Posts Tagged ‘Spokane’

A simple act of love – something akin to the generous young child who gave up his loaves and fish for the crowd – brought Manito Presbyterian Church to the residents of Palouse Trails to help combat food insecurity during the pandemic.

Food insecurity has long plagued residents throughout Spokane – an estimated 20 percent of children in the Lilac City don’t have access to enough food for an active, healthy lifestyle. During COVID-19, that number more than doubled and, for minorities, food insecurity rates are even higher.

It all started when Scott Starbuck, pastor of Manito Presbyterian, got a phone call from Nancy Goodwin, World Relief Church Mobilizer. As it turned out, there was a significant amount of extra nonperishable foods from a distribution site run by First Presbyterian church. The First Pres team reached out to World Relief to see whether members of the refugee and immigrant community had need for the extra food. So, Nancy called up Manito Presbyterian and boldly asked if they might begin a distribution at a new site, Palouse Trails.  

“What World Relief was really helpful for was helping us cross the initial boundary. It would’ve been super hard for us to know how to do this and go into a different space than we knew,” Scott said.

At that time, Palouse Trails was home to at least ten newly arrived World Relief families. With record unemployment rates that disproportionately affected refugees and other immigrants, many needed extra help to make it through.

That’s where Janine Wikoff, Manito Pres’s financial stewardship elder, stepped in. After Nancy made the connection, Manito volunteers took off running with Janine at the helm. Through her planning and leadership, the group was able to find funding to continue providing fresh foods and produce after Second Harvest was faced with the difficult choice to reduce the program to only nonperishable items.

“Being new to Spokane, I didn’t know about the food opportunity network. I was just finding extra food and getting it to the right people,” Janine said. “One gal told me the distribution got her and her husband through rough point, but now they are both employed.”

The whole thing was a wonderful opportunity for two local churches to live out a joint mission and invite local organizations into the joy. Manito Presbyterian, in partnership with First Presbyterian, Rosauers, and Second Harvest Food Bank, assembled a small army of volunteers to ensure consistent food access right there at the apartment complex. Together, the group combed supermarket aisles and skimmed through circulars, all so they could supplement the non-perishables from Second Harvest with other foods the families needed: eggs, bread fresh produce, and meat.

Janine watched in awe as Palouse Trails residents – both refugees and otherwise – went above and beyond to look out for each other during this difficult season. She recalled how neighbors would always remind each other when the Manito team was scheduled to come, and how a young boy from Afghanistan helped his neighbors overcome the language barrier.

“He’d come every week to get food for his family as the man of the house. Once he got his food, he’d help another family from Afghanistan, a mom and a couple girls, and he’d interpret for them so they could get their food, too,” she said.

Manito held the final food distribution about a month ago, as many families had resumed employment or found other jobs, and additional funding for the program was running. Although Manito won’t have a program at Palouse Trails anymore, Janine has expressed hope that this will be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Katherine Bell-Hanley | 5/17/2021

Merilee Moser reflects on 28 years of volunteering with World Relief Spokane

It was a handful of well-timed coincidences that led Merrily Moser to volunteer with World Relief nearly 30 years ago. Her quarter-decade-long volunteer career began in the early 90s after she returned from teaching English in China. During that time, World Relief had opened its first Spokane office in Calvary Chapel, Merilee’s church, and began to resettle refugees in the Inland Northwest. That same year, the last of Merilee’s children went off to college.

“As a mom, you feel that low, kind of depressing, ‘everybody’s gone’ — the empty nest. And the Lord just started filling it with people. They called me mom, grandma, auntie. [Volunteering] was God’s answer to my empty nest,” Merilee said.

Merilee was deeply involved in the church community and worked at the church building several days a week. Over the course of many hours at the shared office space, she formed a friendship with former staff member John Touissant. It was he who first posed the idea that Merilee open her home to newly resettled families.* At first she was incredulous:

“I thought, ‘I can’t do that! I’m a single woman, and what about all these husbands running around my house in their pajamas?’”

