October 2005
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Free at last
Malambow Abdiqadir's journey
from Somalia to America
By Nancy Schertzing | Photography
by Jim Luning
 Travel
back in time to 1992. It is a hot African night in the
Somali village of Bulizaga. A 10-year-old boy and his widower father
sleep soundly in their house.
They are members of the Bantu clan, less powerful than the ruling
Somali clans in their country. Neither male has ever had access
to education, police protection or weapons. Poor farmers, they pay
a Somali landowner rent for his fields and security-money for protection
from the bands of Somali thieves roaming the countryside. Thieves
who steal from, rape and murder defenseless Bantus, often torturing
their victims until they reveal the location of hidden food or valuables.
Civil war has racked Somalia since the ruling regime fell in 1991.
In the resulting power vacuum, a devastating civil war has gripped
Somalia, destroying its civil society, economy and government. Hunger
stalks the Somali population. Still, the boy, Malambow Abdiqadir,
rests comfortably in his father’s simple home – unaware
his life is about to change forever.
Screams from their neighbors’ house, just steps from their
front entry, jolt Malambow and his father, Musa, from sleep. In
an instant, Malambow and Musa join the entire village streaming
from their houses for the nearby forest [bush]. They know they must
flee to escape torture or death at the hands of the Somali thieves
who have raided the village under cover of darkness.
Before he and Musa can reach the safety of the bush, however,
blasts ring out as the thieves murder two of Malambow’s neighbors
in the surprise attack. As his father climbs the fence
surrounding his house, another two shots ring out. Instantly, pain
sears through Malambow’s thigh where a bullet has grazed his
skin. Looking up from his bloody leg, he sees his father’s
body hanging lifeless over the fence.
Suddenly, Malambow feels an arm seize him and carry
him to the safety of the brush. His uncle, Musa’s brother,
drags him away from the shooting, leaving Musa’s body behind
in their flight. That night, as he lies bleeding in the brush, hiding
from the Somali thieves, young Malambow knows his life will never
be the same.
Fast forward to 2005. Now a young man, Malambow
Abdiqadir sits in his Lansing apartment recalling that fateful night.
His tale, richly accented with his native language, Kizigua, flows
from his tongue and swirls around his wife and young sons who listen
from the couch.
“We leave the father where he was killed,”
Malambow recalls. “When they come you have to run. There are
no guns for Bantus. You run to bush and hide. This day, they bring
guns to take from us two sacks of maize [corn], two bicycles. [For
this] they kill my father.
“That day I leave Bulizaga and hide in bush between my village
and Jamame [the nearest city]. Three days I in bush with my uncle
and aunt until my sister, Malambow Amina, and brother, Malambow
Mohammed, they find me. We go on foot to Kismayu and live in bush
there.”
 Terrified
of the marauding bands of thieves and insurgents, the family avoided
roads as they journeyed toward the relative calm of the Somali city,
Kismayu. At 28, his sister Amina watched over Malambow
and her two young children while her husband and brother Mohammed
broke the trail through the brush. Despite the babies’ needs
and Malambow’s open wound, the horror of their experience
drove them further each day.
Twenty days after their harrowing escape from Bulizaga, Malambow
and his family arrived at the outskirts of Kismayu. Finding two
small trees in the forest surrounding the city, they tied the trees
together to form a canopy and walls that hid them from the hot sun
and the thieves wandering the bush in search of new victims.
The next day, they began gathering firewood from the bush
and selling it to Somali townspeople of Kismayu. Every
morning, Malambow and his siblings gathered firewood. Malambow would
then walk with his 3-year-old nephew while Amina carried her baby
on her back. Together, they ventured into town and sold the wood
on the streets of Kismayu for food. Every evening, they returned
to their encampment to share in whatever meal they had earned. After
about a week, Malambow’s sister took him to a Red Cross station
where workers cleaned his wound so it could heal properly.
Just as life settled into a routine for Malambow’s
family, it changed again. About three months after they
arrived, insurgents and thieves brought Kismayu to its knees. Violence
and chaos swirled through the city streets, endangering all who
entered.
