Tag Archives: Farmington Avenue

Helping a Syrian Family Gets a New Start in Greater Hartford

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As always, we met around 6:45 at Mather Circle to Uber to the Syrian family’s house. The day before, Peter had kindly left booklets with Chaplain Read for us to use and I had picked them up earlier. I called the eldest son and he met us downstairs to let us in the apartment. We started out talking about what he and his mother did during the day; His mother said that she went to her ESL class, came back, called her family, cleaned the house and cooked for her children. Later his younger brother came out of his room and when we asked him what he was doing, he said he was watching X-Men: First Class. I couldn’t believe it; it was one of my favorite movies! We talked about the X-men series for a while, and started to work when he went back to his room. Tenzin and I worked with the mom, and Chris worked with the older son.

The booklet that Peter had given us had four parts to it; reading, true/false, yes/no, and short answer. We read along with the mother and described the words that she didn’t quite get by breaking down into easier words and using our phones. The format was really helpful, but on our car ride back to Trinity, we agreed that the material might be slightly advanced for the mom. Nevertheless, we worked on two sections.

The second section was a story of a girl who needed to choose between a vacation to Hawaii or tuition for college.  The mom told me that the girl should choose college because education is very important. The story emphasized the concept of making a difficult decision, and the short answer portion asked about a difficult decision that the reader had to make. When we asked her, she thought about the question for a while, then told us that she needed to make a difficult decision when she was choosing to leave for Egypt or to stay in Syria. I knew, just because of the fact that they’re a refugee family, that they have been through so much already. However, when the mom said this, I realized that they’ve been through more than I could imagine and was reminded of the sacrifices and difficulties they had to face coming to the United States.

This time was especially amazing for numerous reasons. When we were talking about what food she made for her children, she ran to the fridge and brought us a delicious Syrian dish called tabouleh (it was kind of like salsa) and brought each of us a plate to try it. Later, when Chris mentioned that he didn’t have a chance to eat dinner yet because he was busy, the mom again ran to the fridge, grabbed and heated up food for him. When Chris said that she didn’t have to do that because he would eat once he goes back to campus, she insisted saying that Chris was her son now. And she called us her daughters and that whenever we’re hungry we should tell her. Not that I think this experience was amazing because she offered us food, but it was very a very touching moment for all of us for her to describe us as her children. I can feel that we  are now much closer and have a special bond. I am very thankful for them and their hospitality.

On our ride back, Chris explained what we had just done to the Uber driver. He listened but didn’t say much, but later asked Chris where to go if he wants to do the same. He told us that he speaks four languages including Punjabi but is not good at speaking English, and that he wants to learn too. Chris said that he would speak to Professor Bauer and gave him his number.

It’s amazing how since I started this semester I’m beginning to meet people who have started a new life in America. As they share their stories, they share their resilience, bravery and love with me. I am truly grateful for this opportunity.  Susie R.

Cultural Sensitivity

My grandmother used to always tell me that there are few things in this world like a cultural bond; to always remember my roots. She never elaborated very much on the statement, but as a young girl, I didn’t question it or think much of it. I trusted her words as they slipped to the back of my mind. Recently, I was reminded of my grandmother’s powerful and extremely accurate statement.

My most recent adventure with my roommate who is from Turkey was unlike any experience I have ever had. I had brought her with me because I knew we were visiting Turkish establishments and I thought she might of some help with translating. But, little did I know that she was going to speak to these owners for hours, sharing stories, memories, and essentially gaining two Turkish families here in Hartford.

Prior to that trip, when it came time to speak to the owners, they were extremely hesitant and seemed a bit suspicious to even just briefly talk to us. As an immigrant who is most likely constantly being questioned about legality, documents, ownership, etc., can we blame them for the hesitation? They had no idea who we were, what information we wanted, or what we were going to do with the information. I completely understood their dismissive actions. But, our last attempt to break the barrier and talk to them was bringing my Turkish roommate.

My roommate confidently walked into the first business and immediately began speaking to the owner in their native language. I watched the owner’s face change from a scowl into a huge smile. The past three times I was there, I had never seen that. But, he stopped everything he was doing and immediately engaged in conversation with her. This continued for quite some time as they learned of details about their pasts, the current lives, and just reminisced on stories from back home in Turkey. The same exact thing happened at the next business, with my roommate being introduced to his extended family and engaging in another long conversation. He offered her tea, invited her back to his house, and told her that if she ever needed anything, she had a second family just five minutes away.

Listening to my roommate recollect on her conversations and this experience, I broke into tears. These two men had never met my roommate before, but that cultural bond was so obviously present. Meeting someone who knew their culture and understood this culture was all these men needed; someone who was sensitive, understanding of their culture. Although the United States and Hartford were their new homes and have been for quite some time, there is something comforting about meeting someone else who speaks your native language, that can relate to where and how you grew up, that understands your way of life. As my roommate reinforced my grandmother’s statement, that there are few things in this world like a cultural bond. Cultural sensitivity and understanding make a huge difference in this world.

No Luck

On a rainy afternoon, we, Stephanie, Maggie and I pulled up into the parking lot of a pizza shop on Farmington Avenue in hopes of an interview. Walking in, we ask for the owner of the establishment. Upon realizing that the person at the front of the small store was the owner, we asked if we could get an interview. He looked disheveled, and asked us again what we wanted. Again explaining that we had come to his store before looking for an interview time that best fit his schedule, he said that he was waiting on the police. His delivery driver had apparently been robbed earlier that day. He sounded frustrated saying he had been waiting for over 30 minutes. After figuring out this meant that we wouldn’t be getting an interview we asked if there would be a better time. The owner was vague and we figured we wouldn’t be able to get an answer, and so we said our thanks and left the store. After leaving, we talked about the absurdity of someone getting “robbed” in broad daylight, in the middle of the day. My thoughts wandered to the owner. ‘What is he thinking’ I thought. ‘How often does this happen?’ I wondered how the owner could trust this city.

While lost in my thoughts, we had walked down the street to a supermarket. I quickly caught up with Stephanie and Maggie and squabbled over, who should ask to talk to the owner. As the only guy, I lost and made my way to the counter. The owner was at the counter and unfortunately did not look too pleased with our presence. We didn’t exactly look like the type of people to buy anything from his store. I asked if he could spare some time and perhaps give us an interview for our research. He looked uninterested and said that he was busy.  I didn’t push it. I looked back and gave the “thumbs down” and we left. I thought about the owner of this market and whether an empty store made him nervous or worried that he wouldn’t make rent or something like that. We got back to the car and as we were slowing down next to the Aetna building, a cop car sped past us.