Finding Refuge

I feel like I might be over-using this phrase, but "falling in love again" really is the only accurate way to describe so many of my experiences here. Today, my renewed love showed up at el Centro de Acogida a Refugiados.

My suprevisor had minimal work for me (a rarity) and needed to speak to a former resident for awhile so I moved into the waiting room and read a few articles discussing the mortgage issue in Spain. Thrilling, yes. Shortly after (and to my good fortune), my two buddies from Sri Lanka came downstairs to say hi. We chatted for awhile and I felt relieved and happy to hear them talk about how great they were adapting to the center. Waiting for the receptionist to fill out their paperwork, Jose (the center's security guard) and I began teaching them Spanish swear words and pick-up lines. At one point the director of the center came out and asked us to keep it down because we were laughing so hard at Thilaksan's confusion about "colega". While we were still giggling over "joder, macho" and "que pasa, cabron?" one of the young mothers brought down her 8-month-old baby to pass around and I spent a good hour taking turns my Palestinian friend, Yassir playing peek-a-boo and kissing the baby's fat little cheeks. As I headed back to Ruben's office, Ahram (my Irani companion who speaks perfect English and strangely enough loves Michael Moore) approached me with a question. He explained that he was having issues communicating with the director of the carpentry courses and needed me to talk to her for him. I called up the course site, translated the conversation back for him, and was soon offered to be taken out for drinks for being so helpful.

Today solidified my feelings for my internship---how much I love every single person living and working there, how much they've affected me, and (I can only hope) how much I've affected them. Even writing this, I can't help but insert "my friend _____" when talking about each one just because I feel that much a part of their lives. It's like I have a wonderful new extended family of 92 residents and 33 coworkers.

Having spent the majority of my work day socializing with the residents and the workers in the lobby, I walked back into Ruben's office feeling confident and content. As I opened the door, there sat Yolima and her brother--both refugees from Colombia and both nearly in tears. Yolima might be my favorite woman in the center. Intelligent and extremely friendly, I chat with her nearly every day after she waddles out of the elevator, already into her third trimester of pregnancy. She's constantly carrying a giant encyclopedia of medical terminology. Though she was a praticing doctor back in Colombia some of her diploma work doesn't transfer here so she's forced to study. With the exception of today, she's never without a smile.

As my boss explained to me later, Yolima was having problems proving the legitimacy of her flight from Colombia to Spain with the Office of Asylum. Colombians in general have the most difficult time passing the final stage of admission into asylum. Eighty percent of the refugees in the center come from Colombia, the majority if not all of them affected directly by the violence caused by FARC guerillas. FARC is the longest running Marxist-based millitant movement, though it has lost nearly all its political character now-a-days and certainly the support of the common people. Since 1964 they've bombed, murdered, kidnapped, extorted, hijacked and dealt with unbelievable amounts of cocaine (mostly to finance their campaigns) in the jungles of Colombia. The fact is that Spain receives so many Colombian immigrants fleeing for the same reason makes people like Yolima seem just like another statistic. In fact, that's exactly what the government treats them as: a number. When their case is reviewed by the Ministry of Immigration and Emmigration, Colombians are often clumped together as "just another FARC case" and, if nothing seems extremely out of the ordinary, they are usually dismissed with a vote of "desfavorable." According to the Genova Convention, "general violence"---events like seeing your cousin killed before your eyes, watching your father blackmailed into paying taxes to terrorists, ---does not count as a legitimate excuse to solicit asylim. If Yolima, a vibrant and capable woman who is willing to earn her living and contribute to Spanish society, cannot find support in a developed and rather generous country like Spain, then there's little hope for everyone trapped in Colombia.

A little choked up on the metro ride to school, I took something extremely positive away from my encounter with my favorite Colombian. For once in my academic career, I think I've found something I would love to dedicate my life to: helping the Yassirs, Ahrams, and Yolimas of the world.