Subtitle: While introducing you to the new man in our life.
Remember this poster?
Under the BLACK LIVES MATTER headline, it reads,
and she gives us four steps to do this. So, far, I’ve gotten three blog posts from her list:
on June 17 when I asked, “When did you first become aware of your race?”
on June 24 when I listed resources for listening, reading, viewing, and pondering.
on July 8 when I wrote, “We’ve given up much that makes us human,” and listed hugs, singing, visits from the grandchildren, and shared meals as measures of just how serious we were to stop CoVid’s spread. Then, I listed ways to get involved.
Today, it’s time for Step 4: Be willing to change your life to end it.
I’ve been chewing on this one from the start. What would I change? What was I willing to change? What did I want to change?
Certainly with CoVid, the wearing of masks was a huge cultural change for many of us. My post in early April on Face Masks and the Power of Culture spoke of this.
The lack of a simple handshake, never mind missing hugs, has been a huge change for me. The disappointment of no more singing in any of my three choruses is topped only by the absence of a summer visit from the grandkids.
So, yes, I’ve changed my life enormously to do my part to control CoVid in my community. I’m proud to be from Vermont, a consistently green state (in so many ways), so perhaps it’s even been easier for me up here.
But how do I change my life to end racism? What am I willing to do? What could I possibly do here in Vermont, not just green but ever so white?
Last winter, I began to work with a few dozen others to establish a non-profit group for the support of asylum seekers here in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont. Some of you may have seen mention of NEKASAN.org on my Facebook page back in August as my birthday fundraiser. My facebook followers helped me raise $520 and we are thrilled.
Want to learn more about our profit-driven immigration system? Here’s the best source I’ve found, Freedom for Immigrants.org
As we worked to set up NEKASAN, we also learned of a nearby PenPal program where they matched local writers with asylum seekers being held at a detention center in Texas. I jumped at the chance and was soon writing to Carl, a young Cameroonian man, and learning about his country, its history, and its current political chaos and tragedies.
But Carl, someone I now write to weekly, is not the new young man in my life I was referring to two weeks ago.
In a brief text exchange with one of those Angry Tias y Abuelas of the Rio Grande Valley I mentioned in my post on Pastor Steven Tendo, I learned there were men at the center who could be released if only they had somewhere to go. (In some cases these men have family settled here, but the family lacks the needed residency or income to become the official sponsor.)
Woody and I chose a young man, whom we’ll call Jeffrey for now, from an African country where he narrowly escaped with his life. I first mentioned Jeffrey in my post back in mid August, here, when I was musing on what it might mean to be a soccer mom.
Jeff crossed our border a year ago and had been in the PenPal program I spoke about, writing to a woman who spoke highly of him when I contacted her. Jeff’s Texas attorney guessed he could be out on parole by late October, so we filled out the needed paperwork for sponsorship and I got busy raising money for NEKASAN and our next asylum seeker.
But in mid July, we learned Jeff would be released on parole in two days.
And so he was. The Angry Tias set him up in a motel room for another two days after finding him a local CoVid test. Once his negative results came in, he flew into Boston (thanks to frequent flyer miles organized by NEKASAN), was picked up and driven to a local quarantine apartment (NEKASAN again) and arrived at our home certifiably CoVid-free on August 1. Really, it helps to have a village (or two).
Adopting an asylum seeker is a bunch more hassle during this CoVid era. But once he arrived, he joined our little bubble.
Jeff speaks good English, though it is not his native tongue, and is a gentle soul who loves his local music, which we are getting to love as well. Jeff’s not crazy about our food (We won’t be eating lobster again anytime soon.) and we’ve learned to add rice to most every meal, which seems to help. He’s taught Woody how to make chapati, a native African bread he enjoys very much, and his version of rice and beans. He also insists on doing our dinner dishes each evening. That’s quite nice.
Having him here has brought back pleasant memories of our years as a host family for ESL students in Philly. There are significant differences (financial, legal, and cultural to start) between those students and our new young man. And some of those differences, I trust, will make good blog post material now and then over the next few years.
My question as I leave you, what would you MOST like to know about our new situation?
Oh, btw, NEKASAN became officially incorporated as a 501(c)3 in February of this year. I serve as secretary. And chair of the FundRaising Committee.[Names and particular details of Jeff’s story have been changed for privacy as well as security issues].