Abbas and Ziwa met in Lebanon where they had sought work. Ziwa was the cashier in a bakery, where Abbas, an accomplished cake maker, was employed. Those were good days for them. They got married. Yet life changed dramatically with the Syrian conflict and the mass exodus into Lebanon. They weren’t able to keep their housing, jobs, or medical coverage. After receiving refugee status, they came to the States. They have two small children. Abbas works hard to support the family, half-time as a baker and half-time cleaning machines at an egg factory.
"We want the children to have an education so their lives will be easier than ours. Because of our language difference, we might not have the same educational opportunities as they will, but we want them to get a degree. Education works like magic. It does everything for you."
As the Soviet Union was collapsing in 1990, Zayda, Aysha, and Fidan’s parents—Meskhetian Turks—were forced to flee from Uzbekistan to the Russian Federation. Yet they continued to be persecuted for their nationality and religion, never receiving citizenship or opportunities to work. In 2005, when the sisters were 8, 6, and 10, the family resettled in the States. Their mother is determined, loving, and the family planner. Their father, a construction engineer, has won state and national honors with his team in sheet metal skills competitions. The sisters distinguish themselves through scholarship and service. They are drawn to construction management, history and law, and nursing.
"Be helpful for yourself, your family, your relatives, your friends, and your community. This is how you are supposed to grow. Be honest. Value education. Respect other people, regardless of their religion or their appearance. It’s like the Golden Rule: 'Do unto others as you would have them do to you.'"
Lebanon was their original destination. They were both just trying to make a living. From Somalia, Abed had already been to Iraq, Iran, and Syria, fleeing war and poverty. He is Muslim; Piya is Christian. They married in 2013, and they remember the exact day that they came to Lancaster: August 13, 2014. They have no children and no family here. Although he was a welder in Lebanon, the doctor says welding will compromise his vision. He is struggling to find work he can keep up with. She had a job in housekeeping at a local hotel, but lost it due to serious medical complications.
"People should look beyond religion and beyond ethnic groups. The whole world should live in peace and harmony with each other."
Yury and Zina came to Lancaster with their family in 1989 thanks to the Helsinki Accords and a long wait for freedom. They are Christian Pentocostals whose people were regularly imprisoned and killed by the government for their faith. To save face, the Russian government gave Yury and Zina Israeli visas, as if they were Jews going to Israel, and in Italy those documents were converted. They wrote President Reagan to say that they would be contributing to the society of America and they would be hardworking here. They have more than kept those promises. Yury is a writer, and he has documented their life story in four books and many articles.
"When we were leaving Russia, they told us we would be living on the streets, homeless in a cardboard box. When we arrived, we cried when we saw how warmly we were welcomed, how supportive the Rockville Mennonite Church was, and how they helped us find jobs—all from the goodness of their hearts."
As an interpreter with the U.S. Army for five years during the war in Afghanistan, Ahmad served on the front lines, in danger every day from missiles and ambushes. His work earned him and his family refugee status. Determined to learn English, Ahmad had bought a dictionary and grammar books 15 years ago and taught himself. He is entrepreneurial and is starting a business in Lancaster. He and Parisa want their children to grow up educated and to live a better life. "Not like us," they say. "We have spent all our life in a country that was fighting."
"We are all equal from any country, from any religion—all are human and we are living under one sky. We have to make peace."
In Ethiopia, Tuji’s people were Oromo, the country’s largest ethnic population. Sweeping repression of the Oromo is well documented, with the government regularly arresting, and often killing, members of opposition political parties, student protesters, and dissenters. As Tuji, who was a science student, began to lose friends, he grew very scared and escaped to Kenya. There he was advised that South Africa would be better for him, but it was equally terrifying. So Tuji sought help from the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, and he and his wife and two small children came to Lancaster in 2015. A hard worker, Tuji hopes to go back to school and to one day teach mathematics.
"I want to go to school. I want to learn. I am trying to see how to do both—work and education."
Nartisa remembers a time when her homeland was peaceful—"the best country to live in ever," she says. She was born in Serbia but raised in Bosnia. She had an excellent education and to this day is a math whiz. For a time, she worked as a registered nurse. When she was 26, war broke out. Her father was killed by a bomb, and after that she went from Bosnia to Croatia. One day the doorbell rang and when she opened the door, a man attacked her. That's when she knew she had to leave for good. She is tough and resourceful. Since coming to Lancaster, she's been a seamstress, screen printer, taxi driver, and dispatcher.
"People can sometimes act like you are a refugee but that they didn't come from some place else. I ask them, 'Are you Native American?' If they say 'No,' I say, 'Then you are the same as I am. You just came 100 years ago; I came 10 years ago. Same thing.'"
Paid little to nothing, young men like Ahmed are pressed into military service for decades in Eritrea. Ahmed was one of eight children and needed to help support his parents and siblings. So he walked across the border to Sudan looking for work, but there was nowhere to live and no job to be found. Ahmed ended up in a refugee camp where medics discovered a bad valve in his heart. He was taken to Khartoum for open-heart surgery. His dream, now that he is in the States, is to become a doctor so he can help others. He says nothing will stop him.
