Hello dear readers,
Please forgive Winona’s long absence from the blogosphere. The last time I posted, a good seven months ago, I gave you a rambling account of my travails enrolling Abdi and Mina-Mina in English classes. Today I thought I’d bring us out of blogging hibernation with some stories of my favorite five-year-old client, whom we’ll call Jameelah.
Jameelah is a tiny girl—the same kgs as her two-year-old brother, her mother told me—but she carries herself like an adult. I’ve never met a child as direct and communicative. The first day I met her, as I was strapping her into a car seat, she looked me in the face, pointed to the front seat, and said with seriousness of an elder Somali man, “Me. Driver.” I laughed and told her she was just a little girl.
Jameelah comes by her personality honestly. Her mother is also a character, full of energy, always talking, defying some of the Somali cultural norms. “I want to find an American man,” she told one of my coworkers in her first week, “African men don’t know how to love.” Our case worker warned her American men might disappoint as well.
The day I took Jameelah’s family to the student placement center, it was cold and snowy. Jameelah’s mom had done so well outfitting her two kids in their new winter gear: snow bibs, puffy coats, hats. Jameelah had completed her outfit with scrappy red heels and was delighted that her mother hadn’t noticed until we were all out the door. At the center, Jameelah confidently paraded around in her heels, snow bibs, and plain white tee-shirt. “I look like an old farmer,” she told her mom, laughing at herself. How many five-year-olds can laugh at themselves?
Jameelah entertained the ladies completing her paperwork, singing in Somali and Hindi, showing off her Bollywood moves. When she was tired of that, she eyed the bald and burly-looking security guard sitting by the front desk. “I’m going to go shake that man’s hand, just watch” she told her mom, showing off. She marched over to the man, stuck out her hand for the handshake, and marched right back. Looking around the office she asked, “Where did all these white people come from? We should go back to Somalia.” We laughed at her frankness.
Jameelah’s commentary is reliably precocious. After visiting a school where Jameelah could go to Kindergarten the following year, she told her mother that she liked the way the teachers there interacted with the students. She felt like the students were happier and more engaged. Alright. Her mother told me that after a week in Minnesota Jameelah had assessed their family’s position as refugees: “Mom, life is hard here for us. It’s very cold and we have to work very hard. Life was worse in Kenya, though, so it’s good we came here. But life is still hard for us.” From a five-year-old. She’s more observant than some of my adult clients.
I worry a little bit about Jameelah. Because she carries herself like an adult and prefers to play alone, I expect she’ll take longer to make friends in school. I worry she notices things little girls shouldn’t be aware of. (One time she told one of our Somali interns that the young guy flirting with her on the street had bad intentions. Another time she was upset with her little brother and asked my coworker if he could beat him with his beat. Obviously he said no, but how much does she know about romance and discipline?) Life can be hard for newly arrived refugees, and Jameelah will be more aware than most Kindergarteners of her family’s struggles. As much as she thinks she’s an adult, she’s still a little girl who would watch TV and eat popsicles all day, if left to herself. But Jameelah is also bright and brave. Already she’s learning English quickly and adapting to her new home. She’s lucky to be the daughter of a strong woman who can match her stubbornness. I have high hopes for both of them.
