I've been thinking for weeks about how I wanted to write this post. I wanted to make sure that it wasn't arrogant, that it wasn't offensive, that it showed the right amount of empathy and humanity. Because we recently decided to welcome a refugee teenage boy into our home. Then I realized....who cares?? His story needs to be heard, and it doesn't really interest me if anyone is against this or that because of the political fearful climate surrounding refugees these days. This story isn't about that, it's about a sweet teenage boy. And he gave me permission to share this story.
I received an email a couple of months ago from a girlfriend from church, asking us, on behalf of the Romero House (a local Toronto organization that helps refugees upon arrival in Toronto) if we'd be willing to house a 17 year old unaccompanied minor who recently arrived in Toronto. After a lot of talking, we decided to meet with Ellen, the social worker from Romero House. She started off the conversation by describing Jan Ali to us, that he was a pretty typical teenage boy, he liked sports, had a cell phone, was very social...and he speaks about 8 languages, including Swedish. Say what? We speak Swedish at home, and that was actually one of my concerns, that we'd have to give up our language culture. Pretty amazing! After that meeting, we felt a bit more comfortable with the idea, but still wanted to meet him. So Ellen came by with him to our house and we all had Swedish fika and tea. He was so very polite and sweet, and spoke conversational English. So fast forward about two weeks, and we were driving over to his temporary apartment to pick him up. And he's been a member of our family ever since.
The first weekend we were all together, we took him skiing at a local mountain. It was his first time skiing, and he took off like a pro. Pretty quickly, we took him to a black diamond run, and he fell and tumbled like a snowball. Then, on the chair lift on the way up, he told me, "Let's go back to that run, I'm going to get it". Right then, I knew what kind of a kid he was. 100% determination. I think he'll fit in with our family quite well!
Romero House suggests that we not ask too many questions about their past, because they are constantly having to "prove" themselves to border agents, judges, etc, that their story is true. So we took our time and let conversations happen as they came. However, Jan was never shy about talking about his history or his people. He is a Hazara. His people are originally from Afghanistan. If you've read the book, The Kite Runner, you'll have an idea of their history. They have been persecuted by other Muslims for over a century, but especially in recent years with the rise of the Taliban and other insurgents. His family was driven from Afghanistan when he was four years old and fled to western Pakistan, where they lived ever since. His father was killed when he was very young, and his brother-in-law was killed by a bomb in Pakistan. Hazaras are hated because they do not believe in the same kind of Islam as Sunni Muslims. They are Shia Muslims, so they are not considered to be "real" Muslims by extremists. I honestly still don't know the main differences, but I'm determined to learn. Hazara men are also especially targeted, leaving only the women and children to fend for themselves. The Hazaras from Jans tribe in Pakistan live in Quetta. However, they are allowed a space up in the mountains outside of the city, and they are forced to stay within the small designated area for them. If they go outside those borders, they may be killed. Hazaras are an ethnic people with very distinct facial features, so they cannot blend in with other cultures, they are easily spotted. Jan described being a little kid and often never being allowed outside for fear of danger. He said it became so normal for people to enter their village and set off a bomb, or for there to be hangings outside, that people (even he) stopped reacting to them. That made my heart absolutely sick. To think of the things this sweet boy and his family have had to experience and witness throughout their lives.
Jan recently found another Hazara refugee here in Toronto who just happens to have grown up just a couple of blocks from where Jan grew up! Also amazing. We were talking about the violence in Quetta, and Zakir (Jan's friend) said that he recently went to the Dr. in Toronto and was told he had shrapnel in his leg. "From a blast", he said, shrugging it off as if it were nothing.
Jan recently found another Hazara refugee here in Toronto who just happens to have grown up just a couple of blocks from where Jan grew up! Also amazing. We were talking about the violence in Quetta, and Zakir (Jan's friend) said that he recently went to the Dr. in Toronto and was told he had shrapnel in his leg. "From a blast", he said, shrugging it off as if it were nothing.
Jan escaped Quetta and Pakistan when he was 15 years old. Let me repeat that, he was 15 years old. He hired a private guide and walked for months across the Middle East from Pakistan all the way to Turkey. Once there, he took trains heading north, with the end goal being Sweden. Once he was in Sweden, he was told he couldn't stay. Sweden had decided they couldn't allow in any more refugees due to the Syrian refugee crisis. Jan said that when he arrived in Sweden, he walked into the country with dozens of other refugees escaping the crisis. There were so many, no one said a word, they just led them straight to the refugee camps. He lived there, in a refugee camp, for one year. When he found out he wasn't going to be allowed to stay, that he might be sent home, he got desperate. He bought a fake passport and decided to go to the country everyone said would accept him: Canada. His flight from Sweden had a stop in Iceland, where he said a border agent was asking him questions. His passport said he was from the Czech Republic, and he was shaking in his knees, hoping that they'd let him pass. They did. He said that one thing he remembers about Iceland was that he was so thirsty, but had no money to buy a water. He had spent all of his money on a passport that he couldn't even buy water. I just thought "but why didn't you ask for tap water?" But then you realize the language and cultural barrier, and simple things to us are not always apparent to foreigners. Once arriving in Canada, he went to the border agent, and immediately told them that he was a refugee. Since he knew no one in Toronto and had no place to stay, they took him to a detention facility. Jan didn't realize that's what it was, he thought it was some sort of housing for men. But when they only allowed him to go outside once a day, he told them that he needed to get out of there. They let him go and speak to another border agent, who directed him to the Romero House. Romero House quickly set him up with a host family where he could live. The husband of this family was a Christian pastor with a wife and an 18 month old daughter, with another child arriving any day. So Jan stayed with them for about a month before moving in to a temporary apartment at the Romero House. This was when we got the email.
I realize that this story is a lot to process. But to be honest, from the day Jan moved in, it hasn't felt like a burden or shock to us at all. It really feels like God has blessed this all in its entirety. We always knew our Toronto house was too big for us, but that there was a reason for it. It has been a total blessing to have Jan join our family. Not just because we have been able to help a boy in need, but because we are learning so much from him. My heart aches for the freedom of the Hazara people, people I had never even thought about before. We are talking a lot about how to bring his family to Canada, which is, as expected, his first priority. He is in high school, taking math, computer programming, and English. He wants to be a computer programmer. We have encouraged him to stay in school and even go to a two-year college after so that he can have a good future, and take care of his family if they do end up making it here. But lately, the story of the persecution of the Hazara people has been heavy on my heart. I often sit up and read about people who are involved in their freedom. We are even looking into ways to sponsor his family to come to Canada. A tricky thing is that Hazaras are so persecuted, that it is often hard for them to be declared refugees within countries local to Afghanistan. Pakistani police may even harm them. But this stuff isn't too big for our God.
So today, on Good Friday, the day when Jesus was betrayed by his own and taken to the cross, we celebrate his sacrifice by breaking bread with Jan and his new Hazara friend, Zakir. Jan's entrance into our family has brought with it new Indian music, amazing spices, chicken biryani, and lots of languages. But to me, the best part is sitting around the table, eating together or playing Yahtzee, soccer, basketball, or tee ball, listening to middle eastern, salsa, and Swedish music, sharing our different foods, switching between speaking Swedish, English, Spanish, and Hazara, and realizing that we are here because Jesus asked us to love our neighbors.
