Searching for a place in new home
Language, jobs remain challenges as new arrivals adjust to life in city
With many of Calgary’s Syrian refugee families having been in the city for a year and a half, the first blush of enthusiasm for their new home has given way to the dayto-day realities of building a life in a place that’s very different from where they’ve come from.
Sprawling Calgary — with its harsh winters, high cost of living, and varied cultural and gender norms — presents a steep learning curve for the more than 3,800 refugees estimated to have arrived in the city since late 2015.
Problems that wouldn’t have been insurmountable at home are magnified in an unfamiliar place: fixing a broken transmission on the family car; signing a rental agreement and coming up with a deposit; finding out your teen is being bullied at school.
But there are important signs of progress: the vast majority of Syrian newcomers, nearly 90 per cent, are learning English; a majority are using public transportation and nearly three-quarters have obtained an Alberta driver’s licence, says Fariborz Birjandian, CEO of the Calgary Catholic Immigration Society (CCIS).
But there are some serious challenges, too.
Less than five per cent of government-sponsored refugees have found full- or part-time employment, according to CCIS, the organization co-ordinating the settlement of government-assisted refugees. CCIS is also preparing to release the first comprehensive assessment of refugees in Calgary.
Privately sponsored refugees have had an easier time breaking into the labour market. The most recent estimate provided to Postmedia pegged the employment rate among privately sponsored refugees at 40 per cent, but some have suggested the number could now be as high as 65 per cent.
Helping refugees find their place in the local community is critical, says Sam Nammoura, co-founder of the Syrian Refugee Support Group (SRSG).
He worries about the integration of a younger generation that, thanks to social media and increased connectivity, doesn’t feel the same need to make new connections and friends.
“Where do I see the Syrians in 10 years? If we stay like this, status quo, this could be one of the slowest communities to integrate within Canada,” Nammoura says.
The burns on her hands and arms blistered her skin, but that wasn’t Seham Al Masalmeh’s only worry.
The young Syrian mother of four wondered how she would explain to the doctor in her broken English what had happened: that her youngest daughter had accidentally lit the curtains on fire while playing with candles, that the curtains had dropped on Seham’s bare arms as she grabbed at them to prevent the fire from spreading in their rented townhouse.
She laughs about it now, remembering how her children ran between the kitchen sink and the fire, tossing small cups of water on the flames until the fire was out, but the memory of the pain still brings her up short.
At the hospital, her tearful eightyear-old daughter did her best to convey what happened to the nurses and doctors. And though the burns are healing, the memory, amid a tumultuous 18 months since the Al Masalmeh family arrived in Calgary as refugees, brings up anxieties familiar to any newcomer to Canada.
“It’s still the hardest part,” Seham says through a translator. “The language is still the biggest problem we have.”
There is one line that is tread very carefully by volunteers working with Syrian families: when it comes to home life and the roles played within a marriage you can’t stereotype Syrian families. Each one is different.
While gender roles, especially among government-sponsored refugees from more conservative or rural backgrounds, can be rigid, some families push their mothers and daughters to get a driver’s licence and pursue studies or work outside of the home.
But there are still some Syrian women who resist taking English classes, either out of a reluctance to leave their duties at home or because of difficulty obtaining child care, says Saima Jamal of SRSG.
Some Syrian women have delayed taking English classes to care for infants. Others can only fit them in part-time in the evenings when their partner has returned home.
“If there’s anything you can spend money on for these newcomers, it’s daycare,” Jamal says, adding that some language centres do provide child care but not it’s not nearly enough to meet the need.
“Once you educate the mom, the whole family will be on the right track.”
The added pressures on a large family suddenly finding themselves in close quarters in an apartment or townhouse — because it’s all they can afford — can be huge, volunteers say. Old family dynamics crumble and are reforged, as adults find themselves relying on their children to help them communicate to accomplish the most basic of tasks.
CCIS volunteers have noted some forms of domestic violence — emotional, financial and physical — between spouses and even siblings. The organization will intervene in those situations to refer families to different programs or services to support children and parents.
“They’re trying to find themselves,” Birjandian says.
“All those dynamics are changing: the role of the man, the wife’s role is changing. There is work to do in the areas of parenting and domestic harmony.”
LEAVING LITTLE SYRIA BEHIND
There is another worry that weighs on Birjandian’s mind, and it has to do with a map in his office that he looks at from time to time.
The map plots the locations of every Syrian family that has resettled in Calgary, and, despite the best efforts of his organization, it still shows some concentrated pockets in the northeast and Forest Lawn. One complex of townhouses in Forest Lawn is home to more than two dozen refugee families dubbed “Little Syria” or “Syriatown” by the community.
“A big concentration like that is not a healthy practice,” Birjandian says, noting examples in France and the Netherlands where some ethnic communities have congregated in areas with rundown social housing.
The problem is nowhere near as serious in Calgary, Birjandian says, but when the first influx of Syrian refugees arrived there was a scramble to find housing that resulted in some concentrated settlement.
“In many cities they ignore it. They’ve ignored it for many years and now it’s a huge social problem.”
In the beginning, Birjandian says, many of the Syrian families wanted to stay together and would resist CCIS’s attempts to settle them in different areas of the city.
“Now, they’re coming one by one to say: ‘Can I move from here? I want to go to other places.’ ”
The Al Masalmeh family moved out of Little Syria a couple of months ago into a bigger house in the northeast with cheaper rent, good light and a kitchen that smells of oranges and cardamom from Seham’s baking.
“We’re a strong family,” Seham says. “And love is the most important thing in this house.”