My First Day Working with the ESL class at Catholic Charities

            The drive from the University of Louisville campus to Catholic Charities involved going down Brook St, a left turn onto Mohammad Ali, a right on 2^nd and a left on Main where I drove all the way to 22^nd St. I was full of anticipation, curious about the people I would meet, and excited to create theater with them. I tried to imagine what it would be like to arrive to a new city and wondered what city, what form of Louisville, these people actually arrive to: the brightly lit, clean, and thriving Main Street drag with the museums and theaters, the trendy and vibrant Bardstown Road area, the expansive neighborhoods surrounded by parks in the Highlands and St. Matthews, or the run-down and spare area I found myself slowly driving through as I headed to 22^nd and Market. Perhaps in the winter this area seems especially stark, yet I saw only a few stores, compared to the plethora on Bardstown and Frankfort. The store next to Catholic Charities advertises chicken, fish, groceries, lotto, and phones. I wonder how much fresh produce is inside.

            The spire of St. Andrew’s is like a beacon in a sea of brick, rust, and pavement. I reserve my judgment, open to the possibility that economic development is not the only way to measure the wealth of a neighborhood. I run through the freezing air to the main office of Catholic Charities and find myself smiling at all the new faces. I’m told to walk to the corner through the parking lot to the school. I walk briskly wondering if refugees from Africa and Cuba came prepared for daytime temperatures in the teens. I find Amy and we walk up the stairs after checking in with Chris. I feel warm and comfortable amidst the bustle of all the different people, all the different languages. I overhear a Catholic Charities employee explain to a group of women that before they do anything else they’ll walk downstairs to get each of them a pair of gloves. The women are visibly relieved.

            The classroom is full of long tables on rollers and chairs. The other students from my class arrive with lemonade and tea. We set out the snacks and wait for the class to begin. Originally we were supposed to meet from 12 to 1 but I ask and employee who tells me that the students arrive at 12:30. I am grateful for that half hour. I was able to sit and ground myself and remind myself of all the mistakes involving privilege and racist/classist assumptions that I strive to avoid making. I notice a man who has come to class early. He smiles and says hello to me but, to me, his face registers anxiety. He paces back and forth along the lockers on the short wall of the room. He repeatedly picks up and puts down his notebook. He leaves and reenters the room. I begin to wonder just how much stress and anxiety refugees feel as they come to Louisville. I may be projecting, but it seemed as if the man’s face and physicality expressed a state of constant coping with despair. Later in class, he would smile, even laugh, but then return to this state, rubbing his eyes, looking around sadly, and lowering his head. Of course, again, this could all be projection on my part. A week later I asked him about his pacing and he confessed that he had quit smoking cigarettes.

            Once most of the students were in the room we offered them snacks and drinks. I started to serve drinks to people and had the ideas of juggling some oranges to lighten the mood. Another man juggled with me. Finally the class began. We introduced ourselves and then did a cultural mapping exercise wherein people are asked to assemble into different groups based on basic questions like, “How may languages do you speak?” or, “Do you like sweet, sour, salty, or fried food the most?” Once assembled, the groups are assigned with the task of finding three things they all have in common. A fondness of travel, a dislike of cold weather, and a love of music all seem to be popular answers. As I facilitated this exercise and found myself acting out a lot of the words I was using, like ‘grumpy’ or ‘perky’, which one of the students asked me to explain to him later so that he would remember them. Overall, I found the five senses exercise the most interesting and affective. When asked to relate a sight or smell that reminded them of home, the student’s answers were so moving and transporting! Mountains, the smell of dust, the river through Baghdad, dancing, food and spices from Pakistan, and perfume were some of the sensual cues they shared. One man from Somalia spoke of the gun violence that he is reminded of when he sees similar images on television in the U.S. This was a sobering reminder of the tenuous existence many of the refugees led prior to coming to Louisville, an existence that may still be tenuous as they navigate a new country, culture, and language.