Malambow explains, “We live there, take firewood
to sell to Somalis in city. Then fighting became too much. People
say there is another place we can refugee. We go to Kenya.”
With the help of some fellow Bantus who knew the bush, Malambow
Abdiqadir and his family walked 40 miles to the relative safety
of refugee camps. They joined thousands of Somali citizens of all
clans who sought refuge in camps just inside the Kenyan border.
Established by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees
(UNHCR), the camps housed more than 160,000 refugees at the height
of the conflict. The UNHCR, CARE and Doctors Without Borders administer
and provide services to the inhabitants of these camps, which are
still operating today.
 During
his stay in the refugee camp, Malambow Abdiqadir grew from a boy
to a man. Like 95 percent of his fellow Bantu refugees,
he had never received any formal education. However, he learned
some English from a Ugandan refugee. Malambow explains, “I
could take him to my house, and he teach me words and grammar. I
get something to talk, but just a little, no more.” He also
picked up some English from guests at the hotel where he worked
as a baker and from coworkers on some construction projects.
In 1997, on a visit to his brother Mohammed in a nearby refugee
camp, Malambow Abdiqadir met and fell in love with Luhizo Amina,
a daughter in the family hosting his brother Mohammed. Quickly Malambow
raised money for a dowry and asked Luhizo Amina’s father for
permission to marry his daughter. In 1998, they wed and began life
together in the refugee camp. Their son Musa was born one year later,
followed by Mohammed in 2001. Their daughter, Habiba, was born in
2003, but she died of a blood disorder at five months.
Since 1995, Malambow Abdiqadir had been applying for refuge in various
countries. After rejections from Malawi in 1997 and later
from Mozambique, the United States accepted Malambow’s refugee
application in 2004. His sister, Malambow Amina, and her family,
had already moved to the U.S. by that time, settling in Manchester,
NH. Malambow Mohammed and four other brothers and sisters are still
seeking refuge in the U.S.
On Sept. 9, 2004, with the help of the local Catholic Refugee Services,
Malambow Abdiqadir and his young family arrived in Lansing. Catholic
Refugee Services rented and furnished a Lansing apartment for Malambow
and his family in a building that houses five other Somali Bantu
refugee families. Also with Catholic Refugee Services’ help,
Malambow Abdiqadir found a part-time job with a local cleaner. Luhizo
Amina stays home with young Mohammed and their new baby. Their oldest
son, Musa, attends first grade at a nearby elementary school.
Looking ahead to the future, Malambow Abdiqadir hopes the rest of
his story will unfold in the United States. “I do not like
to go back to Africa,” he states flatly. “I want to
stay for life.”
For his children he says, “My idea is just to have a chance
to make the kiddies with good education, because education is very
important. In Somalia they can’t do because they
know too little. If you have an education nobody can cheat you.
If you have no education, you don’t know. Nothing you can
do.”
“Now when I talking English, I talk very small English. Maybe
they can talk big English. When they get good education they can
get big job. Maybe they can do more than me.”
Thinking back to the darkness of his night of terror in 1992, Malambow’s
gaze becomes intense at the memory. “That night I think too
much. I knew I would never forget,” he says. Yet instead of
vengeance or hatred, his eyes reveal deep determination and, perhaps,
a sense of victory. “It is better me to have education,”
he smiles, “because of what I know now.”
---
 Catholic
Refugee Services
Catholic Refugee Services of Lansing is a part of Catholic Charities.
It provides refugees the following:
• Resettlement assistance;
• Employment support;
• English as a Second Language education;
• Immigration Legal Services.
In 2004, Refugee Services welcomed nearly 700 new refugees to the
Lansing area. They greeted the newcomers at the airport and took
them directly to a house or apartment the organization had already
rented on their behalf. Before the refugees’ arrival, Refugee
Services had also furnished and equipped each home with food items
appropriate to each immigrant’s culture.
