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Their cases landed on my desk three weeks ago. After being in the country for seven months, their job coach made a sudden departure and their cases became mine. As a couple without children, they only had one month of government assistance remaining and only received a meager $420/month in total- I knew they would need a job as soon as possible. I love a challenge and having met the husband once before, I knew he was very kind but also that he has physical disability. I didn’t know that he was married until his wife’s case was handed to me as well. Their case notes were essentially a blank white page staring back at me, so I had no idea what they had been doing in their job search for seven months.  Never having seen the wife in my office in the seven months she had been in the country, I was worried that maybe she wasn’t participating and I might have just been handed a bigger challenge than I was ready for.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I called to inform them that I would be their new job coach and to please come the following day for a meeting. The next day I walked into the lobby to greet “J” & “V”. They warmly stood up, and in nearly perfect English told me what a pleasure it was to meet me. They weren’t dismissive, they weren’t angry at the lack of assistance they had received; they were all ears. We went back to my desk and the first question I asked was how many jobs they had applied for. My heart sank when they said, ‘None’. They had been attending classes at the employment department and had excellent attendance but sort of got lost in the mix and were waiting for job assistance. I made resumes for both of them and realized they were university educated and had experience in the education and social sector. They had a passion for helping people with disabilities and refugees. Kindred spirits. Within a half an hour, V was telling me how grateful she was to get me as her new job coach and she felt really good about it. I felt flattered but I hadn’t done anything yet. We had six weeks to find them employment and get them their first paycheck or they wouldn’t be able to make rent.

I’ve faced the time crunch before in plenty of cases. It’s a stress that I’ve grown accustomed to, in a way, and I’m proud to have had the opportunity to work with some extremely challenging cases. In this case, J & V had specialized skill sets. Finding jobs in their fields takes time, especially when you are a refugee with no documented work experience in the U.S. But I felt like I owed them that opportunity to shoot for their dream jobs, when they had been deprived of it from the start. We agreed that we would apply for ideal jobs for two weeks and at the end of those two weeks, we would apply for any type of job we could find.  I helped J apply at local school districts with special ed needs and V at local nonprofits working with immigrant children.

The following week I called them to find out if they had received any calls for jobs. J said he had a phone interview with one of the schools. I asked him what types of questions they asked.

J: “She asked me if I really was from the country X, because she didn’t know many people living in Portland from X. And she said my English is so good. She asked me if I was willing to work anywhere in the Portland area. I told her, ‘Of course, I need a job. And I like all of the surrounding areas of Portland.’ I told her I would work at any school, as long as it was in Oregon. Because this is my state, this is my home, and I never want to leave from Oregon.”

I asked J to come see me the following day, as I had another slew of jobs I wanted to help him apply for, but I needed him to login to his email in order to do so. He came the following day, and that’s when he delivered the first blow.

“I have a problem with my phone. It doesn’t work in most places.” I can’t tell you how many refugees have their numbers disconnected and most go through a few numbers in our time together. I asked J if he could pay to switch plans. “I can’t. We have no money to pay.” The ten job descriptions sitting in front of me, all at schools and in his field of work, and for which I had just applied, were useless. Because you can’t get a job if a company can’t reach you for an interview. And it also means no one would be calling his wife for an interview either. We hit the we-must-find-any-job-as-soon-as-possible phase. Keeping in mind he has a type of physical limitation, I knew he wouldn’t be suited for a production job. I know it’s very humbling, but I asked if he would do a hotel cleaning job. “Yes of course, any job. It doesn’t matter what it pays. I don’t care if it pays minimum wage. I can start anywhere. And continue to improve my English. I am already living my dream by being in America.”… and after a pause he said, “I was a janitor in the refugee camp.” I asked him why he never mentioned it, as it’s important for me to know for applications. And I thought he came here from his country- what refugee camp was he talking about?

Working in social services, clients are like onions. You slowly peel back the layers. There is a very thin outer later, which is easy to peel. It’s the surface. Then there are a few really thick, solid layers. But after you get passed those there are lots of layers beneath it. Sometimes those layers make your eyes burn. And you have to blink and look away. And sometimes those layers create actual tears, some momentary and others that lead you to step out of the room. Most of the time I can chop and peel an onion without any affect on my tear ducts. But every now and then, onions really get the best of me. The same goes for working with refugees. I’ve blinked back tears. I’ve cried from being over the top happy. I’ve teared up with relief when I helped find a job for that client with an endless list of barriers. I’ve also cried from being overwhelmed. From feeling tragically sad. From putting a face on the emotion of deep sorrow, grief, and pain. But onions are flavorful- they make a great base, a solid foundation for dishes. One of the the most basic ways to take a bland dish and give it a little flavor, is to add some onions. If you peel the layers one by one, it takes some time, but each layer has flavor. That’s also what refugees do, they add flavor to our communities, to our schools, and to our nation.

