An uphill climb for refugees

In a cramped grade-school classroom on the Far North Side, refugees from 17 countries stutter and stumble their way through a lesson on a weather pattern that is totally foreign to most of them: “It’s cold outside. It’s snowing.”

Downstairs, a group of sixth-graders from war-torn counties such as Burundi and Myanmar gather around a kidney-shaped table as the teacher slowly guides them through a second-grade-level book. “Clippity-clop. Clippity-clop,” they read together.

And in a hallway on the first floor, a 5-year-old refugee from Somalia clutches his teacher’s hand with such ferocity that the teacher’s knuckles turn white. Since he arrived in September, the slender and withdrawn child has been afraid to leave his teacher’s side, even when she goes to the bathroom.

Swift Elementary and a handful of other nearby schools unexpectedly received dozens of refugees at the beginning of the school year, after federal officials issued a waiver to a section of the Patriot Act, allowing more refugees into the U.S.

These schools are accustomed to taking in refugees, but rarely have they seen so many arrive at once.

Between July and September, 1,200 immigrants fleeing war-ravaged nations arrived in Illinois, as many as came all of the previous fiscal year, according to the Illinois Department of Human Services. Many of them fled the strife in Burundi and Myanmar, also known as Burma.

The vast majority of the refugee families settled on Chicago’s Far North Side, long a gateway for immigrants.

Unlike immigrants from, say, Mexico, or even the refugees that came from Bosnia in the 1990s, these new residents have little familiarity with Western culture. Many have spent their entire lives in refugee camps, with little formal education.

This presents schools with unique challenges.

At Swift, one little boy would not go to music class because he was afraid to climb the school’s stairs -- he had never seen a staircase before. A little girl spent the first day of class on the floor, using her chair as a desk to write on.

Some are overwhelmed by their new surroundings and cry for days, even weeks.

“We love the diversity and we are so happy to have them, but we just weren’t fully prepared for so many all at one time,” said Harlee Till, principal at Swift. “They came in so fast and furious that we had to scramble to find translators. We’ve had to help get them winter coats and shoes. This is a whole new group of kids that we don’t have much experience with.”

Chicago Public Schools officials don’t know how many refugees enrolled this year, but Swift got at least 45 and nearby Gale Elementary took in at least 40.

Because civil conflicts have raged in the immigrants’ home countries for decades, many were born or have lived most of their lives in camps. They tend to be less educated than their American classmates. The Myanmar refugees, especially, have trouble learning English because their language is far different in sound and structure.

“You also have to take into account the trauma they are dealing with due to the civil strife, and the trauma of relocating from their homes to refugee camps, then to the United States,” said Shana Wills with the nonprofit Heartland Alliance, which in September helped resettle 80 refugees, five times the typical number.

Children assimilate more quickly than adults. Still, it is not easy for the students at Swift or for their teachers.

In Room 204 at Swift, Pyo E’sa, a slight and obedient sixth-grader, sits at the table with seven other students who lack English skills.

With the teacher’s guidance, Pyo reads haltingly: “In came a horse. Clippity-clop, clippity-clop. Clippity-clippity-clippity clop.”

Pyo, 11, was born in a grim refugee camp on the Thailand-Myanmar border. Her parents are ethnic Karens, a group that lives mainly in the hilly eastern region of Myanmar and has been fighting for decades for an independent state.

In 1995, the family was chased into the camp after rebels burned their village to the ground, said the girl’s mother, Ta Kaw Paw.

In the camp, they lived in a small bamboo hut with no electricity.

They survived on rice and chili-flavored paste. Pyo received some schooling in the camp, but her education was “unstable,” her mother said.

“The teachers were not qualified” at the camp, she said through a translator. “I do not know what my children learned. I do not know if they learned at all. It’s very bad for them. I feel sad that they didn’t get what they need.”

Although her daughter has been in America only a few months, Paw said she thought her education at Swift was first-rate.

The refugees receive a daily English lesson taught by a Bosnian who came to Swift to work with an earlier wave of refugees but who does not speak the languages of the new arrivals. The students are mainstreamed into regular classrooms the rest of the day.

Pyo, who did not speak English when she arrived, is the first to volunteer when the teacher calls on students to read aloud. When she finishes an assignment, she rushes to her teacher and points at her paper.

“Like this?” she asks.

She completes all of her homework, even if she’s not quite sure what it’s asking her to do. In her notebook, she wrote that her favorite things are reading and ice cream.

But the timid child has a tough time understanding her teacher.

“The hardest thing for Pyo is that she cannot do what every other child can do -- and that’s participate in all the lessons,” said her teacher, Rosemary Gabriel. “I look at her and see how she longs to be part of the group discussions. Over time, she will, but right now English is just too new for her.”

The refugees have become an integral part of the mosaic at Swift. Despite the school’s large immigrant population, nearly 80% of students passed the state achievement exams last year, surpassing city and state averages.

Pyo’s father, Thee Da, knows it’s important to push his daughter to do well in school.

“Life between educated and not educated is very different, especially life in America,” he said through an interpreter. “Here, if you do not do well in school, it is hard to survive.”