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Camden diocesan program aims to make refugees feel welcome

Some of the grown-ups in a classroom at Catholic Charities in Camden may have been tired, and a few might have been poor. And that gaggle of wide-eyed children clustered on the floor Tuesday afternoon might qualify as "huddled masses."

Rawnak Saaeed, originally from Iraq, listens, joined by husband Firas Alhelli and 3-year-old son Sam Alhelli. The diocese’s refugee settlement office helps find housing and employment.
Rawnak Saaeed, originally from Iraq, listens, joined by husband Firas Alhelli and 3-year-old son Sam Alhelli. The diocese’s refugee settlement office helps find housing and employment.Read moreTOM GRALISH / Staff Photographer

Some of the grown-ups in a classroom at Catholic Charities in Camden may have been tired, and a few might have been poor. And that gaggle of wide-eyed children clustered on the floor Tuesday afternoon might qualify as "huddled masses."

But for the next half-hour, these 120 refugees from Iraq, Myanmar, and other places would forget the struggles that had forced them from their native countries. They were in America, the land of opportunity, and of soap bubbles and erupting plaster volcanoes.

"Good afternoon. My name is Ronni," a young woman from the Garden State Discovery Museum called out to the crowd. "We're going to do some science experiments," Ronni Clothier said, "and also work with bubbles."

The audience looked puzzled, even after translations into Burmese and Arabic. Then someone clapped, and everybody clapped, and the purposeful silliness began.

Every few months, Catholic Charities, the social services arm of the Diocese of Camden, hosts gatherings like this for its refugee population.

"We settle about 100 individuals a year on average," Patrick Barry, program director for the diocesan refugee and immigrant services program, explained before the meeting began.

Founded in 1975, the diocese's refugee settlement office finds its clients housing and employment, helps them register children in schools, provides access to medical care and legal services, and offers courses in English as a second language.

Its largest population groups currently hail from Iraq, Myanmar, Iran, and Afghanistan, with smaller numbers from Cuba, Ukraine, Syria, Sudan, and Bangladesh.

"We teach them to be self-sufficient," Barry said.

As for the political controversies swirling around refugee settlement efforts, no one in the room brought them up.

"Today is special because the diocese has a campaign going for [Pope Francis'] Jubilee Year of Mercy. Our theme is, 'Welcoming the Stranger,' " Barry said.

To that end, the diocese had invited parishioners to attend. About 15 people in the room appeared to be native-born.

"Why would you not want to hear the incredible stories, the journeys these people made to come to America, to live free or be safe?" said Jack Mahoney, 18, a senior at Camden Catholic High School.

Next to him sat classmate Adam Altenbach, 17.

"When I heard about this, I thought this would be a way of putting yourself in these people's shoes, getting to know their stories," he said.

The bubbles and volcano came about 20 minutes into the 90-minute program, after several refugees spoke of their experiences in this country.

Sarah Aljanabi, 27, formerly of Iraq, spoke first, about "the most helpful things other people did to help you in this country."

"My first week in this country I met a woman at the library I'd never seen before," she said in English, followed by Arabic.

"When she learned I didn't know how to take the buses, she printed the schedules for me. She taught me how to take the bus," Aljanabi said. "So I guess a lot of people help without knowing you."

A Myanmar man then translated her answer into Burmese for fellow refugees from that country.

Aljanabi was followed by Klee Paw, 23, formerly of Myanmar, who was asked, "What was the most helpful thing you did for yourself" upon arrival in the United States?

Paw, of Haddon Township, told of how "nervous" she had been because she spoke no English at 15, and "had no friends in sophomore and junior years."

"I would go home and cry and talk to myself. I would say, 'Don't give up.' So then I would go on YouTube and English-speaking websites. I just practiced English by myself at home.

"I never gave up," Paw told the crowd. "It was a big chance for me to become someone. So I tell other people who don't understand English: Don't worry. Don't get upset. Don't give up."

Clothier and her partner from the museum, Melissa Rittmann, provided the "fun phase" of the program: a demonstration of the ways that air, soap, baking soda, and other ingredients can make liquids foam and overflow in surprising and entertaining ways - especially if you're 5.

The two poured baking soda, vinegar, and red food dye into a plaster volcano, and elicited squeals of delight from the children on the floor before them.

Then they dropped Alka-Seltzer tablets into water-filled canisters, and the audience laughed again as the lids flew to the ceiling.

"It's magic!" cried a little girl in a red dress.

The program was designed, Barry explained, to engage children but also transcend ethnic and cultural differences in a playful, transporting way.

After the bubble show, the audience was invited to make paper flowers, draw, and sign cards of welcome to new refugees, get some snacks or pick up a bag of English-language children's books.

"I found it helpful - good information for us to see what they do here," said Angelita Fasnacht, 39, of Cherry Hill. She did not use the diocesan refugee service when she came here 16 years ago, but she had fled to this country after she was kidnapped and held hostage for 32 days in her native Colombia.

"I brought my children, too," she said. "They are little, but I wanted them to see how many people in the world are struggling."

doreilly@phillynews.com

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