Despite her hesitations, Merilee persisted. She said, “I felt like the Lord was just holding the door open excitedly, waiting for me, and I stepped through.”

Although World Relief doesn’t often need host homes nowadays, the gift of friendship is available to all of our volunteers. Connecting with a volunteer also helps our neighbors from afar connect with their new community.

“They say a refugee or an immigrant gets to visit American home once in the first 10 years they’re here. That’s heartbreaking. It’s absolutely heartbreaking,” Merilee said. “People have got to realize that that we are made—we are designed as human beings—to connect. That need for a family and for connection is so strong. And so the best thing that we can do for them and for the country is to be friendly.”

Merilee’s faithful leap into volunteering has led to a whirlwind 30 years of friendship, challenges and God’s provision. Some of her stories are joyful, like the one time she hosted a Vietnamese celebrity and a welcoming party of fans from the Vietnamese community in Spokane showed up at her home. Some of her stories are heavy, like the time she went to check on a family and found the mother on the verge of death after a bad fall had ruptured her spleen.

Though she often wondered how she would be able to support for those who came under her care, there was always enough, somehow.

“I saw the Lord blessing me. At the time, my finances were tight but God provided. I thought, ‘How can I feed and clothe a whole family?’ and God just wonderfully stepped in and said, ‘I’ll show you!’ I felt the abundance of God helping me.”

Merilee recalled several instances of God’s provision. Every time her older wooden home needed to be repainted, for example, families from the refugee community would just show up to help. Once, when a family of 10 needed a new home, she got a call from a property manager who was instructed by the owner to rent to a refugee family. Merilee said the family was moved into the house with a fully stocked kitchen before the deposit had even gone through.

In her long tenure as a volunteer, Merilee has developed many long-term friendships with families she met through World Relief. These relationships, Merilee says, are one of the great joys of her life and have taught her much about the world and about herself.

“Coming from an immigrant family myself, I’m very goal-driven and task-oriented. My dear friends from other countries taught me a lot about how relationships are more important. The respect that they show toward me taught me to respect people more and to show know more regard; as they showed their appreciation toward me, they taught me to show it to others.”

Katherine Bell | 4/15/21

Ron Johnson delivered a new batch of his custom-made maple & walnut cutting boards in July. Each of his one-of-a-kind boards will be given to newly arrived refugees as they start their lives in Spokane.  

Ron started making cutting boards four years ago. Since then, he’s crafted more than 300 of them, and now those cutting boards live in the homes of families all over the city. 

“There was a little blurb in the bulletin that advertised the needs that World Relief had, and there were a whole bunch of things they needed. One of them was a bunch of cutting boards, and I thought, ‘Well, maybe I can do that.’” 

Ron and his wife moved to Spokane from Seattle after retiring from their careers in the public school system on the west side. During a recent move in town, Ron lost a lot of space in his woodshop. Luckily, the cutting boards were small enough that Ron could still manage the production in his new space.  

According to Ron, the cutting boards didn’t arise from any “great original passion” for refugees, but now the subject is near and dear to his heart. 

“I was thinking about something I could do with the tools I had and what skill I had that would be helpful, that would do something for people. Once I got [to World Relief] and saw what was going on, it just seemed like the right thing to do.” 

Though the project started from a retirement hobby, Ron says its something he can continue to do, even during a national quarantine. 

“I enjoy thinking about providing something that’s useful for somebody and maybe has a little beauty attached to it.” 

Katherine Bell-Hanley | 9/30/20

Last week, we sat down with Denisse Lopez-Arce, a local CNA, medical interpreter and COVID-19 front-line hero working at Sacred Heart Medical Center. She’s also a Dreamer. Denisse arrived in the U.S. with her parents when she was just a year old. Since then, she has committed to serving her community as a stellar student, college graduate and licensed CNA. Her family is deeply committed to their church community in Arizona where her father serves as a pastor. She has worked hard her whole life to contribute, and with the DACA program under fire, the fruit of her labor is at risk.

