In a year like no other, immigrant women of all walks of life reflect on the ever-changing meaning of home and belonging.
Opening (00:00-01:44)
Hello! Welcome to the podcast Real People. Real Lives. Women Immigrants of New York, a storytelling project from New Women New Yorkers.
Real People. Real Lives highlights a diverse picture of immigrant women living in the city. It elevates these narratives, moving beyond statistics and political rhetoric.
In the Summer and Fall of 2020, we interviewed immigrant women of all walks of life. They were selected through an open call or contacted directly, to ensure the participation of women from different backgrounds, and affected by the pandemic in various ways.
The participants talked about their immigrant experience within the backdrop of a year like no other – marked by the pandemic, Black Lives Matter, and the presidential election. Each story you will hear is a unique mix of determination, hope, challenges, and victories – small and big.
Today, meet Shorai, a grassroots organizer from Zimbabwe. She came to the US in 2016 fleeing domestic violence. With a pending asylum case, she struggles with the decision to leave her children behind. Yet she hangs onto the hope that one day she will fulfill her dream of reuniting with her children and pursuing a higher education degree.
[Shorai’ s edited interview]
Coming to the US (01:45-06:01)
I came to the US escaping a case of domestic violence that had spread in the political arena because my ex-husband was connected to influential political leaders. I ended up threatened and my life was in danger.
The only visa that I had in my passport was a US visa because I used to come here for conferences so I used that opportunity to escape the death threats.
My children are still in Zimbabwe. They are 23, 20 and 19. They’ve grown up while I was here. I hoped they would remain mine as well as I was applying for my asylum. But they grew to be adults. The two of them I’m sure they will be adults, all of them. I don’t think I’ll get to have them around here by the time I have my case is ready.
I applied in 2017. I’m still waiting for the hearing. I don’t know as for now because the cases that are taken in during the time I applied to asylum have been shelved and they are now attending to newer cases, to recent cases. So don’t know where this is going to take us, I don’t know what’s going from now.
It’s indeed difficult, it’s still difficult up to now…It’s not easy when you are the only parent that has been known and you get to be separated from them and then you don’t even know when you will reunite again as a family. Ask any woman in the world what’s your biggest challenge in life it would be being separated from my children, who still need my guidance, who still need to see me as the only parent who has seen them grow.
I’m a busy person here, I have to work really hard, enough to look after them and take care of myself, so whenever we have time during the week I call them on WhatsApp and we get to talk. I’m the only breadwinner, so I do send them money. Even if they wanted to work, there’s no job opportunities in my country as we have here in America so it’s kind of difficult to get a job for the young ones.
In the beginning they had hope to join me here, but with time they began to lose all that hope. There was a time that I really felt that I let them down giving information I wasn’t sure of. So for now we just try to focus on the positives. I must be honest with you, sometimes I feel hopeless, but looking back the spirit of hope needs to live. I have to hang in there until things get back to normal to our family. I feel hopeful that things will be ok for me. When we had the interview last time I was really pessimistic, I wasn’t quite sure how things would move on for me. But for now I can say I’m hopeful because of this new administration. I feel like things will go well for me, move in the right direction for me.
[Short music interlude]
From survivor to advocate (06:02-09:17)
I thought I was experiencing domestic violence because I was economically dependent on my husband and, you know, in the city you have to buy almost everything, so I thought in rural areas there’s nothing like that because people produce food in the fields. So that was when I realized that domestic violence is across ages, any place in Zimbabwe you get domestic violence. That’s when I thought of mobilizing women going through the same situation. Of course it’s going to be difficult, it’s treated like an issue, never talked about, something expected to be dealt with within the bedroom confines. So I called a meeting for them to come, as debriefing meetings, for them to open up, to talk…I was prepared to share what I went through as well.
They came, and some said: don’t tell my husband I’ve been here, don’t tell my husband I’ve been here, but this is what I’m going through. So I discovered that some of them were going through worse situations than what I went through. From then we started campaigns, started getting money, supporting our children with school fees. We start campaigns like Zero tolerance to Domestic Violence, Beat a Drum not a Woman… Even when we started we were called all sorts of names [inaudible] marriage breakers, all sorts of names that were meant to discourage us to move forward to liberate women and end domestic violence.
We ended up organizing counseling sessions for survivors, providing school fees, because we got to understand that, when there’s a struggling woman, when there’s domestic violence there’s a child being wrong. We did some projects to help empower them, we got to understand that…it was really economic dependence that was putting women in this situation. “Where would I go”, “how I’m going to support these children…” we tried to come up with projects to lessen domestic violence and offer ways to get out the marriage instead of waiting women to become statistics
With domestic violence, what I really notice is that you don’t have the chance to talk, to say your story, you are scared (…) saying what’s in your mind is very important!
