Persistence


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Do you know how hard it is to find an Afghan refugee in this city?

I tell you–a coffee shop on every block, but try to find an Afghan refugee!

Which is why I ended up in Naperville.

Let me back up. Our second to last assignment for International Reporting (that class has been featured a lot on this blog I’m realizing) is to get in touch with a refugee and then write a 1,000 word profile on that person. We have known about this assignment since day one, and since day one I’ve been stressing about it. Two weeks into class I had already decided what kind of refugee I wanted to profile (Afghan) and had already started taking the appropriate steps to find this person (reached out to Heartland Alliance, the refugee mecca of Chicago).

So I thought I was on top of my game. Way ahead of the rest of the kids. I’d have this thing done before Halloween.

Only one problem.

The woman from Heartland Alliance emailed me back and said it was going to be tough to connect me with an Afghan refugee, considering the U.S. hadn’t really been accepting Afghan refugees since 2001.

Oh great.

I emailed my teach, who said not to give up–that it was a great idea and surely I would be able to find an Afghan refugee somewhere.

So, with that, I promptly forgot this assignment for a while. Thesis was beckoning, as were other short-term projects.

Then, two weeks before the assignment was due, I suddenly realized I had no refugee (Afghan or otherwise). Drastic measures had to be taken.

I gave up on the idea of finding an Afghan refugee and drove up to a place called Refugee One at 4753 N. Broadway and told them I was looking for an Iraqi refugee.

Probably a very good resource under normal circumstances, but with my time frame they looked at me like I was nuts.

At a loss for what to do next, I did a clip search on Columbia’s Library site to see what would come up for Afghan refugees (yes, I was after that dangling carrot again).

Strangely (or fortuitously), one of the first articles that came up was one written by a professor of mine, Teresa Puente. The article, from 2001, profiled five Afghan refugees living in Illinois.

With increasing excitement, I hopped on Switchboard and began plugging in names to see what came up. Sometimes no phone number came up. Sometimes there was a phone number, but the number was disconnected. Down to the last refugee on the list, I plugged in the name and a number came up. I called and left a message.

An hour or so later, a very nice man named Mohammad Rashan called me back and said he would be happy to meet. Besides that, he actually arranged a meeting with his wife, who had just come back from a trip to Afghanistan, and her sister-in-law, who just came to the states from Afghanistan a week and a half prior for the first time in her life.

I found my Afghan refugees. Their stories were amazing, but even more amazing was the kindness they showed me and the way they trusted me with those stories.

Another life lesson learned. Brought to you by International Reporting.

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