driven newcomer
stories from Maine
The living room has a few stuffed chairs and some nice light coming in. The sound of kids playing on the street below enters intermittently.
I listen to a 65-year-old man, in shorts, sandals, and a collared shirt.
He tells me how he joined fellow Congolese asylum-seekers here in Lewiston. His tone is matter-of-fact at first.
After seeking asylum from the DRC in summer of 2018, he lived briefly in Ohio and Washington D.C.
He has lived in Lewiston for a year now.
We spent a bit of time getting to the bottom of how many years old he is, so I could determine if he is, indeed, an older adult. He explained why age is not defining for him; He is not seen as old, and because at the time he was born, birthdates were often wrong in his country.
Photo by Grace Ellrodt with subject’s consent.
As I explained my project and we read over a consent form, we used our phones to help translate certain words. He is a native French speaker, and has gained English proficiency after just one year.
While the word “loneliness” itself was not one he knew right off the bat, he has felt it. Deeply.
His immigration proceedings had a tremendous impact on his first 150 days in the U.S. Particularly that he was not allowed to apply for a job. When he could, it opened his world.
While in flux between arrival and being able to pursue a job, his doctor guided him toward loneliness antidotes: get out in the community, talk with people, and keep busy.
A few community resources allowed him to follow his doctor’s advice. Soup kitchens gave an escape from eating alone. The Immigrant Resource Center, where he meets other asylees, and volunteers, gives him purposefulness.
At the Lewiston Public Library, he formed a friendship with a man who works there, the grandson of French Canadian immigrants. The friendship began by practicing French and English with one another.
Before moving to his current building, where he lives with a roommate, he lived in a different apartment in Lewiston. There, on his own.
Even after volunteering, or a meal at the soup kitchen, he heart-wrenchingly describes how the isolation of home settled upon him the moment he walked through the door.
He leaned on his faith in God to keep him healthy in a community that he feared would not notice his disappearance.
It was at the Immigrant Resource Center that he was asked if he’d like to be roommates with a fellow volunteer there. He leapt, you’ll hear, at the chance.
Photo taken by Grace Ellrodt with subject’s consent.
His recommends to other newly-arrived Mainers in his position that they go to places like the Immigrant Resource Center to get information about meetings with other asylees. And, to go to film viewings and other inclusive cultural events like the one through which I connected with him.
And, to use these places as a networking site to find other necessary resources like Community Concepts, providing food, transportation, and fuel assistance which enables more engAgement.
This older adult has a wife and children still living in the DRC, who cannot yet immigrate. His separation from his family is a source of loneliness. Yet, he shares how keeping in touch on the phone has made a year apart remarkably bearable.
I can hear that it is his hope for a family reunion that drives him onward.