On Being a Companion

In the first few weeks past orientation, I fielded a phone call from a scared young man. He wanted to ask about specific line-by-line fields in his Personal Information Form (PIF). He had so many questions, I invited him to come into the office. We worked hard, and filled out the 16 page document. I heard his story, and helped him apply for social assistance,  legal aid, work permit, etc. I also connected him to a legal lady who works part time here. Some things he qualified for, and others he didn't.
Throughout the year, he checked in with me. I helped with various things. He found support groups, doctors, a counselor, a church (all on his own).
When my leg was broken, he gave me a sweet, and entirely appropriate, card with some candy.
He received a notice for scheduling, and began to panic a bit. He didn't qualify for legal aid, and no lawyers wanted to touch his case. Our legal lady began to talk to him about other options, because we knew, he didn't fit the definition of a refugee or protected person. He panicked some more. He disappeared for a while.
He found some other options for himself, and he found a lawyer.
The day before the hearing, I asked if he still wanted me to come to the hearing. He said he didn't want me to see him crying. that it would make him more nervous. etc. etc. So I didn't go.
Yesterday he had his hearing. He was summarily denied.
Today he called me. He sounded so relieved that it was all over. It was the least stressed and least panicked that he's been all year. He sounded normal. He's evaluating his options, but will probably return to his home country, work a bit, and then attempt to come back to Canada as a student or a worker.

And so I'm reminded what accompaniment is about: walking with people, even if its not the romanticized ideal "refugee". I walked with him this year, through the entire refugee process. People have the right to be heard. He was heard. His claim was denied, the legally appropriate response (dare I judge?).

Everyone has the right to make a refugee claim, to be heard by a refugee protection officer, and to present evidence proving their claims. Laws, human rights, international conventions, they apply equally to likable and unlikable people. to nice people and mean ones, anxious or angry, tall or short, OCD or scattered, attractive or ugly, old or young, fat or funny. Everyone has the right to be heard. At RH, we try to walk with the people who come to us, as faithfully as we can, throughout the Canadian process. I am transformed by the strength, dignity, and sheer willpower of those who I have companioned (for which I am so thankful).

My Story Tree is Drooping

either from the insane humidity today, or the weight of so many stories.
 + + +
The boy who lives downstairs is singing "I know a song that is on anybody's words, anybody's words, anybody's words". I'm not sure if I want to correct him so he sings "that gets on everybody's nerves" or not.

His baby sister has the most wonderful smile. I babysat her today while she slept.

Their middle sister has made only happy noises today, as far back as I can remember. And she was happy this morning waiting for the bus

+ + +

the ladies who live underneath his family will miss me when I'm gone. They tell me my skin is like velvet.
Last night, we couldn't find a skin color in our new xbox360 avatar selections that matched one of them. she was laughing, and yelling, Christine! find it! where is my color?!. Its not here! and we couldn't find it anywhere. nothing lighter than dark dark brownish black that was lighter than cinnamon.
...
This whole week whenever I've come through the front door, she has stopped me, demanded I sit down and tell her about my day. It feels good.
...
Today, we talked about the interns salaries.
"that boy, he is working overtime?" -H
"yeah... except we don't get paid overtime, so really he's just working extra" -me
"ey! how much do you get paid? you work for free?" -H
"well. we get enough for rent. and then $115 for food. and then $200 just for us"
"it is not bad" - L simultaneously with H saying "it is so bad!
"no. its not a lot of money, but we have lots of fun anyways" -me
"but, you know. That thing you do. According to the Bible, if you do the volunteering, especially with the refugees and the very poor ones, you will be blessed more than the one who works for money. You will have very many blessings because of your work this year.
Even us, we volunteer too. It is good. Me? I volunteer for two hours a week, and then I am fed up. You? you work every day all year, even weekends sometimes.
you have learned so much this year. You talk to me, it is like you are namibian too. you talk to Z, it is like you are from her country.... and we learn too.
If you had just stayed in California, stayed with your mom, you would not have learned anything. Your mind would be closed. If you travel, if you help people, God will open your mind.
You know, life is not easy, working with the people.
But you guys, you come here to be with us for a full year. It is so much. It is amazing."

+ + +

The lady that lives below her has her hearing date, and did so beautifully in an interview today that she's starting work on Friday. Her daughter and I are going swimming this week. I'm excited.

