He gave me a look like, So what am I supposed to do?
Joseph introduced the three as Benson, Lino, and Alephonsion. I repeated each name and shook their hands quickly, hoping that if touching a woman was uncomfortable, at least their discomfort would be brief. I struggled with the name of the last one.
“Call him Alepho,” Benson said.
They smiled eagerly when I introduced Cliff.
Joseph said, “I told the boys we would go for something to eat. I’ll come too.”
“I’m glad you’re coming too, Joseph.” His presence was a relief for me. At least we could communicate adequately.
Joseph smiled. “There’s an Ethiopian restaurant nearby.”
I couldn’t see Cliff’s face, but I could imagine his reaction. An Ethiopian restaurant was unlikely to have a soda machine. That would be the biggest disappointment.
The three young men didn’t look too thrilled either.
“Would you like to try American food?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t stepping on Joseph’s toes.
“Yes, yes, we want American,” they chimed in unison, and I smiled. This would be easier than I’d thought.
THE HANDSHAKE
Alepho
A few days after our arrival in San Diego, Joseph Jok drove us to the IRC. I’d begun to see that life in America was not as simple as the people in the camp had told us. Daniel and James had been here for three months, and they said that they still had many things to learn. I didn’t want to wait two or three months. I wanted to begin my American life right away, but I needed someone who could show me the culture, explain what to do and where to go, and help me begin my new life. I longed for an American guide. And finally, the day had come when I would meet my sponsor.
We entered the IRC offices. A white lady with yellow hair waited there with her young son. I said to myself, Oh, this is going to be good, she looks American.
The lady stood up. “She is skinny,” I said to Benson in Dinka.
Benson made his eyes narrow which meant to stop talking.
But this was important. I ignored his warning. “That means she is not rich and does not have status.”
Benson shushed me.
Even though Benson was older, I didn’t listen. “I want a strong sponsor.”
Benson ignored me.
Joseph Jok walked over and we followed. Joseph introduced the lady as Judy and told her our names.
The lady gave me her hand really quick and took it away without holding my hand. She didn’t seem interested in meeting me.
She did the same thing to Benson and Lino. Her hand didn’t want to collaborate with our hands. This was not a good sign. Back home, if someone really liked you they shook your hand for minutes and looked at you to make a connection.
“That was rude,” I said to Benson. “She isn’t rich and she doesn’t like us.” I had been so excited to meet our American sponsor, but this lady was not happy to meet us.
“Quiet,” Benson said.
“I’m just saying, did you see how she shook our hands? It was like there was something in her hand that she doesn’t want us to touch.”
The lady named Judy was smiling and talking with Joseph. She introduced us to her son, Cliff.
Cliff didn’t shake our hands at all. He just raised his hand up and said, “Oh, hi.”
CHICKEN
Judy
Benson and Alepho climbed into the back seat of our Ford Explorer and Cliff instructed them on the use of the seat belts. Lino rode with Joseph in his car, and we headed out to find an American restaurant.
“How was the plane ride?” I asked.
“Two days,” Benson answered. “Very long.”
“Did you like the food?”
“I liked it,” Alepho replied.
“I did not eat,” Benson said. “Just drink soda.”
For two days? “Which kind of soda do you like?”
“Sprite” and “Coke” were the immediate responses from the back seat.
These were not the questions I wanted to ask. Not the kind of answers I was really seeking either. I wanted to know things that were more revealing: Where are your families? What did you eat on your journey across the desert? Were there really crocodiles and lions? How did you survive all that time at such a tender age?
I followed Joseph for several miles through east San Diego, an area I hadn’t visited in forty or more years, back when the Sears store had been the highlight. Although born and raised in San Diego, I’d seldom ventured this far east of the main downtown area since my husband Paul and I had moved north to a more rural neighborhood shortly after we’d married, nearly thirty years earlier.
The old Sears store was nowhere to be seen, but we passed shops for tailors and motor parts, an occasional adult bookstore, and many boarded-up doors. The grocery stores weren’t big supermarkets, but more the size of barbershops. There wasn’t a fast-food place in sight.
Cliff initiated conversation with Benson and Alepho more than he typically did with older American teens. I concentrated on keeping up with Joseph, who finally pulled into a Burger King—the first American restaurant I’d seen in the neighborhood.
“There used to be a McDonald’s nearby,” Joseph said as we headed across the parking lot. “But it went out of business.”
Out of business? That was a first. New McDonald’s restaurants seemed to sprout everywhere.
Benson hurried ahead and opened the door for me. That simple gesture caused so many things to run through my mind. Who’d taught him such niceties? He’d been in a refugee camp without a mother since he was Cliff’s age. Was opening doors for women a universal courtesy? And had I been conscientious enough about teaching Cliff those things?
We stood in the line. “They have different kinds of sandwiches,” I explained.
“What is sandwich?” Benson wanted to know. He seemed to be the group’s spokesperson.
I pointed to the menu above. “See the pictures up there?”
They studied them. “What is hamburger?” Benson asked.
