Sinisa Milovanovic:  A Fargoan in a Kenyan Refugee Camp

Nineteen windswept and brutal kilometers of mud-brick huts, baking in the spring heat; a destitute blot of a town, maybe 15 buildings total, waiting helplessly adjacent, and filled with locals poorer than their refugee neighbors; fine dust and gritty sand, clawing its way past the spongy insulation strips, wedged into the door jambs to guard the sleeping quarters of aid workers; Food rations meted out bi-monthly; few jobs, less money, and 100 plus degree heat. It was two days in Kakuma Refugee Camp, Northwestern Kenya; it was two days in hell.

“And where we were staying was high-class compared with the camp,” says Sinisa Milovanovic, “I mean, I had my own bathroom.” He says it with an astonished half-smile, a smile of concern that shrugs up under the weight of a heavy case-load, curling with tempered optimism in the face of a dire situation.

Two dusty days of a two week trip for Milovanovic, whose work with Lutheran Social Services in Fargo gained him one of a select, half-dozen seats on an agent-exchange tour abroad (other colleagues visited Jordan, Thailand, Turkey, Nepal and Vienna).

A former refugee himself, his role here is Program Director of New American Services, serving nearly 200 refugees in North Dakota every year; his role on the trip was to bridge the gap between mud hut on the cusp of the Sahara and a modest apartment on the edge of the Great Plains. Milovanovic was there to refine the “cultural orientation” program, one of the final steps in a refugee’s journey from persecution to peace.

Milovanovic’s was a blessedly short stay, compared with the hardscrabble, 16-odd years that Sudanese and Somali refugees have spent languishing there. Somehow, and no thanks to its harsh accommodations, Kakuma has earned itself the confusing title of “the Hollywood of camps.”

“Tell anyone in the resettlement world that you’re going to tour Kakuma” says Milovanovic, “and they will be so jealous- there is certain prestige in visiting it.”

Again the astonished, ironic smile.

It is a longstanding encampment, made regrettably “famous” for its swarms of Sudanese “Lost Boys,” orphans who had fled their villages during a campaign of ethnic and religious violence that continues, largely unchecked, to this day.

Growing huge in three stages, the camp is now home to some 60,000 refugees, 17 schools, and one women’s boarding school, funded, famously, by Angelina Jolie. All are served by a single, dilapidated medical center, and a staff of dedicated relief workers, both foreign and domestic.

The United Nations defines a refugee as “a person who has fled his or her country because of fear of persecution based on race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group or political opinion. Most Kakuma residents are Sudanese, fleeing the racial and religious genocide that has ravaged their home country since the early 1980’s, though a fair number of Somalis, Eritreans and Congolese have made their way here as well.

The United Nations High Commission for Refugees, which facilitates the protection and care of persecuted and displaced peoples, worldwide, has three methods of serving its charges: a safe return home; establishment of a life and livelihood in the host country; and finally resettlement to a totally new place, like the United States, like Fargo.

“There is, arguably, a fourth option,” Milovanovic frowns, that being warehousing populations in camps for decades.

Kakuma, it seems, may be less hell, more purgatorial warehouse. There is no prospect to resettle in neighboring Somalia. Rebel Sudanese want refugees back home in the Dinka south, strengthening their case for an independent Southern Sudan; the Islamic, Khartoum government wants refugees resettled in the North to legitimize their own rule.

Neither place is safe. Up to five thousand are slated to remain in camp indefinitely, and only so many can be processed for resettlement to Europe or the United States. Kakuma refugees are caught up here in the desert, waiting.

Milovanovic passionately asserts that “camp needs to be a temporary solution,” and the omnipresent question plaguing all refugees is “where will I go now?”

Well, the final destination is an uncertain one. The answer comes only after a long tunnel of interviews, assessments, authentications and background checks. From agency to agency, caseworker to immigration officer to airplane, the route to resettlement is a winding maze of bureaucratic hoops to jump.

Expedition of the resettlement process wasn’t the goal of Milovanovic’s trip. He was there to observe the pre-placement training.

“I was there as a resource, there to answer questions that the Kenyan staff [most of whom had never left Kenya] couldn’t,” says Milovanovic. He brought with him example maps and bus schedules, photos of a typical American apartment unit, copies of a standard lease agreement, pay stubs- the mundane paperwork of daily life.

The questions were many.

“Are there jobs there? What will I be paid?”

“Will my caseworker be at my side, night and day?”

“When will I find time for prayer at work?”

“Is it really as cold as they say it is?”

Two or three days of cultural orientation to ready them for the rest of their lives. It is essential that staff on both the sending and receiving side of the resettlement process. Unclear expectations can lead to frustrations down the road.

“The most common rumor,” says Darci Asche, Community Outreach coordinator with LSSND, “is the one about everyone getting their own house, car, and one thousand dollars- for some reason it’s always ‘one thousand dollars’ as soon as they get off the plane.”

So the Cultural Orientation crew does its best to cover the basics, from hygiene and modern appliances to credit cards to climate to social norms. A cluster of students, translators and instructors, gather in a rudimentary mock-up of an apartment, and get their first taste of life after camp.

Milovanovic applauds the work that the sending countries do, considering the task. While he can give a clear picture of life in Fargo, and the Midwest, generally (from the unique perspective of someone who has gone through the system), Milovanovic can’t guarantee that the experience will be the same for all USA-bound refugees.

“What’s hardest, for most of them, is understanding the system,” echoes Asche. Navigating state and local idiosyncrasies in resettlement programs is a maze “because what may be true in Kentucky won’t hold true in Atlanta or Fargo.”

On every level, life in the United States couldn’t be further from life at camp. LSS works to provide a sure footing for the new arrivals, arranging job skills training, temporary and permanent housing, and a dedicated network of supporters and mentors.

Within months, housing stipends run out, and the brand new resident-hopeful must establish him or herself: holding a job, paying the rent, contining in language classes, arranging transportation, and providing for their children. It is a lot to ask of anyone, and new Americans rise to the challenge. They thrive. It is the close of a trying journey. Sinisa and the many dedicated staffers at LSS ensure that uncertainty ends here, and a new, peaceful journey begins for those displaced by violence and war.

Join them in celebrating this journey on World Refugee Day, Friday June 20, 2008. Join us for an afternoon of live music, ethnic food, and fun as we celebrate the contributions of refugees in our community and hear the stories of their journey. Entrance fee to the event is the donation of a household item, such as towels, bedding, or cleaning supplies, to benefit refugees in our community.

If You Go

What: World Refugee Day Celebration
Where: Lutheran Social Services, 1325 11th St S, Fargo
When: Fri., June 20, 1 to 5 p.m.
Info: http://www.lssnd.org/newamericans/index.html