"People often think that if someone does not speak English, he doesn’t know things. That's not true. You could be someone with much experience who knows a great deal and just not speak English."
He was born in one of the most beautiful places on earth—Lake Baikal in Russia, known as the "pearl of Siberia." For many, Baikal and its natural wonders are a favored destination. Ironically, for Sveytoslave, just 12 years old, getting out was the only way to survive, because he and his family are Christians and were constantly oppressed and harassed. One night, someone shot through a window in their home. They made the long journey to Lancaster this past year. He is learning English quickly (a recent vocabulary addition is "congratulations"). When he's not in school or studying, he likes to go to the pool and ride his bike. He wants to be a policeman. Sveyt's father is trained as an electrician and is also a pastor. His mother is an accomplished artist, and he has an older brother and younger sister.
"Don't let anything keep you from following your dreams."
A mechanic by trade, Ahmed once ran his own business in Baghdad. Ultimately, sectarian violence and oppression forced him to flee to Turkey. His mother was too ill to travel, so his parents stayed behind. In Turkey, he was threatened daily and was not allowed to work. Now he is employed by Sauder’s Eggs, where he operates a forklift and is a packager. On Sundays he plays soccer in a league in Lititz, and he’s becoming fluent in English. He wonders if he will ever see his parents again.
"People should get to know the world, get to know different cultures. Arabs and Americans cannot understand each other just by what they hear, they must experience."
War-ravaged Somalia was "upside down" in 2012, as Sami says. The family was in grave danger. One day, Maryan and their son, Omega, were away seeking provisions while Sami and Alpha were at home. A man appeared, saying Sami must leave immediately, that people were coming to kill him. He and Alpha escaped over the border. Mother and son fled as well to another village, and after three months all were reunited in Kenya. Since arriving in Lancaster, they have added little Geedi to their family. Alpha is fascinated with aviation and wants to be a pilot; Omega, an engineer. Sami's training in accounting and management helped him land a job as a supervisor with a local firm.
"We want to love the members of this community and let them love us. When some people hear the word 'refugee,' they have trouble understanding who we are, why we are here. But we are human beings like they are, and we have come here to Lancaster to live in peace."
Amani and her twin sister, Eman, are Palestinians who grew up in the Gaza Strip. Their names mean "hope" and "faith." When they were 19, they came to Lancaster with their family to join their father who had been tortured in Gaza for advocating for peace. The twins did not speak English when they arrived. Both are now excelling in college. Amani wants to be a pharmacist; Eman, a dentist. Describing them, their mother says: "They have beautiful personalities and are fun to be around. They are also high achievers who always aspire to do their best
"Be creative. Be motivated. Be smart. Always be positive. Today's a new day."
A member of the Rohingya minority, known to be among the most persecuted groups in the world, Nor was arrested as a young man during a student protest against the government. Though jailed, he escaped to Thailand then on to Malaysia, where he found work. Yet the military continued searching for Nor, who says he would have been killed if arrested a second time. He arrived in Lancaster as a refugee in 2015. He speaks six languages and has a passion for economics but took an entry-level job as an inspector packer because he is just learning English.
"In Burma, we did not have democracy. The government controlled everything. They could take your land, house, or money anytime. America is freedom. I can go anywhere. I can work hard and have my own business one day."
Once a refugee from Ukraine, where he was a crane operator, Anatoly now wears many hats: interpreter, bookkeeper, tax preparer, and pastor. Over time, he has been allowed to return to his homeland on mission trips to orphanages and rehab centers. On one of those trips he met Nataliya. Later, by chance, when he visited his relatives’ church in California, he saw Nataliya again. She was a refugee resettlement counselor. They married in Sacramento, then moved to Pennsylvania, sponsored by a Mennonite church. Baby Milana is the youngest of their four children.
"You don't have to learn from your mistakes if you learn from those of others. Meet with people who come from countries around the world to learn what they know. Maybe go for a trip. When you see that other people live differently, then you realize how blessed you are here."
For Annonciata, her husband, and seven children, there was nothing but war and conflict in their native Congo, which has seen some of the deadliest struggles in modern African history. The family escaped to Rwanda to a refugee camp. When they arrived in Lancaster, Annonciata attended classes every day to learn English: the alphabet, numbers from zero to 100, and the days and months. Her goal was to get a job, and she soon found one at Tyson Foods. Next she will learn to drive. Her husband is working, as are two adult children. Two other children are in training programs at Job Corps, and three are in school. They have decorated their home in familiar warm colors to reflect their hope for a brighter future.
"When someone sees my picture, they will see me. They can read me. They will know my determination."