“Hamburger is beef. You know, cow. They grind it up and make a patty. Like a cookie. And put it between two pieces of bread.” Bewilderment set in on their faces. Or disgust. I wasn’t sure. Joseph smiled. He didn’t want to interfere. I waved to other customers to go ahead of us and simplified the choices. “Beef, chicken, or fish?”
“Wow,” Lino said without exclamation.
“Chicken,” Alepho said.
“Chicken,” Lino chimed in. Benson only wanted a soda. I tried to persuade him to order more, but he declined. Maybe once he saw the food, he would change his mind.
The cashier handed cups to each of them. Alepho looked inside.
“Over here,” Cliff said.
The big moment my son had been waiting for. While Cliff led the three young men to the soda machine, Joseph and I staked out a table. Heads above the crowd, the three formed a semicircle around Cliff and watched his every move. Alepho stepped up to try it first. He held his cup under a nozzle but nothing happened. Cliff showed him how to push the cup against the lever. Alepho jumped back when the ice burst from the machine into his cup. Joseph observed like a proud father.
I’d first met Joseph Jok when he was a graduate student at San Diego State University, and we’d worked together on a project to create a sewing center for the newly arrived Sudanese refugee women. Besides grad school, Joseph also worked full time at the IRC as a caseworker, assisting refugees in creating new lives for themselves. Since the arrival of the Lost Boys, he’d been busy. Their needs were great—from paperwork to medical care and housing—and his work hours didn’t stop at sundown or respect weekends.
I’d learned in our time together that Joseph also held a doctorate in veterinary medicine from Alexandria University in Egypt. However, that foreign degree didn’t allow hi
m to practice in the US. To be licensed here, he would have to pass additional boards and complete an internship—a feat that was financially impossible while supporting a wife and kids. His job at the IRC provided income, but watching how he cared about these young men, I suspected money was not the only reason he worked with refugees. Helping these Lost Boys as much as Joseph had been doing would surely cut into a person’s private life. And from what we’d just experienced getting lunch, they would need a lot of help.
FANCY FOOD AT
THE KING’S RESTAURANT
Alepho
After we met Judy and her son in the IRC offices, we followed them to her car. It was clean and looked like a kind of Land Rover. “It is new,” I said to Benson. “Maybe she is rich even though she is skinny.”
Benson and I entered the back seat of Judy’s car. Cliff helped us fasten the seat belts. Lino rode with Joseph, and we followed Joseph’s car. I couldn’t tell which buildings were houses and which ones were stores. There were shops in Kakuma camp that people built within their shelters. Here it was different; all the buildings looked like houses. People drove their cars from place to place and no one walked. In Kakuma everyone walked. The streets had a different smell than our dirt roads. The cars went by without making any smoke. The cars in African cities made smoke.
“The cars go all day,” I said to Benson. “They never stop. Where are they going?” Would I be doing the same thing one day?
Joseph stopped the car in the road. We stopped too. A red light was above. What did that mean? Danger? Cars still moved on the other side coming from that direction. The light turned green and both cars went. How did the light know when to stop some vehicles and allow the other vehicles to go? Were they controlled by a person or was there life in them?
While Judy was driving, sometimes she looked at me in the mirror. My suspicions about her were once again aroused when she began asking questions. She asked about our plane flight and what kind of soda we liked. I said, “Coca-Cola,” but I didn’t know. I was thinking, Why is she asking a lot of questions? This is not right. Is she investigating us? I was raised in a way that you voluntarily speak about who you are. When you exchange greetings, you say you are the son of so and so. But people do not ask you more than that.
Joseph stopped his car in a place with other cars and we did too. We went inside a building that said Burger King. So this was a special place for a king to eat. My suspicions eased. I knew then that our sponsor must be wealthy.
Inside it smelled like fancy food. How many more kingly things were we going to be having?
We went into a line. The people standing in front of us weren’t skinny like us, and they didn’t say anything to us.
Judy asked, “What would you like to eat?” She pointed to a board with bright pictures. They were good for someone who didn’t know how to read. I read names, but I didn’t recognize the types of food or the pictures either. I wanted asida but nothing in the pictures looked like asida. She explained kinds of food that I didn’t understand. This restaurant made me nervous. People looked at me as if I were a tree. Could they see that I didn’t know what kind of food sparked my interest? I felt ashamed that I didn’t know what to order from the menu.
Judy said, “Beef, fish, or chicken.”
I didn’t see a picture of a chicken on the menu. We knew chicken, though; we’d had it a few times in the camp. “Chicken,” I said.
I told Benson, “I want other things too.”
“Get small food and a small drink,” Benson warned. “We have to find out if it is free.”
Benson ordered only a soda but I knew he was hungry. He was just worried about spending the sponsor’s money.
“America is a free country,” I told him. “She has a green card and she will get us free food with that.”
Judy paid with money.
“You see,” said Benson, “everything is not free.”
The restaurant person gave us each an empty cup.
Cliff said, “Over here.” I followed him to a machine. I had tried one of these machines at the airport in New York, but this one worked differently. He instructed us to watch. His cup filled with soda. I tried what Cliff did, but it didn’t work.