New refugees receive:
• Clothing for all family members;
• Information about resettlement policies and their rights
and responsibilities;
• Help applying for Social Security numbers and public assistance
benefits;
• Health screenings, immunizations and education for health
needs;
• School enrollment for children;
• Community and employment orientations;
• Referrals for job development, mental health services and
English as a Second Language programs; and,
• Scheduling, transportation and interpretation services.
Refugee Services also works with Immigration Legal Services, which
offers low-cost, quality immigration representation. Immigration
Legal Services is also a division of Catholic Charities.
Refugee Services offers internship and direct donation opportunities.
For more information, contact the organization at 517.484.1010.
after the tsunami
Fr. Bennett Constantine’s
journey home to Sri Lanka
By Rose Robertson | Fr. Bennit Photography by Tom Gennara
 Fr.
Bennett Constantine knew he had to go home to Sri Lanka.
When the tsunami hit in December 2004, Fr. Bennett was drawn to
help his fellow Sri Lankans. When asked what he hoped to accomplish
so soon after the wave hit, the pastor of St. Peter in Eaton Rapids
responded swiftly, “To give the gift of presence, to suffer
with them. They are so overcome, they need someone else to lift
their arms.”
Shocked and overwhelmed by tragedy, the Sri Lankans needed
to tell their stories. One young family had gone to spend
Christmas break at the coast. Fr. Bennett tells their story –
“The family consisted of a young couple, her parents and her
children. After the tsunami, only the daughter came back home. She
lost her parents and her husband and all of her children. This young
mother had a nervous breakdown.” Horrors like this were repeated
far too often. Virtually everyone who lived anywhere near the coast
was affected in some way. Some lost family members, some lost possessions,
some lost their livelihoods. Fishing villages were obliterated.
Fishing vessels, the villagers’ primary source of income,
were destroyed as well.
In addition to the gift of his presence, Fr. Bennett assisted in
practical and tangible ways. Members of his parish had donated money
for him to take to those in need. He gave funds to a seamstress
to purchase a new sewing machine so she could resume her livelihood.
He gave a convent enough money to purchase a pickup truck so they
could resume their ministry. A priest was given enough to replace
his vestments, which had vanished in the powerful wave. The bishop
of the diocese was presented with a check to divide among the coastal
parishes who had lost everything – literally. Fr. Constantine
met with Sister Maria Malar, a principal devastated by the complete
destruction of her school, which had been built a mere six months
before the tsunami hit. “I gave her a check to rebuild five
classrooms. She was in tears when I gave her that check.”
Struggle has become an everyday occurrence for the people of Sri
Lanka. “They have learned to live with the minimum
of needs and wants. This has rooted them in the certainty that a
strong faith in the Lord will see them through anything.”
Ministering to them in the makeshift camps, Fr. Constantine remarked
that no one ever expressed feeling abandoned by God. He said their
perseverance and hope is keenly evident in the pride they take in
their personal grooming. “Despite continuous hardships, their
attire is always clean and pressed. It is amazing to watch children
emerge from the rice fields in pristine white uniforms to attend
school.”
 Fr.
Bennett’s trip was bittersweet. To his joy, he saw
the fruits of his labor from his former Sri Lankan parish. In the
20 years since he left, 16 women have joined the convent and eight
men have been ordained. But he grieves the loss of life and property,
and the ruin of the church and school he had enlarged and refurbished
in the ’70s. “When I saw the town and the church it
broke my heart. There is nothing left except the bell tower and
altar.”
Fr. Ben, as he is affectionately known by his parishioners, began
his vocational journey in Sri Lanka at the age of 10 when his uncle,
a priest, planted the seed. His mother was concerned that he was
too young to make such a decision, but the parish priest counseled,
“Like Samuel, some are called young.” And so, in the
seventh grade, on the Feast of the Presentation, he entered the
seminary. He was ordained on Feb. 3, 1952 at age 23.