+ + +

Today I turned over all my files to our director. Now I need to slowly clean out my desk and plan two last things. It feels good (among other emotions)

Excerpts on Whiteness

All of these quotes are taken from an article “How Do I Live in This Strange Place?” by  S a m a n t h a V i c e of R h o d e s University in South Africa.
accessed from the blog Africa is a Country  with a link to the article. Its worth reading in its entirety, (with the caveat that white people have inherently talked enough about everything in South Africa, so it might be more worth your time to go read something written by a nonwhite voice. whatever)

I think possibly, I came to a related conclusion after living in Stellenbosch for six months. Something about backing away slowly from International Development, and trying to stay in my own context. Except my own context is Fresno, and the people I love most are at FIRM, where I am still white (knowing I am not Hmong or Lao or Cambodian or Hispanic or Chicana). Reading it now, I like her conclusion of silence and humility, and that the solution to whiteliness is not mandating all bearers of whiteness jump in politically to attempt to rectify all past and ongoing injustices...

And in South Africa, the working and effects of privilege are starkly apparent; one cannot in good faith pretend they do not exist. Deciding how to live decently with this recognition is one of the main moral tasks facing all white people and the task I explore in this paper. How then is one to be a good person and live well under these morally dubious conditions? One way in which South Africa perhaps differs from the standard account [invisibility] mentioned above is that it is impossible for anyone not to be aware of his or her race... While one’s whiteness might still constitute the unacknowledged norm, as the invisibility thesis claims, that one is white rather than black is always present to oneself and others, barring an impressive feat of willed self-deception.

 My interest, then, is in white South Africans who are aware of their whiteness and,... see themselves as a problem, because they know their selves to be constituted by habits of white privilege. 18 In the rest of the paper, I have these people in mind when I refer to whites, not those who are blatantly and proudly racist. Alcoff asks, “what is it to acknowledge one’s whiteness? Is it to acknowledge that one is inherently tied to structures of domination and oppression, that one is irrevocably on the wrong side?” 19 I think the answer to Alcoff’s question in South Africa is fairly obviously “yes.” Whites in South Africa ought to see themselves as a problem. How does one live knowing this, among the very visible effects of one’s moral offenses?

... to explore it further it will be helpful to put guilt aside and concentrate on shame. ... In standard accounts of the moral emotions, shame differs from guilt in being essentially directed toward the self, rather than outwards toward a harm one brought about.25 Shame is a response to having fallen below the standards one sets for oneself, whether moral or not. One’s very self is implicated in a way that need not be the case with guilt, which is a reaction to what one has done, not primarily to who one is...Shame is the recognition that one ought not to be as one is, and it does not, I think, depend on the claim that one could be different to how one is.

....

... I do not think that it is possible for most well-intentioned white South Africans who grew up in the Apartheid years to fulfill their moral duties and attain a great degree of moral virtue. 38 We cannot after all stop being white, although we may try to minimize our whiteliness, and have a duty to do so. There are the justly famous exceptions, and we probably all know people who are simply and quietly good in ways that allow them to transcend their whiteness. I am not making any universal or necessary claims about the possibility of happiness and virtue for white South Africans. For most of us, however, attaining them will be difficult, for most of us are not good enough to become exceptions.

.....

I seek an appropriate way of living with white shame that is nonetheless private and does not assume that every person ought to respond only as a political animal, and that every response need be an outward action. For the very reason that every aspect of life in South Africa is so politicized, we should allow space for forms of expiation and self-improvement that do not demand a public gesture or political activity

...

To be morally successful, a certain restraint on our parts is required, which I now suggest we think about in terms of humility and silence. This restraint is, I think, appropriate to the South African context in a way it might not be elsewhere....

So, recognizing their damaging presence, whites would try, in a significantly different way to the normal workings of whiteliness, to make themselves invisible and unheard, concentrating rather on those damaged selves. Making pronouncements about a situation in which one is so deeply implicated seems a moral mistake—it assumes one matters politically and morally beyond the ways in which everyone matters equally. One needs to learn that one does not. One would live as quietly and decently as possible, refraining from airing one’s view on the political situation in the public realm, realizing that it is not one’s place to offer diagnoses and analyses, that blacks must be left to remake the country in their own way. Whites have too long had influence and a public voice; now they should in humility step back from expressing their thoughts or managing others.

...

 Whatever else it is, whiteliness is surely a lack of humility.

...

My attempt in this paper to think through being white would then be a professional and personal breaking of pernicious whitely silence; “making strange” what was previously “just the way things are.” 

The relevant kind of silence is therefore a political silence, silence in the political realm, rather than a professional silence or the stifling of all conversation with others in which race or privilege, for instance, is the topic. For once again, shame, regret, or guilt would be the expected responses to knowledge of one’s whiteliness and insidious connection to injustice. This knowledge seems to recommend silence in the political realm as the morally decent policy: One would remain silent to prevent one’s whitely perspective from causing further distortion in the political and public contexts, where whiteness is most problematic and charged. Thought of in these terms, silence is a response to the inevitability of going wrong and an expression of humility.

