one viewing area to the next, communicating their excitement through smiles and gestures since their words were not the same.  Then I noticed the two Somali mothers watching the other women at the zoo.  They seemed to be talking to each other about the large amounts of equipment the American women brought with them.  Someone passed with a double stroller, a diaper bag, and a cooler.  Another mom had a child in a back pack while she pulled a wagon with her older son and all of the essentials for the day (baby toys, snacks, diapers, and a camera bag.)  I watched my two Somali friends take all of this in as they stood there with only a cloth wrapped around their shoulders holding their infants while their older kids walked nearby.  I realized that I too tend to over prepare for little outings.  My mother once told me that by the time she had her fourth child that she too realized that all you need is a diaper in your purse and one bottle.  If you use them up, it's time to go home. 

A few months later I was thrilled to be able to take the family to buy their very first washing machine.  They had saved and paid cash for a very simple washer that would fit in the kitchen of their apartment.  My husband helped them hook it up, showing them the drawings and instructions.  Meanwhile, my son and the two Somali boys played in the large box.  I was so pleased to witness the spirit of first generation immigrants.  I had read about my ancestors coming to America, saving their money and making a life.  My Dad had also taught me that as an employer, you can never go wrong by hiring an immigrant.  They will show up every day rain or shine.

Occasionally I was asked to help drive other refugees to meetings or appointments.  There was one man who I will never forget.  Between some English and my limited French, I learned he was from Rwanda.  I asked if he knew that there was a famous movie in the theaters called ìHotel Rwandaî.  He said ìOh yes!  It is good that you are learning about this.î  Then he showed me scars on his forearm where a spear had gone in one side and out the other.  He motioned to his neck and said ìThey cut here but I survived!î  He certainly did survive.  The war, the refugee camp, and now here he is starting anew with his family in America. 

Just before the last presidential election, I was visiting a Somali woman in the hospital.  She was excited about the birth of her son, but was also confused about something on TV.  This was the first time she had seen any channels other than the three she got at home.  CNN had run several stories about the election and the candidates.  She pointed to the TV and gestured that there was a problem.  Later when a relative was able to interpret for her, I explained as best I could, in simple terms about what was on TV.  I told her that in America the people all vote for who will be president, unlike in her country where there has been no official government and chaos for almost 20 years.  Every adult, from all religions and ethnic backgrounds can vote.  Then I explained that the President canít make a law that is unfair to the people, because we have several other Senators and Representatives who keep an eye on him.  So we will be fine. (That was the best I could do).  But on the way home I thought about this further.  I had taken for granted what a wonderful thing it is to have a government in place that is driven by the people.  I thought about the many countries in Africa that donít have any infrastructure, roads or services available for the people.  They donít have a fair way of collecting taxes so that the country can develop and grow.  So the people remain poor and there is constant fighting.  It occurred to me that it was simply luck and a matter of geography that I was born here in the land of opportunity, and they were born there, where they have been persecuted and forced from their home.  At least they were chosen as refugees to come here now where they have a chance to build a future, just as my great grandparents did years ago.

One of my least favorite lessons came about when a young refugee man showed me an article that was from a web newspaper.  It very negatively complained that the US had committed to taking in refugees from countries that were not developed and that it would be too much of a burden on our society.  The writer warned of kitchen fires and other hazards that would stem from their unfamiliarity with life in a modern city.  Sadly, I had to explain that in the US there are people who are selfish and donít want to share our opportunities.  But they have a right to print or say what they think.  I re-assured the young man that he will not run across people with these views every day.  Then I secretly prayed that his teachers, employers, and peers would be open minded and fair when dealing with him in the future.  The writer of the online newspaper doesnít understand that these people can not return to their home land without the risk of being killed.  The US and several other countries have given shelter to refugees from various places for many years, and that is something I am proud of.  Why shouldnít we share in the land of plenty?  Especially when it means giving them life.

I have to admit that there have been some challenges in helping  my friends acclimate.  Things can be confusing here.  It is sometimes overwhelming and I worry about them constantly, however I am encouraged by how quickly they learn.  It is as if the kids are programmed for survival so they are absorbing everything.  One refugee teenager even showed me how to program phone numbers into my cell phone, something my older mind has resisted learning for a few years now.  They are determined, optimistic, and grateful survivors who have so much to offer.  For now their greatest contribution has been teaching all of those they meet to appreciate what we have. 

When I first started mentoring, I wanted to quietly volunteer and have this be a personal mission.  But as I learned more about myself, my views on the world, and how the human race is dependant on each other, I felt the need to share these lessons with others.  My friends have listened to me go on and on about the wonderful children I have met and they ask me all the time if they can donate toys or books or clothing.  The empathy for what these families have gone through has spread through my network of friends.  It is a contagious wonderful feeling of hope. 

If you feel you are a good fit for this volunteer position, please contact Marcheta Claus at 615-259-3567x790 or via email at mclaus@cctenn.org.