How Lancaster Refugees Are Leading Amid Crisis
This piece was originally published by Lancaster Online.
If there’s a silver lining to be found these last few months, it’s watching the pandemic bring neighbors closer.
I am a Somali refugee and the founder of Bridge, a startup that lets Americans book cross-cultural experiences with local refugees. For the past 2½ years, we’ve held thousands of small dinner parties where refugees cook traditional meals for American guests. The guests, many of them elderly, may know little about the refugee experience. But through warm conversations and the exchange of stories, everyone emerges with an expanded worldview, full stomachs and new friends.
The novel coronavirus put a stop to our in-person meetings, but it also revealed the power of these personal connections. Our refugees have become lifelines to our elderly American guests, many of whom live alone and have no family nearby. They regularly deliver groceries, medicine and other essential items, have regular phone calls or socially distant check-ins and provide that human connection that is crucial during this time of isolation.
For example, Dianne, a 73-year-old resident who lives alone, is visited twice a week by the Farahs, an Ethiopian refugee family. No longer able to share family meals, they now exchange letters through Dianne’s mailbox, including cards drawn by the children.
Refugees know in their bones how to survive a crisis. We know that human connection, neighborly support and regular acts of graciousness can carry us through the worst of times. That’s why we volunteer in such high numbers during a pandemic and why we’re marching against police violence.
As a black refugee man in America, seeing Americans of all backgrounds passionately and publicly express solidarity for the black community is powerful. For many refugees like myself, this is the first country we’ve lived in where we have the freedom to protest and demand justice. To me, American freedom is everything.
At age 10, I watched terrorists murder my father. I fled on foot with my mother and siblings. For years, we lived in a Kenyan refugee camp until we were resettled in America. The kindness of strangers helped us survive: from the refugee camp volunteers who taught me English to the first neighbors who welcomed me to Lancaster.
When refugees land on American soil, they thrive. We cherish the freedom, safety and opportunity offered to us here. We take nothing for granted. Perhaps that’s why our homeownership and entrepreneurship rates exceed that of other immigrants, and why many aging and declining communities across the country have credited refugees for their town’s economic revitalization. It’s why health care is the second most popular field for refugees, according to the nonprofit New American Economy.
I’m proud to give back to Lancaster, not only as an entrepreneur, but as a neighbor. The idea for Bridge was born in 2016, when a neighbor targeted me on social media, criticized refugees and told me to go back to my country. It stung, but I decided to reach out and invite him to coffee. To my surprise, we met. Speaking face to face, we could see each other’s humanity.
We discovered that we had a lot in common: We are both sons of veterans, we both lost our fathers at a young age and we are both eldest children who helped raise younger siblings. His face lit up with recognition as we spoke. By the end of the conversation, he told me that he understood my story better and vowed to support refugees.
When we see each other as fellow humans and listen to each other’s stories, our whole society grows stronger. As our country grapples with so many stressors — a pandemic, heightened xenophobia and police brutality — let us remember that kindness, graceful dialogue and daily acts of hope can carry us through any crisis.
Mustafa Nuur is the founder of Bridge. He lives in Lancaster.
Photo by Bill Nino on Unsplash