Turns out J had traveled halfway around the world from his country to live in two refugee camps, before flying halfway around the world again to get to the U.S. border via Mexico. The thin layer is all the data- addresses, legal documents, basic personal information, which we covered on day one, but now I’m beginning to dig through those thicker layers. I get excited that he has cleaning experience and that he has a great attitude. I update his resume for the job. I ask him if V will also do cleaning. “Of course.” I ask her to come the following morning.

They show up at my office at 9am. I explain to V about cleaning positions. I tell her that housekeeping is a much more physical job but that it pays more. She tells me she’s a survivor. And tells me with her sweet and loving smile that she’s strong. I tell her I never doubted it and to be prepared to go for interview in the next few days. She asks her husband if he’s happy. I ask them if they are okay to work together since (jokingly) they probably see each other enough at home. She tells me they’ve been married 16 years and indicates that they are very close. And he confirms that they are happy to work together.  In that moment, I made a mental note that if I ever do get married, this is the type of love I’m looking for.

Since they don’t have a phone they promise to check their emails. They go to classes and also go to the library every day to use the computer. I explain that their interview will be the following afternoon or two days later so they must check their emails later in the day. They promise and get up to leave. I feel a sense of relief knowing that with the attitude they have, not only will they succeed in cleaning jobs, but I know they will reach their goals sooner rather later.

I got confirmation two hours later that they will interview the following afternoon at 2pm. I send an email to J & V immediately and ask them to confirm. Late in the afternoon, I send a second email after not receiving a response. The following morning I felt a pang of panic, as my inbox is full of emails, but none from them. I sent a third email. By lunch I feel frustrated yet helpless, but know they really want the jobs and must start work in the next few weeks if they plan to make rent. Five minutes before we are due to leave for the interview, they are not at my office. I leave a message for their case worker, to see if he knows their neighbors or friends and if I can track down another way to reach them. I get a phone call from J at 3pm. He’s calling from the library. “I’m so sorry but we had an issue with our rent yesterday and this morning and didn’t get to check our emails because we were trying to fix it.” This is also not unusual for our clients. With so many appointments and issues that arise, it happens. I tell him not to worry but stress the importance of the interview. I call the employer with J still on the line, because I can’t afford for him to hang up. She agrees to see them the following morning. I am relieved that a new interview is sorted.

J & V show up in my office 35 minutes early the following day, carrying the guilt from the day before of not showing up. I give them copies of their updated resumes. J apologizes again, and I insist that it’s okay now and not to worry. But he keeps talking. “I’m so sorry, Laura. But we are getting kicked out of our apartment next week and we haven’t found a place to go yet.” What? No phone, and soon, no home? They need a job to pay for a home, but they need a home to start a job. This is not good. With smiles on their faces still, they explain that they moved in with a single mom of three kids they had met, because they were able to afford to pay her rent with their meager $420/month. But they were unaware she was living in low-income housing and roommates are not allowed. Management informed them they had one week to move.  For now, step one is to pass the interview. So we concentrate on that. V asks me about some interview response examples, and I am impressed by her articulation. She sees the connection of her seemingly unrelated positions and how her experience serving refugees in her home country translates into excellent customer service skills for a hotel. I know they will breeze through the interview.

We leave thirty minutes later. In the car, we talk about possible housing options and about what it’s like to work at a hotel. Interspersed in that is V quizzing J on the job title he is applying for, as he keeps forgetting the English name of his position.

We get downtown and make seemingly endless loops around and around in the parking garage until we eventually find parking on the tenth floor. V tells me she is excited, as she’s never had a formal interview in her entire life (most countries don’t) and she has butterflies in her stomach. I remind her that with her smile and warm personality, she will be just fine. We make our way to the basement of the hotel, and V is interviewed first. J and I sit in the staff lunchroom. Our topic of conversation quickly turns to his journey to the U.S., as the emotions of potentially finding a job bring back his nostalgia. He and his wife sold their house and their entire belongings, bought one way tickets to a European country that would accept them as refugees, and left with literally $15 in their pockets. The first year was hard. Living in a country where people don’t like America, he was a man who has more passion for my country than anyone I know. His love for America was a bad taste in the mouths of the locals. He and his wife crossed the border to a neighboring country but were sent back. They tried a second time, and succeeded, landing in a different refugee camp. He worked as a janitor, while he saved money for his American dream. They were granted residency and they left the camp. They saved a little more money, bought one way tickets to Mexico, and started the next phase of their journey. I asked him about his border crossing. He told me, with the most wonderful smile on his face, when he finally caught sight of the American flag as he crossed the river, he knew he had made it. He knew his dreams were coming true. The border police tried to turn him back, despite legally having the right to stay due to his refugee status.

