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After church on Sunday, we drove 40 minutes and parked in front of an apartment complex in Houston. Our family stood at a stranger’s door in the brisk December wind and I noticed the aged foil Santa Clause decoration that hung on the front door was upside down. Just like the lives inside.
We knocked and a young Muslim woman answered and greeted us with a bow. I told her my name and introduced my family. She translated in broken English to her mother and aunt as her six fatherless siblings filled the room. Both women smiled at the introduction and covered their grins with their hands.
Furniture - Room - Story - United - States
We sat on the only furniture in the room and we listened to their story. They arrived to the United States by way of Pakistan six months ago from Afghanistan. Both Afghani women lost their husbands to the Taliban. The four oldest kids, just teenagers, work six days a week for $7.50 an hour to pay for the family of 9 to live. We came to meet with them because help from resettlement agencies ends after six months and these women needed extra work.
My husband and younger kids sat on the floor and explained a board game to the children. I watched my 18 year old daughter, home from her college Christmas break, chat with our 19 year old interpreter. They talked about university classes–my daughter who attends and her peer who longs too. One a caretaker, the other being taken care of. One from a war zone, the other a comfort zone. Two girls from two different worlds.
Family - Family
One family who can help another family.
Bustling from the small kitchen interrupted my thoughts and I didn’t remember seeing a few of the girls get up until they sat down steaming cups of chai in front of...
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