Uprooted: Second Edition

By Khetam Dahi and Novia Elvina

Khetam Dahi captures the often-ignored voices and painful experiences of Syrian migrant children and their families. In a simple yet honest and powerful prose, Dahi, through the eyes of a child turning adolescent, narrates the everyday existence of immigrant and working-class families. Although the family faces extreme hardships, the love for each other and determination to succeed served as a catalyst to infuse them with optimism and a love for life. Her inspirational journey of breaking through despite all obstacles certainly lets readers vicariously experience her joy, sorrow, regrets, hopes, dreams, goals, disappointments and success. Dahis artfully weaved narratives provide young adult learners the opportunity to become personally enmeshed in the stories, but most importantly, it creates a space where students can feel free to relate, relive and learn.
___ Nancy Ramirez, Associate Professor

Khetam Dahis journey from Syria to America was definitely fascinating, heroic, and intriguing. Bravo to her and her family for moving forward even though many obstacles got in the way. Her story is very inspiring.
___ Dr. Linda Elias

Dahi, in her republication of Uprooted, accurately portrays the fears, joys, excitement, and triumphs of an immigrant to America. She gives a first-hand, unique picture of the difficulties of learning a new language and culture. The exercises in the book will also aid ESL students in recounting their own personal stories and growing as second-language readers and writers.
___ Nathan Warner, Associate Professor

Khetam Dahis book, Uprooted, is a journal of her emigration from Syria to the United States, which comes straight from the heart. Her story compels readers to reminisce about their own initiation into a new and strange culture. Her personal anecdotes bring emotions to the surface. The reader is able to relate to the universal loss of childhood innocence to the jolting realization of an entirely new, sometimes frightening and sometimes hilarious, foray into the future. Khetams adventures assist students of all ages and backgrounds in comprehending that while cultural adjustments may be painfully jarring, such difficulties can be common to all people in such circumstances. Her story is evidence that success can be achieved through a sprinkle of good luck along with diligence and perseverance.
___ Arleta Roberts, 25-year teacher of English language students and a life-long learner

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Aug 24, 2016
• ISBN: 9781490770956

Khetam Dahi

Khetam Dahi is a Professor of ESL and Vice-Chair of the English Department at east Los Angeles College where she has taught since 2007. She has a BA in English Composition, an MA in English Composition with concentration in Teaching English as a Second Language, A certificate in Reading and a certificate in GATE (Gifted and Talented Education). Khetam Dahi is Syrian American and came to the U.S. with her family in 1978 when she was only 13 years old. She was in an ESL program throughout high school, so she understands some of the struggles of second language learners and immigrants in general. She has already published two ESL readers, The Mulberry Tree, and Uprooted, which have been used in some community college ESL programs. Dahi focuses in her books on the immigrant experience and the often ignored voices. Students will be enmeshed in her stories because many can relate to some aspects of each story. Lastly, all three books include activities that promote vocabulary building, grammar and critical thinking. Other books written by Khetam Dahi are: The Mulberry Tree, 2nd Edition, ISBN # - 978-1490770970 Uprooted, 2nd Edition, ISBN # - 978-1490770963

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Copyright 2016 Khetam Dahi.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

isbn:

978-1-4907-7096-3 (sc)

isbn:

978-1-4907-7095-6 (e)

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Contents

Note to the Reader

Acknowledgements

Introduction and Background

Chapter 1 Anticipation: The News

Chapter 2 Family Issues: Preparing for the Trip

Chapter 3 Tough Goodbyes: Leaving Syria

Chapter 4 Arriving In Paris: The Language Barrier

Chapter 5 Complete Culture Shock: Arriving to California

Chapter 6 Tough Transitions: Junior High

Chapter 7 New Opportunities: High School

Chapter 8 Difficult Lessons

Chapter 9 Working for Independence

Chapter 10 Following My Dream

Chapter 11 Reuniting: My Sister Comes to Visit

Appendix

Dedication

To my husband, Ayham Dahi

Note to the Reader

This book was originally published with the title, The Journey of an Immigrant: From Farm to Freedom. The stories in this book are mostly based on situations that my family and I experienced as immigrants in the USA. I hope to entertain, inspire, and motivate you, as well as share my positive and negative experiences. Hopefully, these stories will raise awareness about the many social and cultural issues, the mistreatment and unacceptable work conditions that immigrants often endure.

Over the years, I have read hundreds of journal entries written by my ESL (English as a Second Language) students, and they have often touched and inspired me, so these students are a huge part of the reason I am sharing these stories.

The readings are useful not only to ESL students, but also to anyone, especially new comers who are trying to overcome struggles and obstacles in their lives. In terms of the level of language, these stories are written at a high intermediate to advanced level.

Please contact me for any questions or helpful feedback on this work. For an intermediate level reader, refer to my previous book, The Mulberry Tree, second edition, which covers Tamara’s life from the age of five to thirteen.

Visit my website at: khetamdahi.com

E-mail me at: [e-mail]

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank the following people for supporting me in doing this project: My husband Ayham Dahi, my biggest critic and supporter, Novia Elvina, for completing all illustrations, my daughter, Reem Atallah for designing the book cover and editing the book, my colleagues and friends, Dr. Linda Elias, Associate Professor Nancy Ramirez, Associate Professor Nathan Warner, and Long-time friend and English teacher, Arleta Roberts for their invaluable comments, suggestions, ideas and corrections. I am also grateful to my brother-in-law, Dr. Omar Dahi for doing the initial editing, my brothers Sam Atalla and Alex Atalla for filling in some memory gaps, our children, Kinda, who passed away on December 2, 2015, Reem, Jamal and Joel for being patient and supportive in every way, and my nine wonderful brothers and sisters for their constant support. Most of all, I want to thank all my students who always inspire and encouraged me to write.