“There have been many times in my journey where I felt like everything that I have worked for was slipping away because I don’t have a Social Security number. I was in elementary school when it first became real that I was an immigrant: my parents sat me down and they were like, ‘Okay, Denisse, you need to know that if for whatever reason me and your mom don’t come home, this is what you need to do, these are phone numbers.’ From that moment on, that fear of coming home and not seeing my parents was always there. It didn’t become real for me that I was undocumented until everyone started getting their licenses and I was one of the only ones not driving. My mom would still drive me to school or friends would pick me up just because we didn’t want to risk it. And it was really hard for me to know that because I have a capacity—I can do so much! I’m just not allowed because I don’t have a SSN.

“Later in high school, I did a tech kind of class to become a CNA and went through this entire course in a year. When the time came to get certified, to get my CNA license, I was filling out the application and they asked for a SSN. I remember sitting there and looking at it like I wanted to cry. I was like, ‘is everything that I just did this entire year going to be for nothing because I can’t take the test?’ I’d passed everything in the class. All I needed to do was take the actual certification test. I pretty much had to play it off like it was no big deal. I remember I felt so ashamed although it wasn’t my fault.

“Junior year I started getting recruitment letters from all the state universities in Arizona because my grades were great. Senior year came along, and I was getting letters like, ‘you’ve been pre-accepted, all you have to do is just finish your application and you can come.’ And I was so hopeful. Throughout my entire educational career, I’ve had outstanding awards. My mom still has awards with signatures from the president, like President Bush, for my ‘presidential academics.’ When I graduated from high school, I didn’t just graduate with a normal diploma: I graduated with what’s called a silver diploma showing the student went above and beyond what was recommended. But then looking into it, I couldn’t really go to a state school or even the community college where I grew up. I’m like, ‘You guys don’t want me all because I don’t have a Social Security number?’ And I gave up, really.

“Then I met this recruiter from Grand Canyon University and she’s like, ‘just apply and see what happens.’ I wanted to study medicine, and I heard that their program was really good—it was one of the top in Arizona. So I just applied. I remember getting an acceptance letter and two scholarships from them because of my grades. At that time, we were going through this legal process. I thought maybe now I could go to school. The lawyers were still working through it, but we had gotten permission to work and be here. I was ecstatic! We had been working through that since I was little. We got ripped off—at one point somebody said they would help, and they took our money and ran. Other lawyers would help us out at first, they’d fill out everything, take our money and then all of a sudden, they’d drop our case. When this lawyer was able to get us social security numbers, we were really hopeful. I applied for FAFSA. Things came through and I ended up getting a grant and another scholarship. All summer went by, I moved into the dorms and school started. I think we were maybe two weeks into the semester when I got an email saying, ‘Hey, this is your financial aid counselor, we need you to come in.’ And I was like, ‘what’s going on?’ I knew I still needed to pay a little bit out of pocket, but we had already set up a payment plan for it. So I go in and I’m like, ‘what’s going on?’ And I remember sitting in front of the financial aid counselor and they’re like ‘your grant from FAFSA couldn’t go through. You’re not really a U.S. Citizen, so these aren’t real scholarships for you.’ They told me I either had to set up a new payment plan or leave. I walked out of that building and bawled my eyes out and I called my parents. I was broken, almost. Everything I’ve been working for, everything that I’ve dreamt about, everything that’s been going on, it was very much like, ‘what am I going to do?’ This was before DACA happened.

I was in college when the news came out. Everyone that I knew was calling each other and we were all like, “Did you hear the news? How soon can we apply? What do we need to do?” I got so many calls that day. At first I was kind of was skeptical. They’ve been talking about things like DACA for a long time and, and it had never gone through. I didn’t want to get my hopes up. But I remember looking at my computer doing homework or something, and the tears just rolling down my face. Like I said, that was the moment I realized that my dreams couldn’t be so easily taken away from me anymore. It was like I could breathe, at least for that one moment in time—I could breathe. Even though it wasn’t and still isn’t a pathway to citizenship, in that moment it felt like I was one step closer, like everything that I’ve done hasn’t been for nothing.