Bhup and Geeta were both born in Bhutan. Eventually, because their families were not in the majority, they were given an ultimatum: leave or be killed. They survived for 21 years in a Nepalese refugee camp, where they married, before coming to the U.S. in 2012. In Nepal they were teachers. Now they both work at Dart Container. They live in Lancaster with their two children and with Bhup’s parents, Tika and Tila.
"We have no dreams about ourselves. We are dreaming for our kids only—to go to college, to take a better path. We do not want them to face the difficulties we had. We came here for them."
In 1990 Elsida, a university professor of Spanish literature in Sancti Spíritus, participated in demonstrations against the communist Cuban government. In retaliation, the army killed her only daughter. Then they shot Elsida in the knees and shoulder and took her from her home, abandoning her in the countryside in another province. Eventually, as a political refugee, she was able to get to Miami and then to Lancaster in 2014. Angel met her in Cuba during the time she was recovering. They married, and he has stayed by her side. Leaving Cuba meant leaving Elsida's mother and grandchild, her published songs, her books, and her art. She hopes to bring her family to the States, and to go back one day to get her life's treasures. For now, on their walls are a few family pictures and the degrees Elsida holds in literature, information technology, and psychotherapy. <./p>
"Live an honest life—a normal life—and prepare yourself scientifically and culturally. Have the attitude that tomorrow will always be better, and nurture a strong spirit."
They grew up only two blocks from each other in Saigon but never met until many years later when they both found their way to Lancaster. In 1975, when scores of communist tanks rolled in to take Saigon, Hai escaped by hiding in the bowels of a boat and was later transported to Guam. Duyen left through the countryside. As Christians, their families feared persecution. Members of the Vietnamese Alliance Church, Hai and Duyen have raised their three daughters in Lancaster. He is an auto mechanic, and she works for Johnson & Johnson.
"We have adapted to the culture in the States, but we carry some of the old ways with us—like respect for your elders. And we have passed that down to our kids."
Western Sudan was safe and beautiful when Jamal was a young boy, as he recalls. But that changed with the "Darfur Genocide" and the militia's systematic burning of villages, looting, and attacks on Darfuri men, women, and children. At age 17, Jamal left war-torn Sudan and found his way to Jordan. There he drove semi-trucks. Today he dreams of becoming a truck driver in the States. For now, he works as an inspector packer at Dart Container. He says he will never again be able to live in his homeland.
"When I wear the American hat, it makes me feel that I am showing respect for this country, I am part of it, and I can live here. I respect the government. It doesn't matter if you are a manager or just a small worker in a company. Everyone is under the law. And this is what I admire."
The seventh Bhutanese family to be relocated here, Kamal and his family came to Lancaster in 2009. They had lived in a refugee camp for 18 years without electricity or running water. Kamal, who has a college degree in geography and history and was a gifted social studies teacher, now works as a quality control manager at PDQ Manufacturing in Leola. He and his wife became U.S. citizens in 2015.
"As we learned when studying for citizenship in the U.S., this is a country shaped by immigration. We are a collection of different people, trying to live in peace, treating each other as brothers and sisters, and joining hands to support whoever needs help."
Growing up in Cuba without his father, Leo took the male role in his family to heart, wanting to create a better life for his mother, grandmother, and sister. But even though he trained in college as a medical engineer, he was prohibited from making enough money to support his family. He worked for 12 years, and when he had a chance, he made his way to Venezuela and on to the U.S., where he was granted refugee status. Assigned to Lancaster, he now works for a demolition company removing lead paint and asbestos. Leo sends a helping share of his money back home.
"The American people and the government here helped me and have helped many people, not just people from Cuba, but from countries around the world. I am grateful, and I want to give back."
Lucie's husband was a fruit vendor and was away when violence erupted in his family’s village. Lucie realized she had to flee to save their children, so she gathered them and walked with them through the night to safety in Cameroon, never knowing the fate of her husband. Eventually, the family received refugee status and made it to the U.S. to Lancaster in 2014. The children have high hopes: one plans to become a surgeon, another a construction engineer, another a computer scientist.
"I was there with my family on the border in a small village. I knew no one. I asked people about a pastor. Somebody helped me to know one pastor and to get a little money. We found a car and made it to Yaoundé, the capital of Cameroon, where we spent ten years. In the end, thank God we are here."
Since coming to the States, Majak and his son, Joan ("John"), have been trying to make it on their own, first in Chicago, then Lancaster. When their visas came through, Majak's wife (Joan's mother) was pregnant and could not travel. And now there is a little girl, Maria. Majak sends them most of the money he earns. His greatest hope is that mother and daughter will soon be by his side. Majak left South Sudan as a boy to escape the horrors there. His mother was killed in the war. Finding his way to Lebanon, he eventually married and Joan was born. Having been displaced for much of his life, Majak knows how hard it is for Joan, a sixth-grader. He wants his son to be a doctor or a lawyer—something that will allow him to help others, something that will break the cycle.
"I thank God for the power and the strength that he gave me, because I can work and I can take care of my family. And since I know how it feels to live in poverty, I have a passion to lift others."