Today marked my forth day of interning at the Nationalities Service Center of Philadelphia (NSC). I’ve already learned so much about what immigrants and refugees have to go through when coming to America and all the hardships and barriers we never even consider that stand in their way. Although I already have many stories to tell and lessons to share, yesterday’s proceedings truly illustrate how difficult the life of a typical refugee tends to be. I know my last post was a lot of listing and summarizing, but I’m a city gal now, and that means time is money and schedules are important! The following is a typical day at NSC involving taking new-to-America families to the social security office and welfare center. This is one of countless activities that go on at the NCS, and one I’ve had the chance to experience twice already.
Yesterday’s expedition involved 2 families. One was a family of Syrian refugees made up of a mother, father, and two 6 and 7 year old sons, each dressed in the cutest little suspenders and button ups. The other family was from Uganda, consisting of a mother, her 17-year-old handicapped son, and her 23-year-old daughter. The 23-year-old daughter was the only one among them who had a firm grasp on the English language, so right away I knew communication would be an obstacle. We started our trip at 10:15am, arriving at the social security office by 10:30. This was the first day after a long holiday weekend, so the office had already reached the point of standing room only, full of 100+ people all waiting to be helped. Joey, a long time NSC volunteer, worked with the Ugandan family while I found the Syrian group a place to wait until we were called up to be helped. We had been waiting about an hour when I felt a tap on my shoulder from one of the little boys. I looked up and was handed his mother’s phone; Google translate was pulled up, and the family had managed to type out “why are we here?” into the phone. The realization hit me that this family had absolutely no idea where we were or what we were doing there! I tried my best to type back phrases such as “social security” and “waiting to be called up,” but I settled with conveying the message that we’d have access to a translator soon enough. Finally, around noon, we were called to a counter. We handed over the family’s documents, and got a translator on the line to fill in our gaps of missing information. We waited another hour for paperwork and processing and finally made it out of the office by 1:00—two hours and thirty minutes after our arrival.
Next, we packed up and took off to the welfare office. What would typically be a 20-minute trip via subway disintegrated into an hour-long journey by bus and foot due to the lack of wheelchair accessibility at some of Philadelphia’s subway stops. I remain shocked that such a vital need goes unmet by the city and can firsthand express the hassle and annoyance forced upon the Ugandan family by our trek to the unreliable bus and the struggle of getting on. We finally made it to the welfare office by 2:00, turned in another stack of paperwork, and—once again—were forced to wait. Around 2:50, we were finally called up only to be told that we were not getting either family’s welfare cards today and that we’d have to come back tomorrow to repeat the whole process. Today, however, we would still need to continue waiting for the workers to complete all necessary paperwork. We waited in that center for another 2 hours. There is no eating, drinking, or phone calls allowed. There are no picture books or toys to entertain the kids; in fact, there is only one incredibly grouchy security guard who appears firmly committed to staring down antsy children every time they make so much as a move from their seats. This meant I had about 3 hours total of wait time to fill by trying to entertain these 6 and 7 year old boys with whom I shared absolutely no common language. I quickly discovered that a pen and a notebook are valuable weapons against boredom and that Snapchat filters never fail to delight foreigners.
In the end, however, the little boys succumbed to fatigue, curling up in their parents’ laps and trying to sleep through such a dull waiting process. In that moment, I wished I could join them! Luckily, at 5 o’clock both families managed to receive their access cards and benefits despite what we had previously been told. The welfare workers all but shoved us out their doors, acting as if we actually enjoyed being kept until closing time. The duties of the day were over; now we just had to get everyone home. We hopped on the nearest bus (after a 15 minute walk thanks to bus rerouting—not very handicapped friendly), and took off to the Ugandan family’s hotel. The little Syrian boys were full of energy by now, and we spent the bus ride making silly faces back-and-forth and playing hand-clap games. We thoroughly explained to the Syrian parents how to catch the subway back to their home, and believed that we had done a fairly good job making them understand thanks to Google translate and the map app. When it was time for them to get off of the bus, I watched the doors of the bus close behind them; the boys’ silly faces and cheerful thumbs up blatantly contrasted the parents’ panicked expressions as they realized we had left them alone in Philadelphia on their 4th day in America. We watched them promptly walk past their subway entrance right into a Burlington Coat Factory as our bus continued on its merry way. Don’t worry! We texted their case manager right away, and I can assure you they got home quite safely and showed back up today in the same adorable suspenders. We dropped the other family off at their hotel by 6:00, and I was home by 6:30, only an hour late for dinner.
This is a typical experience for immigrant families here in Philadelphia and across the US. These exhausted people, who’ve been through unimaginable pain and suffering in their homelands finally get to the wondrous land of America only to be told time and time again to sit down and wait; we’ll handle it. Visions of the American dream are soon bruised and beaten by entitled Americans feeling far too overprotective of the land they love. Right now is the NSC’s busiest time of the year. They’re trying their hardest to push as many families as possible through immigration because come election time and the years following, they’re not even sure they’ll still be around. These families that I’m so quickly growing to love and cherish, two years from now might never have even made it this far. Now, anyone who knows me knows I’m political, but this isn’t me trying to sway you one way or another. This is me telling you from firsthand experience that these amazing, loving, capable families deserve better—so much better than what we’ve been giving them. The NSC’s work is incredible, and I feel privileged to have the chance to work to give these families all the necessary services the NSC provides; not every town has an NSC, however, and for those who don’t, I can’t even begin to imagine the struggles these families must go through.
I’m sure I’ll have many more stories of NSC adventures in the coming months to share, but I hope this one leaves you with a little something to consider. I’m excited for the work I’m doing and especially excited to introduce more foreigners to the wonders of Snapchat filters. Wishing everyone back home well!