“I don’t think people realize how much people applying to DACA have to go through. The whole process is hectic, really. We found this lady down in Phoenix that really did her research on DACA when it first came out, and she gave us the list of things I needed to apply. Thankfully, my mom is a hoarder when it comes to my awards, so I was able to find all these documents from elementary school and middle school proving that I’d been here long enough and that I’ve been an outstanding citizen. We had to go to the police station and run a background check. We went through all our photos, pinpointing dates of when we were here in the U.S. and we gave her those. Most people are surprised that I have to reapply every two years. Every time I apply it’s like $400, and you have to pay for biometrics too. The whole thing ends up being $600-$800. DACA helped me stay in college and make me feel more at ease. I never had to have that doubt of ‘what if something happens and I have to go back?’ Or, ‘what’s the chance of me maybe getting deported and not being able to finish school?’ And then by the time I knew I had to go do my master’s to work in the medical field.

“Now I work in health care and I’ve seen the gap between the families and the medical team. When you speak English and the doctor speaks to you in English, you’re still sometimes like, “excuse me?” Even when you communicate with the same language you feel lost! I can’t imagine trying to communicate with a different language. I see myself being a bridge for them. We got a family flown here from tri-cities because their kid had a heart condition. All they had was a backpack with their kid’s diaper bag. He was put in a big room in case we needed to do a major procedure on him. The parents are freaking out and they don’t speak any English whatsoever. I’m seeing this from outside, and I said, “hey, can I help you guys? I’m actually a certified medical translator,” and they’re like, “You are? Come here!” And I remember walking into the room and the parents are still freaking out, they’re not really saying much. I started speaking Spanish to them and I was like, “hey, my name’s Denisse, I’m on staff here. I’m also going to be interpreting for you guys. I’m actually certified.” The doctors heard that I’m a certified interpreter. I think that made them feel more calm for me to be interpreting. And I remember the moment I start talking to them was a relief. One of their comments that sticks in my mind was that the parents said, “Did we do anything to hurt our baby? We were following the doctor’s orders and giving him the medicine he needed and everything. Did we do anything to hurt our baby?” They genuinely thought it was their fault. I interpreted that to the doctor and right away the doctor said, “No! If anything, everything you guys have done has kept your baby alive longer.” Then I interpreted that back to the parents. And you could see these parents had kind of a relief because they were feeling so guilty. It was just one of those moments where I was like, ‘being here and being able to help these people is why I’m doing this. That’s why I want to continue to further my career as a medical professional.”

“Both my parents always taught me our purpose is to help others and to serve others in any way that we can, and that God will protect us. It’s not an easy journey. As immigrants, we don’t necessarily want to leave our country, but we know it’s for the best.  Even though it’s scary and it’s not easy, it’s still worth it. If we wouldn’t have come over here, my family would’ve been broken. I don’t think I would have had a father; I wouldn’t have a little brother. If we would have stayed in Mexico, I think my family would have been broken completely. Coming to the U.S. saved my family—for us, it was a life changing event. Here is where my parents found Jesus, where they really committed their life to serving him.

I realized God had a greater purpose for me because growing up, I was one of the first Latinas around me to keep pushing. There was this girl, we were kids together, and she was like five years younger than me. She wanted to be in medicine, too, and she was also an immigrant and everything. And growing up, I guess she saw me go through the whole graduating thing and going through the CNA program in high school and going to university. We were getting coffee when I came back from university, and she is like, ‘Denisse, I just want you to know that you were an inspiration to me. I thought that I wasn’t going to be able to continue my education, and you have proven all that wrong.’ I couldn’t believe her telling me this. In that moment, I remember Jesus being like, ‘And this is why. This is why I’ve put you through this journey. Even though it’s hard for you, you keep pushing and you have faith in me that I will pull you through. So you’ve inspired other people.’  I never imagined that my difficulties and my struggle would inspire other people to keep going. I never imagined that even though it might have been difficult for me, my difficulties made it easier for somebody else to not go through the same thing. It makes it worth it for me.