 Infused
with his mother’s love of education, Fr. Ben continued his
studies in Rome and London. While in Rome he became infatuated with
the charismatic movement and attended the First International Charismatic
Conference. At that meeting, he sat next to a person from Howell
and one from Montrose. Invited to attend a prayer meeting afterward,
he met the mother of Fr. Joe Krupp. This was the beginning of a
long-distance friendship that eventually led to an invitation to
minister in Michigan.
The choice to move to America did not
come without intense emotional struggle. Fr. Ben had been
wrestling with the decision for over two years when Fr. John Fackler
from Flushing called. Fr. John told him that a prayer group had
been praying for him, and Fr. Ben, committed to following the call
of the Holy Spirit, came to believe this move was directed by God.
His most recent trip to Sri Lanka was also part of Fr. Ben’s
spiritual journey. Finding it impossible to witness such
devastation and not be affected, Fr. Ben said this last trip to
Sri Lanka had drastically changed him. “I have learned to
not let small things bother me. They struggle to be clothed and
to eat. We need to let go of our pettiness and concentrate on the
bigger picture.
 “I
felt very sad to leave my childhood home town and my people. I felt
I was abandoning them. On the flip side, I felt happy to be returning
to my people and home in Eaton Rapids where I have been pastor for
the last 15 years. And then I felt guilty for being happy for myself!”
Consequently, Fr. Ben has made it his personal mission to raise
$100,000 by January of 2006 to rebuild his former parish, also known
as St. Peter, in the town of Mullaittivu. His current parishioners
have embraced the adoption and support of their sister parish. “I
fear the world will forget them in a few months’ time. It
is my hope that we continue doing something for them.” today.
FAITH exclusive
a conversation with Cameron Crowe
about life, faith, and his new movie, Elizabethtown
By Elizabeth Solsberg
 FAITH:
I understand you went to a Catholic high school – did that
experience impact your movies and the characters in them?
It had a huge impact. When I had a chance to go back to high school
and film something for Almost Famous, I immediately wanted to go
back to my old high school. And we had just done Jerry Maguire,
so I felt like I had a little bit of a “cachet” or credit
line, so they’d let me in. And they did. So we filmed there,
and they’ve since torn down the school – University
High in San Diego, so it is forever captured in Almost Famous.
I had great teachers there and it was an inspiring high school experience
and it was very different from when I went back and did Fast Times
at Ridgemont High.
So it wasn’t like Ridgemont High?
Not at all. Even Ridgemont High is pretty tame compared to what’s
going on today, but my school was really arts-oriented and everybody
read everything I wrote in the high-school newspaper and I had a
lot of support from the teachers. Our little boys go to Catholic
school and they love it.
Do they have to wear uniforms?
They do. (Laughs)
How much is the Drew character in Elizabethtown based on
you?
Oh, probably a lot.
I know you lost your father as a young adult.
Yes, it was in 1989, so I was 27. And it’s tough because you’re
stunned for a while. And then all the memories and the depth of
what’s missing hits. And then years pass, and what happened
to me was that I was hit with this tidal wave of desire to write
about my dad and where he grew up and his whole part of the country,
which was Kentucky. I was traveling through Kentucky with my wife,
who’s a musician [Cameron is married to musician Nancy Wilson]
and I caught that bug that my dad had his whole life obviously.
I had been back to Kentucky when I was a little boy and then years
and years later when he died. We went back for the funeral and I
hadn’t been back since. And this whole story of Elizabethtown
just kind of “arrived.” And I’m really glad I
abandoned what I’d been working on, because it was kind of
a good story; it was kind of a “movie movie” and in
the end, if you’re going to spend a couple of years working
to bring something to the screen and trying to get it to say all
the right things, it’s really good when it’s based in
something as purposeful as paying tribute to your dad and making
people laugh at the same time, which would have made him very happy,
because he loved to laugh.
That’s great. It looks like it has some great comic
moments in it. When I looked at the early trailers, it also looks
like it has some spiritual undertone in the idea of looking for
your father –a redemption idea. Was that your process?
Yeah, and it’s true of all my friends, too. You say to yourself,
“Well, later, when we’re both adults and we’re
sitting around in big comfortable chairs, we’re going to hang
out as adult-to-adult people.” But often that never happens,
or you just never take the time to get to know your parent as an
adult. I feel like, later, making this movie, I came to know him.
