The thunderous sound of jets overhead sends the Alzamel children running for cover under the bed.
To them, daily operations at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base sound like warplanes in Syria.
The family is safe here, but memories of war don’t fade quickly. The Alzamel family fled Daraa, their hometown in Syria, more than three years ago. They traveled on foot to Jordan with three young children. For 10 hours they walked. Nisreen Alzamel was pregnant with her fourth child — a daughter. Islam Alzamel is now 3 years old.
The Alzamels are among the first handful of Syrian families to settle here since the country’s civil war began in 2011. Arizona’s Refugee Resettlement Program reported that as of September 25, 112 Syrian refugees had made their home in Arizona in fiscal year 2015. Approximately a dozen families came to Tucson.
That number is expected to increase in the coming year. The Obama administration has said it will allow 10,000 Syrian refugees to resettle in the United States in fiscal year 2016, although rising security concerns have led to legislation in Congress to tighten screening for Iraqi and Syrian refugees.
The executive director of Refugee Focus, one of three local agencies that resettle refugees, says they were told to expect few arrivals through next March, then an uptick.
“Banning Syrian refugees won’t make America safer. It will only make them more desperate,” says Jeffrey Cornish, executive director of the International Rescue Committee in Tucson. “They are fleeing violence, including ISIS, and are seeking safety for themselves and their families.”
“IF YOU WANT TO DIE, COME TO THIS CAMP”
Before their illegal journey to Jordan, the Alzamel family spent a terrifying day lying on the ground as bullets pierced their house. Hisham Alzamel counted 18 bullets.
That morning, the government had entered Daraa hunting rebels, the family says. Hisham feared it was the last time he would see his family.
For 10 hours, they had no bathroom breaks, no sips of water. They survived to encounter fear again.
During a two-month stay in a dark basement with 300 other families, they were forced to keep quiet, they say.
Even a routine bathroom trip sparked fear. They’d hug, just in case it was goodbye.
When the Alzamels arrived in Zaatari Refugee Camp in Jordan, they joined thousands of other refugees. They sought medical attention — Nisreen needed a cesarean section and all three children were ill.
“They could not get U.N. refugee help. They were told if you want a C-section, you have to pay,” says Rania Kanawati, translating for the family. “Either pay or do it in the tent.”
Nisreen sold her ring to pay for the care.
A tent was provided for them to live in, but the scorching heat pushed them to live behind it, where there was shade. When sandstorms struck, they hid their faces in their hands.
They used to say, “If you want to die, come to this camp.”
When they could bear it no longer, they used money carried from Syria to help them pay rent in Jordan. They had brought half of their money — $4,000. The rest was hidden in their chimney back home, but they say it was taken, along with Hisham’s bus, when the house was raided.
INTERVIEW, HEARTBREAK
With their hometown in Hama, Syria, overrun by heavy bombing and tanks, Mouffak Beij and his wife, Roukia Al Younes Al Masri, fled with six of their 10 children.
They walked a mile to wait for a bus to take them to Jordan. When it arrived, it was overflowing with others fleeing.
Terrified their children would be forced to join the fighting, the parents pushed the oldest kids onto the bus. The plan was to meet at a designated spot in Jordan.
For four days, they waited on the street for another bus. They finally made it to Jordan, where they used their savings to rent a house rather than stay at a refugee camp.
They were there for four years until a yearlong interview process ended with their clearance to resettle in the United States. And with that joy came more heartbreak.
Their 23-year-old son had been denied entrance to the United States. He would not be migrating with them.
“WE LIVE TOGETHER
OR WE DIE TOGETHER”
Life in the U.S. is difficult for the Beij family without their son. With the decline of Mouffak’s health, their eldest son is needed to help support the family. They also miss four of their married daughters — two in Jordan, two in Syria.
There is no indication of when or if their son will be allowed to join the family. He told his parents that if he doesn’t hear from the U.N. soon, he will take a boat to Europe.
Mouffak says he will stay in the United States until the financial assistance from the resettlement agency runs out. If his son is not here by then, the family will go back.
“We live together or we die together,” he says through an interpreter.
If the Beijs’ son does get clearance, resettlement agencies will work to place him with his family. But he still has to go through the process — which includes security screening and DNA checks to ensure he is related. That could take a long time.
“That’s really frustrating for families and it’s frustrating for us,” says Craig Thoresen, executive director of the Phoenix-based resettlement agency Refugee Focus. The agency also has an office in Tucson.
COMPASSION, SECURITY
Since the recent terrorist attacks in Paris and Beirut, many U.S. governors, including Arizona’s, have called for a halt to allowing Syrian refugees into their states. The U.S. House of Representatives recently passed legislation to increase the vetting process for refugees from Syria and Iraq.
Security screenings are important, but closing our doors to refugees would be a decision based on fear, says Jill Rich, who worked closely with the Lost Boys of Sudan.
“This country was built to be compassionate and yet we’re saying we’re not going to allow in the most vulnerable populations in the world,” Rich says. “It doesn’t makes sense to me. We need to continue to be a compassionate society, because if not, the enemies have won.”
With the intense screening process and security vetting, coming to the U.S. as a refugee would be a difficult and time-consuming way for terrorists to get in.
“Terrorists can enter countries much easier than coming the refugee route,” Thoresen says. “Why would they wait years and go through all this scrutiny when they can come easier? It would be easier to come on a work visa. There’s far less scrutiny.”