I think it is scary if DACA ends. But also, I think it’s important that we keep talking about it, that we keep fighting for it. Otherwise we’re not going to get anywhere. The more we talk about it, the more we’re going to be able to come to a path for us to be able to become residents and then citizens. If you allow us to become citizens, how much more will we contribute to the community? I’m not just saying the DACA recipients that are in the medical field or lawyers or something like that, but anyone who contributes. This country was founded on “you work hard, you prosper”—the American dream. Are we not part of that as DACA recipients? Aren’t we the core image of the American dream? Coming from somewhere with nothing, look where we are now!”

Katherine Bell | 7/20/2020

Two years ago I was visiting a refugee camp on Good Friday.  It was my fourth and final day hiking the trails that connected dusty ridges and sandy ravines. The way was lined with unending rows of square bamboo and tarp huts.  I had asked questions, listened to stories, taken photos, and shared hundreds of smiles and handshakes with those who live there. Two aspects of that experience still live with me powerfully today, Good Friday. 

The first is how it felt to witness human suffering on an overwhelming scale. Hundreds of thousands of people call that camp home. I walked many miles each day and still only saw a fraction of the camp and was able to speak with dozens of people daily through interpreters. All of them told a variation of the same story: they lived peaceful lives in small villages until one day the military arrived and started burning their homes and shooting people; they ran;  it was the last time they ever saw their homes, or many of their loved ones.  Now they are stuck living in makeshift housing; food is scarce; residents are not allowed to leave the camp to search for work.  Most of the housing doesn’t have electricity and most of the children don’t have schools to attend.  Many children didn’t have clothing. The absence of hope was astounding. It felt like there was no future beyond camp or plan for a different life on the horizon. Returning home, integrating into the country where the camp is, resettling in a third country like the USA — none of these felt like viable options. Two years later their situation has not changed.

The first few days wandering those hot dusty hills, I heard stories of trauma that shook me to my core.  I found myself praying, repeatedly, “God, where are you?” That’s the same prayer another sojourner prayed many Good Friday’s before: “My God, my God! Why have you forsaken me?”  It’s a good prayer.  It’s an honest prayer.  And it’s a prayer that many of us are praying right now as we witness the unchecked ravages of the Coronavirus.  God, have you forsaken us?  If that is the only prayer you can muster this Good Friday, then pray it with all you’ve got. You are in good company.

The second aspect of my Good Friday experience surprised me(actually, still surprises me)—I felt a sense of someone’s presence.  There were throngs of people everywhere, so it wasn’t just a sense of another person’s physical presence. What I felt was a sense of companionship, of solidarity, and I felt that His presence was not with me but with them.  It dawned on me that Christ’s presence was in the camp powerfully—almost tangibly.  And it wasn’t that he just showed up when I got there. It was a sense that Jesus had been there all along. A sense that he lived there and it had simply taken me, the outsider, a few days to become aware of it.  

When I departed that Friday afternoon, part of me felt sad to leave something of Jesus behind. I realized I had been walking on holy ground. Those dusty trails bustling with barefoot children also bore the footprints of the Son of God.  As scripture repeatedly affirms, Christ is close to those who are the least, the lost, the lonely, the suffering. I witnessed it firsthand.  I felt it. 

Whether you read this as a refugee stuck far from home, or someone stuck inside of your own home, know that you are not alone. The same Son of God who suffered on the cross that first Friday also suffers with you…indeed, he suffers for you.  For this reason—even in the midst of a global pandemic—we still call this Friday “Good.”

Mark Finney | 4/10/2020

How Justin Kalumuna survived a military attack, brought his family to safety and rebuilt his life in the U.S.

Part I: Escaping Violence in the DRC

When Justin Kalumuna left for work one morning in 2011, he wasn’t expecting that day to be the first in his 7-year journey as a refugee. 

It was on that day that Justin accepted a new passenger and drove him to an unfamiliar place called Rutshuru. For Justin, a seasoned taxi driver, to be unfamiliar with any area was both a rarity and a red flag. When the man returned, Justin realized he was a soldier.

