“Here’s the deal: when a family such as the Ahmadis arrive, Ashley the housing coordinator finds them their first apartment and gets them settled in.A volunteer such as Aliah helps teach them the local ropes while connecting them with the larger Afghan society.My job is to assist them with everything else.Get them enrolled in the proper ESL class at Pima.Guide them as they establish financial credentials.Walk them through employment options.For the men, it mostly boils down to construction/landscape work or driving for hire.Isaad definitely isn’t a dirty-his-own-hands kind of guy and had the resources to buy a used car, so Uber Eats it is.For the females, there’s some restaurant work, but mostly housekeeping at local establishments.Sabera didn’t mind, not to mention she was accustomed to working outside the home.For both of them, given their English skills and advanced education, I felt there would be better opportunities ahead.At the moment, however…”
“This is not the end,” I repeat what Aliah had told me during our first meeting.“It is the beginning.”
“Exactly.Which brings us to the matter of childcare…”Heavy sigh.“People have a tendency to assume refugees are taking away resources from the rest of us, but the truth is, most of our public-assist programs—section eight housing, Headstart preschool, et cetera—have too long of a waiting list to be of service.Ashley needs to secure an apartment for each familyright now.I need to help them find childcare and secure a jobright now.As a case agent, I may work with each family for over a year, but their federal monies run out in three months.Meaning in the first twelve weeks, I need to get them set up, employed, and stabilized.That’s no mean feat, especially given everything there is for them to learn.”
“That’s why Isaad drives during the day while Sabera works as a housekeeper at night.So they can swap Zahra between them?”
“Best most families can do.”
“Can’t be easy on a marriage.”
“Still easier than living in a refugee camp.Do you know why mothers sleep with their babies swaddled against their chests at night?”
I shake my head, pretty sure ignorance is bliss.
“Rats develop a taste for infants.There’s more than one account of parents waking up to discover their newborn is now missing the ends of her fingers, or worse, the tip of his nose.Then there’s the cockroaches that like to crawl into ear canals, and the daily knife fights that can break out over a bottle of water.”
“Trauma,” I murmur.“Ashley told me I shouldn’t make any assumptions, because no matter what I thought I knew, my imagination would never be horrible enough.”
Staci smiles faintly.“My experience has been horrific enough, and even I don’t pretend to understand.I had one terrible moment of violence.Most of my families have been subject to ongoingchaos, brutality, and bloodshed for years.Let alone the constant anxiety of having no idea what’s going to happen next, again for years.”
“Is that why Sabera drinks?”I ask, because Staci is still avoiding that question.“To cope with her PTSD?”
Staci hesitates.“I think there is a great deal of stress in that household,” she states, “and there are times when Sabera doesn’t seem herself.But is it from alcohol?There can be many reasons someone seems… off.”
“Pills, drugs?”
Shrug.
“Sleep deprivation?”
Another lift of the shoulders, but a little less exaggerated.I’m getting warmer, at least in her assessment of the situation.Though how can anybody, even a caseworker, know what’s truly going on behind closed doors?I decide to move on for the moment.
“What about Isaad?Wouldn’t he have PTSD, too?”I ask.
“Isaad’s complicated.Absolutely brilliant, incredibly vain.He can’t stand their apartment, resents being reduced to working as an Uber Eats driver, and already aspires to fulfill the American dream.But when not gnashing his teeth in frustration, he appears to be trying to do right by his wife and child.Angry and explosive, yes, but more bark than bite.He’s the one more comfortable expressing his emotions, even the ugly ones, which can be a good thing.”
“Sabera doesn’t show her feelings?”
“Sabera is challenging.I’ve never seen her outwardly angry or anxious.She observes, listens, learns.But what she’s thinking at any given time… I’ve spent hours in the car with her.Even given her some personal cooking lessons, which is my favorite way of coping.There are times I can tell she’s enthralled.Other timeswhen she’s clearly exhausted.She never complains.Whenever I say, this is where we must go, this is what we must do, she does exactly as I say.She never shirks her responsibilities.But as for how well she’s truly handling this level of change, I have no idea.Which, in my experience, is not a good thing.The more anxiety and fear that fester beneath the surface…” Staci’s expression is genuinely concerned.
“They’ve been in Tucson a little over two months, right?Ten weeks?”
Staci nods.
“Meaning they have only two more weeks to be financially self-sufficient?”
“More or less.Given they have a young child, they qualify for some additional programs, which I’d just suggested they start applying for.”
“Meaning their stress level must be ratcheting up.”
“It’s not an easy time.”
“So Isaad gets explosive.She gets drunk.”I’m still pushing, trying to get Staci to fill in the blanks or at least drop enough breadcrumbs that I can get there on my own.
Staci takes a sip of coffee, seems to debate her options.“One of my roles,” she states abruptly, “is to help them line up a PCP and fill out the initial paperwork.”
“Okay.”
