Volunteering at the Joel Nefuma Refugee
Center in Rome has impacted me in many ways. First of all, I have realized just
how lucky I am. I am lucky because I was born free in a country not at war or
under oppression from a corrupt government, I have not been discriminated
against because of my race, my family was wealthy enough and well-educated
enough to give me a nice home, plenty of good food, a great education, and
countless spectacular opportunities like swimming, skating, piano lessons, Tai
kwon do, art school, band, German camp, etc… I am lucky to have an amazing family
that is alive and loves me dearly. I am lucky to be at a school that offers
study abroad programs in Rome. I am lucky that that study abroad program offers
unforgettable classes with brilliant professors, that the people in the program
with me are kind, exciting, and thrilled to be in Rome like I am. I am lucky
that I landed an architectural internship at a firm that welcomed me with open
arms. I am lucky that I found an amazing refugee center that has opened my eyes
to another side of Italy; the side Italy tries to keep hidden; the side that
reminds me just how lucky I truly am. I have heard stories that wrench my gut,
tear through my heart, and make me want to scream and cry, of wonderful people
who have lost their families, their homes, their futures, their confidence. No
hope for the future, they just live each day trying to make it to the next, not
knowing where their next meal will come from, having to sleep outside for
months on end through the cold and the wet.
They are amazingly talented young
men—reading, speaking many languages, creating beautiful jewelry, baskets, and
clothes out of discarded materials, writing—and they have so much potential,
but they are stuck; stuck waiting for their documents and dreaming of a better
future. What strikes me most by far, however, is their generosity. I can’t
fathom how these people who have lost everything can still manage to give so
much—in fact, all they do is give; give their time, their effort, their praise,
their kindness, their food, their jokes, their stories, and most of all love. I
try to give back, sharing my own knowledge, culture, ideas, praise, and love.
It was so easy to fall in love with these people, but it hurts me that I can’t
do more to help them. We work day after day making beautiful crafts to raise
money for them and the center and to raise awareness of the refugee situation
in Italy, and I can only hope that someday, it will make a difference in their
lives, that their dreams of finally leaving the country and learning, working,
and starting families as accepted members of society rather than outsiders,
will come true. We have to believe. Rakeen says if we are determined and have a
plan, we can accomplish anything we want. I think he’s right, but I don’t think
it’s right that they need to work this hard just to live reasonable lives or
that Italy, the country that they believed would offer them freedom, has only
imprisoned them further.
I can’t say that I understand
because I don’t. I don’t know what it’s like to live in a tent in the park for
a year. I don’t know what it’s like to go days on end with no food. I don’t
know what it’s like to have to flee my own country for my life. I don’t know
what it’s like to lose my entire family in the course of a month. I don’t know
what it’s like to walk down the street and be looked at with loathing, but I
know for certain that I don’t want to. That is enough to know that no human
being should go through such things. As hard as it is to bear, hearing the
stories of the refugees has changed me for the better, and I believe that one
step in the right direction is continuing to educate as much of the population
as possible about the refugee situation. Knowledge is power, and it can
precipitate the change needed to offer these people the futures they deserve.
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