For nearly 23 years, the Rwandan militia had been terrorizing eastern Congo. As a matter of principle and safety, Justin decided not to drive him again or even to answer his calls. The soldier took this as a personal offense. 

“All the time he would call me, I would not like to accept his call or maybe to hire [out] my taxi again,” Justin said. “And he was like, ‘no way.’ So it creates a kind of problem.” 

One evening, the soldier showed up at Justin’s house with some fellow soldiers. They kicked down the door of Justin’s house, but found only Justin’s wife, Justine, and their three children. 

Justin was at church. A neighbor called to say there was shouting coming from his yard in Lingala, the region’s military language. Justin left the service, hurriedly crossing the short distance between his church and home. A military-grade flashlight flickered to life in his face, and he froze. 

“They knocked me down. They started hitting me. I lose the control and they were hitting me with something in my back. I don’t know what was it, but I lost the conscious,” he said. 

A U.N. Peacekeeping vehicle on patrol happened to pass by the scene. The soldiers scattered and the vehicle’s high beams illuminated Justin as he lay on the ground, unconscious. Next thing he remembered, Justin woke up in a hospital bed. 

“I saw the clothes that looked like hers, and the person was almost her, but she was not looking at me,” he said. “I end up realizing that she’s my wife on the next bed. She was beaten, and she lose conscious and the neighbor took her to the hospital.” 

The doctor was as surprised as they were when she learned these two patients in neighboring beds were married. It turned out to be a life-saving realization only moments later when three soldiers appeared at the hospital looking for Justin. 

“When the soldiers left me they see I am like died. So they get to hear that I didn’t die, and they came looking for me in the hospital,” he said. 

The attackers searched every room. The doctor hid Justin and Justine in a supply closet as the soldiers combed through the hundreds of hospital beds looking for their victims. Justin and Justine were able to escape through the hospital’s back door, run to the neighbor’s house to get the children and flee to Congo’s eastern border. On market day, the family crossed into Uganda. 

Part II: Life as an Urban Refugee

Once they crossed the border, Justin wasn’t sure what to do next. His only connection in Uganda was a phone number belonging to Emmanuel Bakenga, an old friend with whom he hadn’t spoken in years.

“I tried that number. It was so long since I didn’t talk to him, but I had the number, and the number went through,” Justin said.

Much to Justin’s surprise, Emmanuel not only picked up the phone, but also arranged transportation for all five Kalumunas to join him in Kampala, Uganda’s capital city.

Justin said his life was changed as a result of Pastor Emmanuel’s hospitality. For three months Emmanuel hosted all five Kalumunas, providing for their every need while Justin and Justine nursed their wounds. The Kalumunas also became active members in Emmanuel’s congregation. 

“You can work for five years and leave with one friend. Preaching once can give me ten good friends that are more than brothers,” he said.

During their first few months in Uganda, Justin was sorting out the family’s legal status. They had arrived in Uganda as asylum seekers. They were then granted status as urban refugees, a title that means  you can live as a resident in a city, instead of a camp. This provides refugees with the autonomy to make money and build a better future. 

“Remember, I have a wife and I have also three kids. I have also to start working and learning English, so it was a very harshened life,” he said.

During those next few months in Kampala, Justin sold jewelry. He says people in Uganda like to buy jewelry from the Congolese people, because they think it’s more authentic. At that time, Justin had also enrolled himself in English classes at Jesuit Refugee Service (JRS), eventually learning enough to enroll at Makerere University. He also applied for a highly-sought after position as an interpreter for the UNHCR.

Justin recalls that the initial applicant pool for this position was 96. , was 96. After some written tests, only 30 applicants were left, and following the first interview, there were only 10. 

“So I went there for the second interview and I found that people were from the office of the Prime Minister, who was in charge of refugees, and UNHCR staff was also there,” he said. “The NGO who was in charge of all interpreters was all there. There were like seven people, and these are really high-ranked people.”

To say Justin was ecstatic after receiving the job offer would be a severe understatement. It was a great honor, he says, to have been selected from nearly 100 applicants, but it was an even greater honor to serve others in vulnerable situations like his own.  