It’s interesting – all in the guise of telling a story
that would be entertaining and inspiring – is my own journey
with him.
I think everybody leaves a trail of crumbs in their lives, hoping
that somebody is going to follow that trail at some point and find
out who you really were – as a person, not just a parent.
And I feel like he did it and this movie was kind of the last step
in saying, “Hey, here is this guy, who was also my dad, who
affected a lot of people and who was part of a very rich family
tree that many of us never come to know, if not for a tragedy or
a crisis. So that became the story. Out of a crisis, sometimes comes
your greatest, most positive opportunities. And that’s where
the movie begins.
 I’ve
noticed that there’s a certain spiritual element to a lot
of your films – for example, the love vs. materialism in Jerry
Maguire, the coming of age and growth experience in Almost Famous,
and understanding relationship in Elizabethtown. Is that a conscious
choice or something that just seems to recur in your writing and
film choices?
Thanks for paying attention in that way – I’m honored
by that question. I think it happens naturally. I’ve written
a lot about my mom. My mom’s still a big influence in my life
and still my best editor – along with Nancy, my wife, who
does the scoring for the movies. I have these two really strong,
cool women and both of them, similarly, believe that you can inspire
people without being on a soapbox. Most people really want to be
inspired, if they’re going to spend money and leave their
house and go to a theater and give you their afternoon. It’s
kind of cool to let them leave the theater thinking about something
that they can talk about or feel in their lives. And why not? You
can try for it; you may not get there, but you can try for it.
And I think one of the most effective ways of inspiring
people is through story. That’s the premise of FAITH Magazine.
I think so. We have twin boys who are 5 1⁄2 and that’s
how they take in everything; if you make it a story.
I saw on your Web site that you skipped a few grades and
also had a kidney disease when you were a child, the combination
of which made you feel like an outcast. How do you think that experience
contributed to your creativity and your career choice?
It was painful at the time to be skipped grades. My sister used
to howl in pain on my behalf. She would say to my parents, “You
don’t know how you’re ruining Cameron by having him
skip grades!” And I’d be saying, “No, I’m
having fun, I’m having fun. Until I tried to invite a girl
to a dance. I’d ask them and they’d just say, “Hahaha.
Let me introduce you to my boyfriend.” Those years were key
years to not be the same age as the girls you went to school with.
But out of that time came my love of music, because music was the
friend you always had. You know, where you closed the door and you
disappeared into that music and you thought, “Well, here’s
people who understand. Like Pete Townsend of The Who, Joni Mitchell,
Eric Clapton and Neil Young. You’d hear this music and know
you weren’t alone. I’m totally a director and a screen
writer because of that. It’s just that thing of wanting to
communicate a story to somebody who might have been like me who
just didn’t want to feel alone.
 That
was my next question. Music is such a huge element in all of your
films, especially Almost Famous, which is largely based on your
musical experiences. What’s the musical theme for Elizabethtown?
Authentic American music. The idea is –What is the great American
radio station? Because radio stations are so segmented now. If you
could program your own radio station, which you can in a movie,
what would it be? So I tried to do all kinds of different music
and what ended up happening is that music that was emotionally authentic
stayed. And that’s people like Patty Griffin, who’s
an amazing singer and songwriter. I love Ryan Adams. There’s
an old gospel and blues guitarist who’s thrilling to listen
to – a guy named Washington Phillips. We played some of his
stuff in the movie.
The last part of the movie is a road trip that Kirsten Dunst’s
character sends Orlando Bloom on. She’s a traveler and he’s
not. It’s a sort of parting gift – they’ve had
an almost-romance in Kentucky and now this guy is driving home.
She’s convinced him to take this road trip on the way home,
with his father in an urn. She says, “Here, take this map.