Unlike many other colonial legacies, which whites should certainly feel uncomfortable about, our history of injustice is recent, part of living memory, something whites benefit from in direct, unmediated ways—and therefore something that implicates each one’s sense of self now. My argument for the appropriateness of feeling shame and of responding to it with silence and humility depends not on some ancient wrong done in our name, but of our own ongoing wrongdoings and their visible effects. Once again, then, the best moral response is to accept shame as both appropriate and troubling, and to turn one’s attention to the self with silence and if possible, humility.

Living decently in this land even under these conditions will be difficult. In a country beset by continuing injustice, it will be hard sometimes to discern when it is appropriate to maintain silence, and when that would indicate, rather, an inappropriate disengagement or obsession with moral purity. Perhaps gross injustice is being done, and whatever one’s race, whatever the context, one should take a stand. 49 Furthermore, one would still be compelled to make small gestures and utterances; there are demands every day for private acts, not of charity but of justice (whitely ways of thinking in this country confuse these two). But knowing how best to respond to these occasions is also difficult when whites still have economic and social power, which infects every encounter. White South Africans face daily and tenacious moral tests that show themselves up as inadequate as much as revealing the deep structural and systemic injustices of the country. However one acts, shame is never far away, for so many interactions seem charged with power or racial dynamics. It is hard to be comfortable like this and hard to resist the thought that for most white South Africans it will be almost impossible to lead a good life.

A Short Dictionary of Life Here

babies: a fact of life. over the course of the year, many turn into toddlers, and are replaced by new ones in different families.
communication: highly prized, but rarely fully realized
community: all-encompassing, defines life, yet makes little sense from the outside.
idealistic: a term thrown about with disdain as we balance impossible lives
interns: first overwhelmed confused small beings, then after three months become highly experienced staff members capable of legal advice, housing support, event coordination, public administration, teaching, babysitting, and counseling. Thoroughly appreciate when others cook for them, especially halusky.
left over wine: the best part of being voluntold to work events
meat: a highly prized nutritional supplement, fiercely defended against vegetarian proclamations of thinner staff

ohromerohouse: said with a loving sigh, or amused eyeroll. used on occasions where illogical decisions are made on behalf of bettering or protecting a relationship

ohmaryjo: a frequent saying. also can be followed by a song "mary jOoOoOo mary jo mary jo" closely related to: ohromerohouse
Oscar Romero's Prayer: not actually written by him, but quoted liberally in public and private
patience: the highest virtue we know.
parties: an essential ingredient for encouraging joy and happiness with the residents

prayer: a daily morning occurrence, to varying levels of participation or appreciation.

pregnant/mother: what all female-interns are regularly told they are (or ought to be) by residents, drop-ins, and former residents

sleep: highly prized, especially on weekends past nine am. 

TTC pass: highly prized plastic cards that interns can use in spare time to escape briefly. highly contentious issue if not returned in time. 

volentold: when interns work unplanned weekends or evenings for events that don't involve residents or daily tasks. the modus opperandi for making events happen that have been planned for other people.

Wanda: where to go when you don't have any money left to really get away from it all

Ridiculously Homesick Today

I wanna go home rull bad today.
It started with the Mexican food that my neighbor cooked on Friday. She made taquitos/flautas and sopes. I was trying to get out the door, she invited me to eat three times, and I managed to say no the first two times. Her husband's guacamole is divine. So I ate 3 taquitos and 3 sopes. And then I went to the event (with the ex-Jesuit) and served canapes to RH donors. And then I ate 3 more taquitos. and maybe 3 more sopes. and I tried the other appetizers too.
but theres something about deep friend corn flour surrounding fatty meat and cheese. smothered in guacamole and a bit of Mexican sour cream. it tastes like home.
When Jouni was here, we ate Vietnamese. I ordered coconut water and almost cried when it came. It was so good.
Yesterday, I ate Chipotle. It was good, but it wasn't the same.
***
Ashley asked what I was looking forward to most in August. The following list exploded out of my mouth:
1. Mexican food
2. fresh fruit that isn't transported thousands of miles first
3. being close to the mountains
4. being close to the ocean
5. warm summer nights
6. being able to call people with my cell phone
7. being able to text
8. having access to my moms car
9. going camping with my friends
10. being able to call my best friend and actually spend time with her before she moves to Utah
11. seeing those Fresno boys again.