Secretary Jeh Johnson of the Department of Homeland Security addressed fears of allowing in Syrians in a statement emphasizing efforts to better secure the Visa Waiver Program and tighten airport security.
“Since the attacks in Paris, there has been anxiety across our country,” his statement reads. “I understand that anxiety. But, in this environment, we must guard against actions that are ill-considered, misdirected and counterproductive. We must focus our efforts on measures that will actually strengthen our screening of those who travel to the United States, and better secure the homeland.”
Even as detailed outlines of the vetting process circulate, many still worry about the accessibility of Syrian records.
“If we don’t have the connections in Syria or if (the databases) are wiped clean … it’s a legitimate concern in that it may be true,” Cornish, of the International Rescue Committee, said during a recent forum for Tucson churches. “But there are other ways we can verify their identity and their past. ... The State Department, the FBI and Homeland Security are very much aware of these deficiencies, and they do everything they can to make up for them.”
EXPECTATIONS VS. REALITY
Before moving to the U.S., Roukia imagined skyscrapers and skylines when she thought about America.
“Tucson is very similar to their hometown in Syria,” says Kanawati, the translator who met the family shortly after they arrived in Tucson about five months ago. “Overseas, when they talk about America, they show you the skyline … so when you come, you want to see that.”
Roukia is thankful for her life in the U.S. But like so many, the difficult transition is a surprise.
“The father struggles because of the way they used to live in Syria,” Kanawati says. “They are educated people, and to see his son working as a dishwasher is very difficult to accept.”
The family’s 22-year-old son works part-time washing dishes at a sushi restaurant. His is the family’s primary income. Before they fled Syria, he was studying to be an engineer at Aleppo University.
Hisham Alzamel, too, feels the sting of insufficient employment. His family arrived in Tucson late last summer. In Syria, he was a bus driver. Here, he has struggled to find a job.
“The husband is desperate to give more to his family and find a job,” Kanawati says. The children ask about television and iPads — luxuries they once knew.
Many refugees work in the hospitality industry as housekeepers or dishwashers. Those with stronger English skills become security guards or work in health care, Cornish says.
Thoresen, with Refugee Focus, compared Syrian refugees to those from Iraq. Many were professionals and educated, sometimes in the United States.
WHAT THE AGENCIES DO
Upon arrival, refugees in Arizona receive at least 90 days of help and $925 to be spent on behalf of each person.
That money — from agency contracts with the Department of State — must be committed before the 90 days end. It goes toward immediate needs such as furnishing an apartment, filling the refrigerator with food for arrival day and helping with rent and utilities.
Refugees also receive Temporary Assistance for Needy Families, the state’s Two Parent Employment Program, along with food stamps and insurance through Arizona’s Medicaid agency. Finally, they’re offered cultural orientation.
“That’s the very initial adjustment period, where we try to take care of all the necessities so people are stable, the kids are in school, and they are building friendships,” Thoresen says.
After 90 days, some families may qualify for targeted help finding a job and additional funding for rent from the Office of Refugee Resettlement through the Department of Health and Human Services. That can last up to 180 days after arrival, but at that point, the money flow stops.
Some services such as English instruction, medical help and transportation may continue for up to five years.
Agencies aim to guide refugees to self sufficiency within three to six months — and that happened about 85 percent of the time last fiscal year, Cornish says.
“Most families succeed,” Thoresen says. “Are there homeless refugees or refugees in jail? Unfortunately, the answer is yes. It’s a small number, but we’re not saving people. We’re giving people a chance.”
DAY-TO-DAY CHALLENGES
For three years, the Alzamel children lived in turmoil — fleeing Syria and scraping by in Jordan.
School was not part of that experience.
Now they are back in the classroom, in the sixth, fifth and second grades.
It’s frustrating trying to catch up when they don’t speak the language. They feel lost.
The kids learn other subjects in English and then work with an English language development, or ELD, teacher who does not speak Arabic. At school districts like Tucson Unified, these teachers often work with students from around the world.
Julie Kasper, founder of the refugee education hub CENTER and a former ELD teacher at Catalina Magnet High School, has seen the challenges refugee kids face in school, from language barriers to dietary limitations at lunchtime.
“There are schools where there is a pullout model where students are in a classroom with peers all day except for an hour, or there are schools with specific classes that offer all of the instruction with an ESL component,” Kasper says.
Of the five Beij children who now live in Tucson, four attend the Al Huda International School of Languages, where teachers speak Arabic.
“Then the kids come home and teach the parents English,” says Kanawati, chair of the school’s board.
The family can send their children to that school because the children’s tuition is sponsored by donations and because they have transportation — they spent their teenage daughter’s dowry money on a car.
A NEW LIFE
Those who work with Tucson’s refugee population say the city has long opened its arms to newcomers from other countries.
“It’s been very welcoming, a very warm place for refugees to come,” Rich says.
Kanawati moved to the U.S. from Syria about 23 years ago for school. As a board member at the Islamic Center of Tucson, she has worked with refugees from Somalia and Afghanistan.
Tucson is a good city for refugees, she says. She finds people want to help, want to donate clothes or furniture, want to make others welcome.
Because Kanawati wears hijaab, or head scarf, she is used to questions.
“Right now, when I tell them I’m from Syria, people support me and say nice stuff. Other people just stare and stay quiet,” she says.
After almost four months in Tucson, Nisreen sees her children changing.
“They feel peace here. They tell their parents that,” Kanawati says, translating for Nisreen. “The kids trust people. Before, they thought, ‘They are going to kill us.’ They are adjusting.”
