Karen Heller: An education in survival

Shinelle Diamond Superville has the name of a superhero. Which is fitting.

Much of what we take for granted in life, Superville does not.

Like U.S. citizenship. Or a loving family. Or an education.

"She's very self-assured, just a very bubbly personality," says immigration lawyer Philippe Weisz. "She's been through some really rough patches."

Born in Trinidad, Superville came to Philadelphia when she was 5 with her mother and stepfather. "Financially," she says, "we were struggling."

That was the least of it. She was an undocumented immigrant. And life was rough. "I was fending for everything for myself."

An infectious optimist with almond eyes in an oval face, Superville isn't one to complain or revisit the emotional poverty of her past. "It was years of physical and mental abuse." How many? Superville pauses, wipes her wide smile with a manicured hand. "Maybe six."

Cinderella, boyfriend Luis Cruz calls her.

At age 15, Superville left the Juniata Park house that was never quite a home, where there was never much love, without a clue as to where she would land next. She settled with a cousin, an hour by bus and two trains from school.

"I was scared to tell the principal and my teachers my story," she says. The staff was astonished that the student organizer of blood drives, bake sales, and a thousand care packages for sick children had never been given much herself.

"They need to study you," guidance counselor Tami Jackson-Tillman told her, "to find out how you went through all this and find out how you can be so resilient."

College was the dream. Yet Superville knew that wasn't possible without proper papers, the golden ticket of a green card.

"When can I go to college?" was the first question she asked Weisz, managing attorney at HIAS and Council, a legal aid society for immigrants. Of 650 cases, the organization handles 40 annually for special immigrant juvenile status, undocumented immigrant children who are abused, abandoned, or neglected.

"She's a gifted student. I wanted Shinelle to be my first student to go to the University of Pennsylvania," says principal Eileen Maicon Weissman. "That's when I found out she had no legal status. We knew that we could not get her the money."

Weisz believed the green-card process would take nine months.

At Kensington International Business High School, Superville graduated near the top of her class, serving as president, leading the way in community service, and delivering the commencement address. Accepted at Temple, Penn State, and La Salle, though not Penn, Superville did not go to college.

Instead, she catered, baking $20 cakes. She sold handbags and jewelry. After her cousin moved, she found an apartment in Germantown. With temporary papers, she landed a job at Wal-Mart. "I can't be a burden to anyone. I'm only my own burden."

Two years passed.

On June 3, Superville's green card was approved. "This means school!" she cried when Weisz phoned with the news.

Now 20, Superville works part-time as a bookkeeper at $10 an hour. With rent and utilities, it's impossible to save. She caters. In the fall, she plans to apply to colleges again, including Penn.

"Her story, and her life, give inspiration to other people. We're so blessed to have her," says Jackson-Tillman. Principal Weissman calls her "my protegee, the daughter I never had. We're going to find her the money to take an SAT prep course. We're going to treat Shinelle as if she's just graduating and help her through the process."

In five years, she can apply to become a U.S. citizen. Lacking a loving family, she fashioned a new one with friends and mentors. And soon, if all goes well, she'll have an education.

Characteristically, Superville isn't bitter about the last two years. "I'm an old soul. I think about my journey and about never giving up. I never want to become a statistic."