The lucky ones: African family lands in Philly as door closes to refugees

After six years in a 5,000-person camp of plastic-sheet tents  in western Ghana,   50-year-old widow Giselle Angama, her three daughters, and a baby granddaughter shook off the chill of their midnight arrival in Philadelphia on Wednesday.

Certified by the U.N. High Commissioner for Refugees as "survivors of violence and torture," the family landed in America less than 36 hours before President Trump's four-month suspension of refugee admissions was to take effect.

In March 2011, they had fled a bloody civil war in their native Ivory Coast, where shelling and heavy fighting had killed thousands.  Four months later, they registered for certification as refugees. Then, in a transient settlement teeming with the displaced, they waited and waited.

Now, they were the lucky ones, having narrowly gotten through a rapidly closing door to a new life.  Like 870 other refugees deemed "in transit" to the United States this week by the Department of Homeland Security, they were allowed in because a denial would have been an "undue hardship." The Angamas were among at least 15 who got in under the wire for resettlement in the Philadelphia area.

Unsteady in English and weary after a long day of travel from Africa, Angama reached for words to express her feelings as her family sorted its luggage.

She hesitated, smiled, and offered a mash-up: "Je suis contente. Happy."

The family has no personal connection to Philadelphia.  They ended up here because the U.S. Committee for Refugees and Immigrants, which processes cases, assigned them to the Philadelphia resettlement agency Nationalities Service Center (NSC) based on the region's capacity to accommodate their language, dietary, and cultural needs.

Admitted at John F. Kennedy International Airport in New York, the Angamas were brought here by van and met by Christina Kubica, their NSC caseworker.

Kubica strapped year-old Ellary into a car seat for the short drive from the pickup point at the Philadelphia International Airport cellphone lot to the two-bedroom, one-bath Dickinson Street apartment in South Philadelphia set up for the family by NSC with used furniture, donated housewares, and a rock-hard package of chicken in the freezer.

As Ellary's mother, Tatiana, 20, was shown how to operate the shower, 9-year-old Ruth tried out a bed, scampered from room to room, and peered into the mostly empty fridge. Ruth, 17, bounced Ellary on her knee.  The Angama matriarch, wearing a New York Yankees knit cap and still sporting the International Organization of Migration identification lanyard worn by refugees in transit, beamed in this modest apartment, with its real walls.

Under U.S. guidelines, refugees in America get a one-time government subsidy of $925 per person and are expected to be self-supporting within 90 days. That means this family of five starts with $4,625, out of which they must pay their first month's rent and a security deposit, and begin reimbursing the federal Office of Refugee Resettlement for the cost of their air travel to America. The Angamas' paperwork does not note any particular job skills.

Their life will be "far from cushy," said Juliane Ramic, NSC's senior director of refugee and community integration, who also came to the airport to welcome the family.

Although Trump has presented his refugee ban as a four-month "pause," its impact will last longer, said Ramic, because for as many as 20,000 people in the pipeline, the required security and medical clearances could expire during the hiatus. That will force them to begin the process anew, a delay of possibly two years. Many will have already sold or given away their belongings.

Looking haggard and near tears Wednesday night, Ramic said she had just telephoned relatives of 10 refugees scheduled to arrive next week to tell them their loved ones wouldn't be coming.

Trump's executive order also halves the number of refugees who will be allowed to enter the U.S. in fiscal 2017 (which began Oct. 1, 2016) from 110,000, as set by the Obama administration, to a maximum of 50,000.

Nationally, about 33,000 have been admitted since Oct. 1, according to the Committee for Refugees and Immigrants.

"That leaves room for very few more" even when the 120-day suspension is lifted, Ramic said.

Trump has said he wants to slow the flow of foreigners entering the U.S. to tighten the nation's borders and enhance security.

Skeptics say refugees pose little threat because they are the most rigorously screened of anyone allowed in.

Correcting a widely held misconception, critics point out that the 9/11 attackers, most of whom came from Saudi Arabia, abused the U.S. visa program but were not refugees.

In a statement Monday, the United Nations refugee chief, Filippo Grandi, said he was "deeply worried" by the suspension of the U.S. program.

"Refugees share the very same concerns about security and safety that Americans have. ... They are fleeing war, persecution, oppression, and terrorism," he said. Those accepted for resettlement "are coming to rebuild their lives in safety and dignity. UNHCR hopes that they will be able to do so as soon as possible."

Before Ramic left the Angamas in the wee hours of Thursday, she lifted the ID lanyard off Giselle's neck and stashed it in a cupboard.

"You don't have to wear this anymore," Ramic said. "You're home now."