Introduction and Background

Part I

I spent my childhood living in a tiny village called, Alfuheila, which is located about twelve miles southeast of the city of Homs in the center of Syria. The climate was very similar to that of Southern California, with a nice warm weather in the summer and often, pleasant winter. Sometimes though, when the weather in the winter was cold and harsh, everything related to our daily lives became a hundred times more difficult, especially when we had snow. This was because we did not have any paved streets other than the main road that lead to the connecting cities. Therefore, it was either dusty in the summer, or muddy in the winter, which made it very difficult for students who had to walk to school, for farmers who had to accomplish many tasks, for venders who had to travel to the cities to buy their supplies, and for women who had to spend many hours cleaning their homes from the mud and dirt.

Demographically, there were about 1500 people and everyone in our village followed the Christian faith, but if you looked to each side of the town, you would see that we were surrounded with five other villages inhabited by Muslims. Each village had its own elementary school, but only our village, being the largest, had a junior high school where we all converged: Alfuheila Junior High School. We all had to follow the same curriculum except for religion classes. The students from our town had Christian religious studies and the rest had Islamic studies. During recess, lunchtime, before or after school though, we never spoke about any religious issues and we got along beautifully, but one thing was very clear. We knew we could not have gender relations with each other and we could not intermarry. It was an unwritten rule, which everyone in town respected and followed with minor incidents here and there. For example, when my friend Afaf had a crush on a very handsome Muslim boy, everyone found out and Afaf got a beating from her dad. Even the boy received a nice beating by his oldest brother in front of the whole school for being part of the scandal. I know what you are thinking. It was not his fault that a girl had a crush on him. Well, it was to teach other kids not to even think about it.

When it came to dress code in junior high and high school, students wore grayish navy blue uniforms that looked more like military gear with white shirts and matching caps. It was as if all of us, children and adults alike, needed to be ready for war at any time. There were always threats of war between Syria and Israel. The region had not been stable for the previous 30 years.

Most students in town walked to school, but many from the surrounding villages came by bus, on bicycles, or rode on motorcycles behind their fathers or other family members. Our daily schedule was from 8:00 AM to 2:00 PM, six days a week. Our only day off was Sunday and most of us (who lived in the village) had to go to church, which was located in the center of town. My friends, cousins, siblings and I were all involved in church activities, including singing in the church choir.

Part II

I did not like going to church much because I could not understand anything the priest used to say. He spoke in Syriac, a Middle Aramaic language, which was used by Syriac Christians and was spoken between the eighth to the eighteenth century. However, beginning in the eighth century, the Arabic language started developing, thereby replacing Syriac.

The Syriac language has not completely disappeared; there are still some people in Syria and other parts of the world who speak it, and many clergymen still use it in Church sermons. Our priest was one of them. This made absolutely no sense to me. Why doesn’t he speak Arabic, which we all understand? I would ask my friends and family members. They would tell me that Syriac was the language that Jesus spoke and I should not ask about it or question it anymore.

We knew how to recite all the religious hymns, but none of us really knew the meaning of any of them. We made for a great choir, though. In fact, it was in the choir where I was discovered as a potential singer. I even became one of the main singers in school festivals and big patriotic events. I must say that this gave me a boost in self-esteem and a little bit of popularity among my peers.

I grew up in Syria between 1964 and 1978. At that time, most people in our town worked in farming. They depended on the harvest of crops as their main source of income, but some also had dairy and chicken farms to bring in additional financial support while waiting for the harvest. Everyone in town had enough land to build a house and plant some fruit trees, and some additional land for their other crops like wheat, barley and other types of grains.

Some people had more land than others, and the size of it depended on how the land was originally divided. Some families inherited it from their ancestors, and some did not because the inheritance was only divided among the males in the family. In some cases, people received the title for the land from the government because they had worked in it for generations. In our situation, my father was an only son, so he inherited all the land from his father, who wanted him to get married as soon as he was mature enough.

Getting married at a young age was very common back then for men and women, but in my father’s case, he was only sixteen when he married my mother, who was nineteen years old at the time. This was not common in our culture; men usually married girls-up to fifteen years younger than they were. There was a good reason for this, though. My grandmother had developed a rare disease at a young age, which left her paralyzed from the waist down, so the family needed more help on the farm and in the house. My mother was, according to many, a very smart, wise, and healthy woman. She did very well in school and had many talents in way of vocational work where there was potential for more income. She was also beautiful and came from an important family. Her grandfather had been the mayor of the town, and then her father, and then my uncle took over and remained mayor until 2013 when he died. All this made up for the fact that my mother was three years older than my father. The family also knew that they could depend on her to take on the responsibility of not only helping my father mature faster, but to also take care of the farm and bear many children, who could provide more help on the farm in the future.

My parents were formally engaged when my father was only fifteen. He had planned to get married in a year when he was, as people said, "more mature." On his wedding day, according to the story my mother had told us many years ago, my father had been playing with marbles outside the house with his friends and my grandparents had to call him in to get ready for the day’s events; the tradition was that the groom would get bathed and dressed by all his friends and the best man, who was one of the neighbors’ kids.

Even though my parents had an arranged marriage at a very young age, they grew to love and respect each other tremendously. They had ten children together-four boys and six girls. I was the sixth daughter and the eighth child.

Part III

Growing up in a small town on a farm, we all had to share the responsibilities. When school was in session, most parents would let their children focus on their studies and even cater to them when they had exams. Since adult children