[Short music interlude]
Big dreams (09:18-11:46)
I grew up in a farming community; my widowed mother was a peasant farmer, most of the food she produced on the land was like we used to feed. We didn’t get much extra food to sell. If she was able to sell she would send us to school. As the last born, I was the only one who managed to get a secondary education and after that I could go further. So I always told myself: one day I should attend a degree and I was a very bright student in school.
I always hope to attend a degree. When I came here I told myself the first thing I’m going to is to upgrade myself professionally. Yes, I have the skills, the knowledge and experience to organize communities but I didn’t have the professional qualification. I told myself: this is what I’m going to do, I’m going to upgrade myself professionally. But when I got here, of course, I found out that I was struggling to feed myself, find myself accommodation…Life was not as rosy as I thought I was. I can’t afford financially.
I’m working in a nonprofit organization as an admin assistant. I used to work with this organization when I was back home, when I was heading my organization for survivors of domestic violence.
I’m working, and earning a living for myself and for my children but I still haven’t attended my professional degree that I always, always hoped to get one day because my widowed mother couldn’t afford it, not because she was lazy or didn’t value education, she just couldn’t raise money to send me to university.
[Short music interlude]
A new home (11:47-18:04)
I no longer feel vulnerable or threatened. I feel supported in my day to day life. This is being achieved through individuals and organizations who supported me, the government which has a support system. It’s very different from how I used to feel back home. It’s not easy being a woman in my country, we are still fighting very hard to be relevant.
It’s much better being a woman here than in my country. Here I no more go to bed fearing for my life. I feel respected by my male counterparts, I do not have to dress a certain way to feel confident or accepted. I do not feel fearful to express my views or claim my rights, I feel protected by the laws of the land. This has raised my self-esteem in a way…I feel that I finally gained the liberty to be myself.
I must admit it wasn’t easy. You come here expecting to start life better, then you discover that, in a way, you will have to rely on charity in a certain period of time. I had no work authorization and I had to rely on the support of friends to survive. Even when I managed to get my work authorization the only jobs available were low paying jobs. I had to go back to be a caregiver while in my country I was a national organization for caregivers. It really takes a lot to going back to the ground, starting from humble beginnings. You really have to acknowledge that life has to start over again in a new setting.
I do feel like my color says a lot in terms of the type of the attention I’m given. I always say to my children that: be happy to be in a place where you feel your color isn’t saying something (…) here I’m aware of the fact that I’m Black. When you are in your country you don’t even think about it, you’re just a human being. Here I’m very time being reminded by the fact that I’m Black either by the way I’m treated or just intuitive, you just feel it.
Because I was struggling between whether I had made the right choice to leave my children or if should I just stayed and if they had seen me get killed at least they would appreciate me as mum who stood for them…That alone took time to get away from my brain because I was asking myself if I made the right choice. All along I fought to be with my children even when I almost got killed in a marriage that was violent and I was telling myself: “I’m staying in this marriage because I want to protect my children, I’m doing this for my children, I want them to grow with their father and their mother.” Finally I went into hiding from my ex-abusive husband and I went with my children…So this time I did the opposite: I ran away with my life but I left the family who always gave me hope (…). In terms of support network, I must admit that I was supported by friends who I know as a community leader back home.
The resilience I have within me has helped them to look at their lives in different ways. Sometimes people forget how privileged they are to be born in America and choose to concentrate more on the negative side so I really think I helped people look at life in a different way to see you can be resilient no matter how hard life is you can still live and hope for a brighter future.
I don’t think that any refugee should be given a choice between their original home and the country they sought refugee but for me home now is America and I hope they get me as a citizen too because I don’t ever see myself going back to Zimbabwe. Home is America for me and I hope it will be home to my children as well.
Do not let the current setbacks and hardships you are facing as a newcomer here kill your determination to rewrite your story and attain your freedom and independence. You made this far, your dream one day will come true.
Closing (18:05-19:94)
Thank you so much for tuning in to our podcast today. This week’s episode was produced by Arielle Kandel and Bruna Shapira. Editing is by Anna Zemskova. My name is Daniella Golombeski, and I am thrilled to host this podcast.
For more information about Real People. Real Lives. and the full transcript of this episode, head to nywomenimmigrants.org. Next week, you’ll meet Ariana, a stay at home mom from Mexico.
The 3rd edition of Real People. Real Lives. Women Immigrants of New York is made possible in part with funding from the William Talbott Hillman Foundation.
or record a message at www.anchor.fm/RealPeopleRealLives. See you next week!