Personal Narrative: My Experience With Iraqi Refugees

It was late November when I first arrived at the location that I was to begin volunteering with Iraqi refugees in Detroit. As a Chaldean—a small ethnic, Catholic minority originally from northern Iraq—myself, I thought my exposure to Iraqi culture, in the U.S., would afford me certain similarities that would aide me in addressing some of their difficulties. However, this romantic presupposition was impugned before I was even able to take a step out of the car. As I was pulling into the driveway, snow had begun to descend from the clouds, affixing itself to the tips of the grass. Outside children were gleefully playing, some with tongues extended, while others attempted to make snow angels with the limited dusting that had already stuck. Adults too, stood transfixed on the porch, marveling at the
In my introductory meeting with the refugees, it became dishearteningly clear to me that the challenges that they faced far exceeded what any individual with a tenuous cultural link could help them overcome. Most of the refugees spoke solely Arabic and lacked any formal education or training which complicated their employment prospects. As a result, they relied on small, temporary government stipends provided by the Department of Health and Human Services. I was disappointed, but ultimately understanding, when my volunteering role was relegated to one of assisting with chores and teaching English to children and older adults. I was disillusioned of the idealistic notion that I could single-handedly help a large group of people in this context, yet remained firmly committed to doing what I could. While doing household chores, primarily with the women, I was able to overhear some of the refugees’ compelling stories, about