“I told the officer I had the right to stay. Then I told him I had $500 in my pocket. I gave it to him and he said, ‘Okay, okay, no problem.'”

“You paid him off?!” I asked incredulously. “And he accepted?” I am reminded that corruption exists everywhere.

“Yes, I was so tired after our long journey.” I knew he didn’t just mean his flights through Europe and Mexico. I knew he meant his two-year journey that was years in the making through four different countries, as a refugee. “I knew I had the right to stay, but I didn’t have it in me to argue. I didn’t care. It’s just money. In America, I can always earn it again. I just needed to make it home. From there, we paid our own way to Oregon.”

“Why did you choose Oregon?”

“Because I love this state. We did our research on the internet, and V & I wanted to live the rest of our lives in Oregon.”

I felt his pride. I felt his love for my country. But just then his wife returned and it was J’s turn to interview.

V sits down and has a smile on her face. “How’d it go?” I ask.  “It was very good,” she tells me. “I really like this job! She asked me about living in Europe, and about my work with refugees. She told me how physical the job is, and I told her, ‘Do you see me? I am healthy and strong, I can do this job.’ I think she liked me.” I had no doubt. Passing the time, I tell V how her husband told me about her journey from her home country to Oregon. She doesn’t miss a beat and begins to fill in the gaps. “I’m so happy here. Coming to Oregon, we have made it home. My country is not my home. Do you know when I was a social worker for refugees, I only made $15/month? We didn’t have enough to eat. There I was helping refugees, and I had holes in my shoes. I didn’t have a bed. Our house was so bad. My government doesn’t care. They don’t take care of their people, they only care about themselves. I thanks God everyday that we have made it. I told J I refused to die there. I couldn’t bear the thought.” At this she starts to get teary eyed, and wipes away a tear under her glasses. I ask about her family, and her son is still there, with hopes of coming to America in the future. We discuss more about her life back in her home country. Then J returns. The employer gives an indication that they will both be hired. I feel a sense of relief, even if it doesn’t mean life is suddenly easy now.

We leave the hotel, and they ask if they have a job. I tell them it’s likely, and V, with her heart always looking after other people, asks her husband if he’s happy. Of course he answers in the affirmative. As we walk back to the car, he asks her a question in their native language, and she interrupts him. “I’m sorry, but I only speak English now. This is my language. Please ask me again in English.” Her husband and I laugh, and the sense of pride is more than just a lingering feeling for her.

Back in the car, we wind our way down the ten floors of the garage. Once on the interstate, our conversation makes its way back to their journey. J tells me how much he loves the U.S. Constitution and our Bill of Rights. I smile, because I know this to be true. Even their emails are a nod to our constitution. V mentions how much J loves American history. He starts telling me about the personal life of Thomas Jefferson, and as his story goes on, I realize I know so much less about Thomas Jefferson than my client does, and probably about U.S. history for that matter. V says her husband’s favorite song is America the Beautiful. J tells me, “Remember when I told you, as I crossed the river, and I saw the American flag at the border for the first time? I started to sing. As I walked across the bridge, I started singing loudly.” And then he begins to sing. Right then. In my car. “Oh beautiful for spacious skies…” I was so moved. I saw it so vividly. A literal march to his freedom, singing a song describing a land that was previously only a dream to him. His wife pipes back in. “In our room, we have a small American flag hanging on our wall. But one day, when we have a house, we will fly a big American flag out front.”

I felt so much pride in my country at that moment, as a land of freedom and as a land that helps refugees to find the same, but I felt even more love and gratitude for two of the gentlest hearts and passionate people I have met in my job.

I dropped them off in a convenience store parking lot to catch the bus back home. To their temporary home. I don’t know what will happen to their housing. I wished them luck in their housing search. They wished me a good weekend and climbed out of the car. V poked her head back in the door to tell me again, how grateful she is to have my help. As I walk back in the door to the office today, I don’t know if I will have two homeless clients sitting at my desk, or good news of a temporary bed being found. But I do know that these two are going to make it. And I know that as an American, we are lucky to call them our neighbors and fellow citizens.