“I knew like people life, what they got through, the struggle,” he said. “You know, me myself, I’m a refugee. I live with people in this community. I understand people.”

Two big things happened next: First, after waiting more than a year, the Kalumunas finally made an appointment for their immigration interview. Second, they welcomed a little one to the family: Chubaka Emmanuel, born December 24. 

Amidst the excitement of a new son, Justin was faced with a difficult choice. Emmanuel, the newest Kalumuna, would start his refugee application at step zero. The rest of the family would have to start the process over from the beginning if they wanted to stay together. 

It is fairly common for refugee families faced with the same choice to let one family member, usually the father, proceed with resettlement. That way, someone can go get a job, a house, and set up life for the rest of the family when they arrive. But for Justin, the choice to stay together was easy, and having a steady job meant his family could wait a little longer. Not every refugee has that option. 

One year later, the Kalumunas had completed and resubmitted their resettlement application, this time as a family of six. They waited through another year for news of resettlement. But in early 2017, the White House issued Executive Order No. 13769, which barred immigration from six countries entirely and halted nearly every refugee case up for resettlement in the U.S. Justin felt like he’d just been sent back to square one. 

After that, life in Uganda resumed its normal march: Justin and Justine kept working, the kids continued to attend school. Justin even put a down payment on a car — he was settling in to the idea of life in Uganda.

And then, out of nowhere, the U.S. resettlement list came.

Part III: Life in America as a Former Refugee

Justin still remembers this part play-by-play: It was February 2018. He had just returned from lunch (the same day he bought the car) and went to get some papers off the printer for his boss. 

He looked at the papers Justin had just handed him, and found it was the U.S. immigration interview list. Justin casually read the list over his boss’s shoulder. He looked closer and realized Justine’s name was there too, and so were Joyce, Prince, Merveile and Emmanuel’s.

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“Immediately, I felt like all my mind changing and my future changing and everything changing in my mind. Millions of pages was running in my mind, like seeing myself in the United States. And it was a great hope, you know,” he said.

When Justine heard the news, she literally didn’t believe it, and made Justin swear he saw their names with his own eyes. 

After that, things went quickly. In March, the Kalumunas met with immigration to prepare their case files. In April, they did the immigration interview. In June, each family member completed the medical examination and security check (for the third time) and in August, the visas arrived.

On the 20th of September, the Kalumunas were on a plane bound for Spokane. When they landed, World Relief staffers were there to greet them. A volunteer family in Coeur D’Alene opened their home, and to this day, Justin considers those first American friends to be as close as family.

From there, Justin and Justine began to settle in. They moved to Spokane and lived with a friend they met in Uganda, Daniel Casigua, who was the secretary at Pastor Emmanuel’s church. After that, they moved into a new apartment, enrolled the kids in school and started to look for work. 

Like all new arrivals, Justin and Justine were given the choice to enroll in social services through DSHS or in a program for those ready to work immediately, called Match Grant. 

Justin remembers their decision hinging on the long-term guidance that Match Grant offers.

“We just need someone who can connect us with the small things,” Justin said. “We are ready to fly ourselves — me and my wife, we have that confidence and we were ready to fly. So we signed [up for] Match Grant.”

After that, Justin and Justine took off in pursuit of the American dream.

Their first job was with Davenport Hotels. Justin took the housekeeping night shift so that Justine could work mornings. They took opposite shifts taking care of their kids, and Justin remembers quality sleep was rare in that time. 

Only a few months into his position, Justin earned a promotion as the night shift assistant supervisor. After seven months with the Davenport on their crazy, sleepless schedule, Justin applied for a job as a living assistant. 

He is now a Certified Nursing Assistant (CNA), and is working on becoming a registered nurse; Justine still works for Davenport Hotels. They are currently in the process of buying a house and  they own several vehicles, which Justin noted are all paid off. Justin pastors Living Sacrifice Christian Ministries, which just moved into a new building. He loves being able to serve the Spokane community with his church ministry, and is grateful that God has trusted so many friendships to him.

Katherine Bell | 3/9/2020