Moments of Hope: How Newcomer Refugees Redefined My Understanding

28 Aug Moments of Hope: How Newcomer Refugees Redefined My Understanding

By Avril Schatz, Summer Intern 2024

When I was interviewed for the summer intern position, I remember being perplexed as to what it actually looks like for a newcomer refugee to experience hope. Practically, I asked, what does that even look like?

Hope is knowing you are not alone.

It is all the kids getting together to sign a card for one kid who broke his arm. It is a Venezuelan mother speaking Spanish with a volunteer at a Community Dinner. It is a Syrian kid recognizing the new family and learning that the daughter loves soccer too. It is parents laughing as they share their experiences of raising young, active children in small apartments.

Hope is experiencing firsts again.

It is walking with a lovely Ethiopian mother to pick up her son from school and practicing English with her for the first time. It is her saying to me as we returned home, “thank you so much, thank you so much. I am so happy!” It is a Ugandan mother warmly receiving a card on her first birthday in Canada, touched by God through the words written inside. It is a Kurdish child with the biggest grin on his face, leaping out of his seat, because he just read his first book. It is a child we all thought couldn’t speak all of a sudden running around, playing with the other kids, and screaming—in Arabic, Kurdish, and English!

Hope is breathing again.

It is a Syrian mother winning multiple bean bag races against kids, staff, and volunteers at the park with a church group. It is women laughing over Turkish coffee and tabbouleh at the picnic table outside in the middle of the day. It is greeting residents with a smile and “hi, how are you?” It is helping carry groceries up the stairs for the single mother that just walked in the door.

Hope is dreaming about your future.

It is an Afghan mother asking me questions about what University is like so that she can dream for her young children. It is witnessing a professional goalie give his gloves to a child who has always dreamed of being a goalie. And it is his mother google translating “I am so happy, this has been his dream for a long time,” with teary eyes and a giddy smile.

Hope is a sense of belonging, experiencing firsts again, breathing, and dreaming. New Hope is a special place refugees get to call home for 18 months. A place where kids and parents can dream of a better future. A place where Iraqis, Venezuelans, and Ethiopians learn each others’ languages and call each other family. A place where kids bond over games and adults laugh over the few words they share in common. A place where newcomer refugees can experience what it means to hope again.