In my work, I get to know a lot of Somali immigrants. Let me tell you about one of them. I’ll call her Halima (not her real name).
She arrived in the U.S. about 3 months ago. She and her brothers moved here to be with their mother, whom they hadn’t seen for many years. I don’t know the backstory for how or why their family got separated, but I know how happy Halima is to be able to be with her mom again after the years apart.
Halima is my student. She is in the 7th grade. She had never been to the U.S. before moving here. A few days after her arrival, she and her brothers started attending public school. Her English was limited, but apparently not limited enough to justify sending her to the orientation center where qualifying non-English speaking students attend for up to a year to transition into our district.
From the first day, what was notable about Halima was her smile. I am not exaggerating when I say I don’t know if I’ve ever had a student whose face wore a more habitual or radiant smile.
I did notice fairly quickly that she limps. What I didn’t realize at first was that it was the result of a permanent injury that causes her pain every time she walks. As a result, she is one of the few students granted elevator access. Since I have knee problems, I use the elevator as well, and sometimes in the morning we both get on to ride up at the same time right before school starts. She is just arriving at school, while I’m returning to my classroom after making copies or meeting with someone before classes start. I confess that in those morning encounters, Halima often shames me, because her greeting to me is so much more enthusiastic and attentive than mine to her. The lesson planning/photocopying concerns I have on my mind at those times are no excuse. Seeing her on the elevator in the morning causes me to try to be a better person, so I can hold up my head in her presence.
In the time I’ve known Halima, I have found many other traits to admire about this remarkable young woman. She has what teachers call “excellent student skills” — organization, focus, initiative, determination, hunger to learn, desire to excel, willingness to ask questions — all the internal qualities that propel students into the top echelons not only of academia, but of the professional world thereafter.
Her math teacher has mentioned to me a couple of times recently that Halima’s math skills are off the charts, and she is looking into whether it would be possible to have her placed in an advanced math class mid-year.
While determined and opinionated and often outspoken, Halima is also extremely affectionate. Her greatest joy is spending time with her family, and she is consistently kind and respectful to both adults and students. Which doesn’t mean she is humorless; her sense of humor is actually pretty wicked. But she understands when to unleash it, and when discretion should prevail.
Had Halima’s reunion with her mother been delayed by just a few months, I would never have had the privilege of getting to know one of the most memorable students I’ve ever taught. Between the fury engendered in me by that realization, and the tears I’ve cried today from hearing about the ship full of Jewish children turned away from our borders in 1939, many of whom were later murdered in the concentration camps, I think I’d have some choice words for the alt-president if he were to show that puckered thing he calls a face anywhere around here anytime soon.
And no, my headline isn’t just clickbait. I predict that someday, not all that many years in the future, Halima will indeed prove to be a formidable danger to the powers that are now arrayed against her and others like her in this godforsaken land that used to be such a beacon of hope to the world’s tired, poor, and oppressed.
I’m so glad the door stayed open long enough for Halima to enter; she is exactly what this country needs right now.