There are so many beautiful things about being here, but man oh man, 40 never seemed like such a big number...

another person's opinion on my experience here

I met a character from one of Mary Jo's books last night.
He's the Jesuit who left the order to start a family.
Jack told us last night "he's more of a Jesuit than I'll ever be" (to which the man rolled his eyes and shook his head)
He's now working internationally for the Jesuits in his retirement. He looked sternly at the three female interns sitting on the bench across from him. "Be careful. Once you get involved with the Jesuits, you'll always stay involved" ..whoops...

...

later he asked me if Romero House had "ruined me for life" like the Jesuit Volunteers say that JVS does for their life. I told him I really didn't like that term at all. He explained that I was "ruined" from ever enjoying dominant culture, or capitalism, or all these other things. I told him I still didn't like that term.

 I prefer ideas of a more infinite Yes. Being open to a greater existence, a world of unseen possibilities, etc, etc.

...

Being a "Ruined" person implies that I could never go back even if I wanted to. It alludes to "ruined women" who, having lost their virginity, could never be accepted in proper society again. It implies that I have no choice in the matter. Me, having had one singular experience, would be automatically rejected by society. The experience entered me, and I having experienced it, am ruined.  No turning back, and I have not influenced anyone or anything. I have been altered, and must live with the consequences. He assumes that before we enter into these year-or-two-long experiences we were pure and naive, maybe even innocent.
I viscerally am disgusted by that idea.

...

I, being Presbyterian (apparently), prefer the idea that I have been walking this road since before I was born. That I am who I am, and I will be who I was meant to be, and this is but one experience in a long string of experiences. I am richer for it, I am stronger for it, I am wiser for it.

I am not ruined because of it.

...

After I leave here, I will continue to stretch and grow, and think about things. I will continue to live alongside people, to address issues of poverty and injustice. I will continue to read, to question authority, to pray and to sing (badly but happily). I will love children, I will fight for families. I will keep learning to budget. I will read the news. I will laugh. I will go shopping (sometimes even at Wal-Mart, when I'm really desperate and the event is about to start). I will make things from scratch, and I will repair things that break. I will buy plastic and cheap furniture when I move into a new apartment. I will garden, and I will buy mangoes imported from across the world. I will drink tea and talk dirty with women from across the globe. I will call my friends, and be glad to hear their voice on my coltan-dependent fancy cell phone. I will be angry at the news sometimes, and I will take full advantage of my US citizenship to travel anywhere in the world (almost).

...

The world is not black and white. I am neither ruined nor pure. I reserve the right to interact with the world as myself, outside of categories or assumptions. I have been me for many years before this one. I will continue to be this person for many years to come.

Let Me Pick You A Story From Our Tree

He knows my name! my friend told me while sitting in the common room.
He can say it! He told me, it means Gift in his language.
He knows my name!

And my name too! my other friend-neighbor told me
but he doesn't know what it means... but it is from his language too.
It is a name in his country.

because our country had many missionaries from Finland.
this is how we learned about God.

Many people, when they meet me, they cannot say my name, because of the j
even you, you couldn't remember our names when you met us
but he, he knows how to say our names. he knows our names.

* * *

"I was talking to my boyfriend about the pinatas. He asked if you had gone to teacher's college or something, because you were really good. I said no. It was just you."

* * *
like most days, I woke up exhausted, but I got out of bed nevertheless to go clean up from the street party. Worked a few hours, then crashed at Starbucks a few hours. A former resident had been in the ER yesterday ('ey! I saw that one who lives in my house now in the hospital, but he didn't see me), and I took her son home last night and checked in on her. Today I promised to cook her dinner, but I was dreading it all day.
I left an hour late, but picked up some chicken, ice cream and perogies from the store on the way. I cooked her some chicken rice soup (that turned into chicken rice after I served it... hmmm) and we watched two movies. I taught her son how to cook perogies (for lunch this week), and eventually left around 10pm in the best mood I've been in for a while. Life is so good.

then my journey home reminded me of why Canada is great.

As I left her rent-geared-to-income apartment complex I walked through a poorer part of downtown, unnoticed by anyone. No catcalls, no asking for change, no dirty or suspicious glances. Just people minding their own business on their own stoops or going somewhere of their own.
When I got to the subway station, I read the handwritten sign at the teller's booth. "Agent gone.  Please drop your payment in the box and continue through the turnstile"
So I dropped 2.50 in the box and walked through the turnstile,
hopped on my prompt subway, transferred quickly
and was home in 20 minutes.
(and when I got off the subway at Dundas West, I realized maybe I have been in Canada too long. I did the right thing, and paid the fare even when no one was watching. Whats worse, I didn't even notice that until I had gotten home....)