Cliff said, “If you want ice, push your cup against this lever.”
Chunks burst into my cup. I jumped back. The machine in New York had not done that! Cliff showed me how to put Coke in the cup as well. When I was done, I wanted to show everyone else, but Benson was not willing to watch even though he didn’t know what he was doing.
We went to the table and sat down. I drank my soda through the straw. Sweet, fizzy, and cold. Too cold. My teeth hurt and my face ached, but I didn’t want to let anyone know this thing was affecting me.
“Is this alcohol?” Lino asked. “I feel drunk.”
I said, “I feel drunk too. This American soda makes you feel high.” We had never had alcohol but we had seen drunks in the camp. “In America soda is designed differently. It’s not like any other soda.”
A young man brought food to our table. Judy gave us boxes of brown sticks. Where was the chicken?
She explained, “The fat ones are chicken and the thin ones are potatoes.”
I tried one and said to Benson in Dinka, “The chicken over here doesn’t even taste like chicken.”
Benson said, “It’s probably better than our chicken.”
“I don’t think I’m going to eat this.”
Benson forcefully replied, “You are not going to throw away food. You have to eat it.”
Cliff opened a little packet of sauce and dipped his food in it before taking a bite.
I opened all of the packets and put the chicken in each one. Some were sweet and others were sour. They tasted strange but I forced them down.
“This is how you learn,” I said.
The food was weird but I felt so special eating at a place for kings and rich people. Would it be like this forever in America?
WHAT IS ON TEETH?
Judy
Benson nibbled at a few fries and sipped his soda. High cheekbones and upward-slanting eyes gave him a perpetually cheerful expression. His bright yellow nylon mesh shirt fit his sunny personality and helped me to distinguish him from Alepho, who wore a serious expression. But he looked so much like Benson, I wondered if they were brothers.
Benson talked a lot, but he didn’t look at me when he spoke. I wondered if that was polite in his culture. Joseph did look directly at me, but he had been here longer. They spoke among themselves quite a bit in their own language. I enjoyed watching their expressions. Sometimes it was laughter, other times they seemed to be instructing or chastising each other.
“What language are they speaking?” I asked Joseph.
“Dinka.”
I wanted to be privy to their comments. Joseph was, and he seemed to be enjoying what they said. What did they think of all this?
Alepho was the most eager eater; he even sampled all of the dipping sauces. At once. Between bites he pointed to Cliff’s mouth. “What is on teeth?”
“Braces. They make your teeth straight.”
“Wow,” Lino said.
“Look good,” Alepho added.
Sweet of him to say, but did they really look attractive to him? “They take them off after a year. Then the teeth will be straight without a gap.”
“Dinka girls with gap in teeth are worth more cows.”
Cliff threw me a guarded look of surprise.
“How do you like the potato fries?” I asked.
Lino sat up straight. “Potatoes are good food.”
“Yes, you’re right, but fries aren’t so good for you.”
They looked at me with startled expressions, as though they’d just eaten a poisonous plant. “But only if you eat too much and get fat.”
Before I spoke, I needed to consi
der context. I felt guilty that their first meal with us was fast food. But, they’d come from a place where eating the wrong thing could be deadly. From what I understood of their experiences, food wasn’t measured by how healthy it was, only if you had enough to survive.
“A lot of fat Americans,” Benson said in a sincere tone with a big smile on his face, like he’d just paid us a huge compliment.
Cliff burst out laughing. Joseph smiled. The three newcomers looked puzzled.
Joseph said, “It’s not good to get too fat. It’s okay to eat here sometimes but not all the time.”
I could have spent all day just listening to them, but I’d promised Joseph we’d show them San Diego. “What shall we do next?” I wanted to get them shoes, but there wasn’t enough time left in the day to both tour and shop. Hopefully we could get together a second time.
“We want to sign up for school,” Alepho said.
School wasn’t on our to-do list; we were just tour guides for a couple days. At nineteen and older, they weren’t eligible for our traditional high schools. I had no idea where they could attend.
Joseph came to my rescue. “We’ll do that another day. Let’s go see their apartment so you know where they live.”
In the parking lot Alepho came up close to me. “We speak English,” he said. His voice was deep and serious. “Your accent is just difficult for us.”
What? I thought our conversations had been going well. Had I directed my questions to Joseph too much? Spoken too quickly? Clearly Cliff wasn’t the only one learning from this experience. Standing in the parking lot of a Burger King, I felt like a foreigner in my own land.
THE APARTMENT
Judy
Joseph continued eastward, and we followed through an area with which I was familiar from news reports of its crime and gang violence. Cliff was turned in his seat talking to Benson and Alepho in the back. I’d been concerned he would be too shy to interact, but it had ended up quite the opposite.
Joseph pulled into a small parking lot, and we climbed to the second floor of a six-unit apartment building. Joseph invited us to sit on one of the two couches in the living room. Cliff sat beside me. We had a clear view of the kitchen with its old freestanding refrigerator, a stove and oven combination that predated me, and chipped cabinets with one of the doors hanging from a single hinge.
Disturbed in Their Nests Page 3