Becky Saleeby: From Around the World to Anchorage

Aluel breezed into class a few minutes late, apologizing as she settled herself in a front middle seat. I asked one of the Brazilian women at the end of the table to start reading, and by the time they were finished, Aluel’s eyelids were already drooping. She roused herself before I called her name. She carefully pronounced each word of the paragraph she read and answered my questions correctly.

“Sorry, Teacher, I came to class right after work and haven’t gone to bed yet,” she said.    I knew Aluel’s story. She and her husband, Shir, had been students of mine in other classes at the Alaska Literacy Program (ALP). Aluel, with smooth dark skin and a cheery smile, is as beautiful as her name sounds. She works the night shift as a housekeeper at Providence Hospital. Refugees from the war-torn country of South Sudan, Aluel and her family were placed in Texas when they first came to the United States. Later, they decided to relocate to Anchorage, a sought-after destination for refugees because of its clean air and good job prospects. Many of them enroll in ALP classes.

Ever since I was a Peace Corps volunteer in the early 1970s in Benin, a politically unstable country in West Africa, I’ve wanted to teach English as a second language. Forced to leave Benin abruptly, after a coup d’état, I never had the chance to teach at the high school in Dogbo, the village where I’d lived for six months. I regretted missing the opportunity, never thinking it would come around for me again.

Afterward, I set out on a different path. I embarked upon years of graduate school, followed by the offer of an archaeology job in Alaska. It wasn’t until my professional career was winding down that I got another chance. A friend at work told me about ALP, and I immediately signed on as a volunteer. Retired now for the last two years, I finally have the time to teach not only English, but also citizenship classes to immigrants and refugees from around the world who want to become naturalized U.S. citizens.

One of my favorite classes was a discussion session for fairly high-level English speakers. We didn’t use a textbook, so I had to rely on the students to help develop a curriculum. At the first meeting I asked them about topics they were interested in studying. Their answers surprised me.

“Communism, capitalism, and the utopian society,” replied Tom, a brilliant young man from China.

“I’d like to talk about animals” was the answer of a middle-aged Nicaraguan man, who loved to write long poems in English and share them with his classmates.

Other suggestions included global warming, space exploration, and healthy lifestyles, all of which would require research. I spent long planning sessions at home, Googling each of their topics before I felt ready to lead the discussions in class. Invariably, they had questions I couldn’t answer, but that never stopped them from finding out on their own. Flor, a young mother from Guatemala, would often be the first to pull out her smartphone and have an answer for us in a minute or two. Most of them were more technologically savvy in two or more languages than I was in one.

Some of my students intend to live in Anchorage for only a year or two, like Sister Philomena, a Catholic nun from South Korea. She dresses in a simple grey habit and often arrives to class with Korean candy or homemade gifts to share. Once she confessed in her halting English that her dream was to become a missionary in Africa. Two vibrant young college-educated women, Yira from Panama and Tatiana from Columbia, came to town as au pairs for a short time. They hoped that improving their English would give them an edge in the job market back in their home countries.

A few students−Jinnam from South Korea, Bon from Thailand, and Turkan from Turkey−are married to Americans and eligible to apply for citizenship after living in the U.S. for only three years, instead of the usual five. For single parents, like Gatchuk and Rebecca, both from South Sudan, naturalization means that their minor children become citizens as well. All of them speak excellent English, but come to class for coaching in the basics of American history and government in order to pass an exam during their interviews with the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS). They concentrate on memorizing answers to one hundred questions about the Constitution, the founding fathers, and recent events like the 9/11 terrorist attacks.

The day after Alulel had her interview, she arrived in class early. I heard her voice on the stairs, greeting other students and sharing the good news. “I’m going to be a citizen! I got all the answers right on my first try,” she told everyone in her excitement. She held center stage for the next ten minutes as we congratulated her. She gave us a detailed account of her interview and her answer to each question.

“George Washington is the father of our country, period. I made sure to put a period after each sentence I wrote,” she explained. I listened to all the advice she had to offer and passed it on to other students before their own interviews.

Aluel, Shir, and 50 other people from at least 20 countries became American citizens in the U.S. courthouse in downtown Anchorage last September. Aluel looked elegant in a black suit, and Shir looked proud, grinning as they posed with the judge in front of the stars and stripes and the Alaska flag after the ceremony.

Since then, I have attended other naturalization ceremonies, always thrilled to cheer on my students when they pledge allegiance to our country. Whatever I have managed to teach them about American idioms or the system of checks and balances is far outweighed by what they’ve taught me. They have shared stories about the food, customs, holidays, and history of their homelands. They have showed me the face of perseverance and resilience. They have opened the door to the world for me, and all without ever leaving our small classroom in east Anchorage.

 

 

 

Becky Saleeby has lived in Alaska for more than thirty years and worked in remote areas of the state as an archaeologist until she retired two years ago. She and her husband, Bruce Ream, raised their three children in Anchorage, taking advantage of all the outdoor activities— camping, hiking, biking, skiing, and snow-machining—that Alaska has to offer. Gardening, writing, and volunteering at the Alaska Literacy Program keep Becky occupied these days.