And it’s more than a map. Elizabeth, it’s an intricate,
complex, almost-unwieldy kit that’s got writing and artifacts
and maps and music. And he’s supposed to be at a certain place
at a certain time, listening to a certain piece of music. He becomes
addicted to this journey she sends him on. She sends him halfway
across the country and ultimately to a surprise place where the
movie ends. But it’s a place of inspiration, where people
who surmounted great odds lived or died. This is a whole trip of
inspiration that I hope somebody crazy enough, like me, will take
in their real life. Because I do that stuff. I go to a place where
they filmed a scene in a movie I really loved. Because I believe
the spirit is still there where something amazing happened.
So that’s where the move ends. The movie begins with an ending.
And doom is in the air (laughing). And it ends with a beginning.
The original goal of this movie is that it end with the feeling
of what it is to be truly alive. And that people leave the theater
saying, “Wow. I really appreciate being here right now with
all this opportunity everywhere I look.” And you know, maybe
it will last 15 minutes, but how cool if it does last.
I also noticed that you have a quest theme for this film.
What is the thing that Drew ultimately learns about his father?
Great question. He learns to honor family and through family, honor
life. Because it’s wild when you meet a whole other wing of
your family who look a little like you, and even have your name,
and they’ve heard about you in letters third-hand. Here you
are standing together and you look a little bit alike. That happened
to me when I went back to Lexington, Kentucky. I’m still getting
letters – my dad was a letter writer. There’s a line
in the movie, “Mitch wrote letters; he never once sent an
e-mail.” And that was my dad. I’m still getting letters
from friends of his who know what I’m searching for –
just to read third-hand what he was saying about us before he died,
or things that he experienced. I came to know one of his best friends,
this guy named Ralph. I put him in the movie; he’s sitting
on a bench in Elizabethtown when Orlando Bloom drives into town.
Ralph had this great line that I put in the movie – “Your
daddy was one of my 10 most favorite people.” I thought that
was so much fun, because a more disingenuous person would say, “Your
dad was my favorite person in the whole world.”
What’s your relationship with the Catholic Church?
The tradition and the faith continue in my family. I consider myself
that same person who’s on that same path my parents were kind
enough to put me on.
What else would you like to say about the movie?
It’s based on real people and real feelings and I hope that
in a time when people are complaining that movies are more and more
about gadgets and robots and explosions, there is a movie that they
know was made about real people, by real people, for real
fighting evil with prayer
October is the month of the rosary
By Michelle DiFranco | Photography by Phillip Shippert
 During
the last months and years, evil has been in the news. War,
terrorism, human trafficking – it seems as if the news is
never good. In the Sudan, an entire population lost its freedom
to a controlling minority; in Somalia, whole families fall victim
to genocide. In many parts of the world, the Catholic Church operates
“underground” to avoid persecution.
We who live in the United States are lucky – are blessed.
We have the freedom to express our religious beliefs, we can trumpet
our faith from the housetops. We can put our many gifts to the task
of fighting evil, and first among them is prayer.
One way to do this is by praying the rosary. This
popular devotion developed in medieval monasteries, so that lay
brothers who did not know the complicated liturgical chant could
participate in the Divine Office in some way. Over the centuries,
people have prayed the rosary to ask Mary’s intercession in
protecting them from evil.
During October, the month of the rosary, we can make this little
rosary bracelet to remind us to pray. It’s not an actual rosary,
but a great reminder! You can wear it or hang it on the rearview
mirror as a symbol of your faith.
 You
will need:
• Needle nosed pliers
• 53 4-mm faceted glass or crystal beads in a color of your
choice. (Hail Marys)
• Six 6-mm beads in a different color (Our Fathers)
• Two 6-mm metal beads to use as end spacers
• One miniature metal cross charm
• One 8” piece of 8-gauge flexible jewelry wire
(all items can be purchased in the bead section of any arts and
crafts store)
 Loop
one end of the wire
and string in this order:
• Two metal beads
• Cross charm
• One 6-mm bead
• Three 4-mm beads
• One 6-mm bead
• 10 4-mm beads
Repeat one 6-mm bead followed by 10 4-mm beads and loop end of the
wire.
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