Living in fear no more, they tally blessing
The family of Saw Reh (center) and his wife, Ku Meh (right), escaped from the oppressive regime in their homeland of Myanmar.
In a steaming jungle amid a cadre of freedom fighters in what was then known as Burma, Ku Meh beat the odds and finally gave birth to her second child — a boy.
For her husband, Saw Reh, with whom she’d grown up in a simple little Karenni hill tribe, it was a most exhilarating event. But there was no time to savor the moment.
There was too much to mourn; too much to fear; too much yet to keep pushing for.
Saw’s parents had just died from malnutrition. He and his family were in at least their third year of dodging government troops, who were after Saw for fleeing from brutal enforced labor.
And like his wife and his 2-year-old daughter, Saw couldn’t remember when they weren’t thirsty, hungry and in need of shelter and a good night’s rest.
“Oh, I was happy that my son was born,” says Saw, 47, while seated today with his family in a City Heights apartment far removed from his native land. “But how could I enjoy the happiness?”
Adds Ku, 46, his wife of 30 years: “The whole time I was pregnant, always moving around in the rain and other (elements), I feared that I would lose my baby and that I would never see my family again.”
Such was only part of the disjointed existence for this couple, who like thousands of other folks in what is now Myanmar, were thrust into the losing side of the longest ongoing war in the world.
The conflict, primarily based on race, politics and religion, has raged in degrees since 1948. It pits the repressive Burmese military government against various ethnic groups, mostly coordinated and led by rebels of the Karen National Union and the Karenni Liberation Army.
But now, thanks to strong faith and perseverance, aided by UNHCR (United Nations High Commission for Refugees) and Jewish Family Service, Saw and Ku are chasing bright dreams in the land of promise.
They have lived in City Heights for five months since being relocated from a refugee camp in Thailand as part of Jewish Family Service’s resettlement program.
Resettlement caseworker Eh G. Paris estimates there are between 800 and 1,000 refugees from Myanmar in San Diego County.
The program provides assistance with rent, furniture, some food, counseling and job training for refugee families like Saw’s for up to eight months, he says.
If a household head has not found a full-time job after that time, Eh says, his or her family is referred to the county Welfare Department.
Although Saw, Ku and their four kids, ranging from 8 to 22, are all studying English, the elders speak the language of their native tribe and they communicate through interpreters.
They say one of their greatest blessings is that they and their children now have access to good educations. They don’t have to keep looking over their shoulders and dreading that something horrible will sneak up on them and catch them.
Also, Saw says, the family never goes to bed hungry.
“There’s lots of good food here,” he says smiling.
But he and Ku will tell anyone that it’s not easy adjusting in a strange new land with strange new customs and a strange new language. Farm people, they have limited educations.
Their children find adjusting a little easier, because they are still in school.
The family, including Ku and Saw’s 22-year-old daughter, Reh Meh, and her husband, Mar Ku, 25, remain determined to stick together and make it in the U.S. as a team.
“One of the hardest things has been trying to find jobs with our (limited educational backgrounds),” Saw says. “But we all will do any kind of work to support the family. We’re hill people, we’ll do anything -— cooking, cleaning, farm work, arranging flowers — anything.”
Although the elders say they would never return to their native land, they still miss their tiny village, Dawtacat. Marauding government troops destroyed Dawtacat in 1986 soon after a military junta seized power in Myanmar.
Mar Ku’s brother-in-law, Saw Boh, 38, who recently arrived from that same Thai refugee camp, misses Dawtacat too.
“Our village (was) small,” Boh says. “But it (was) home — we were born and raised there. You never really lose the feeling for that.”
The troubles began around 1986 when junta soldiers began violently forcing poor villagers into doing backbreaking, demoralizing labor.
Saw freed himself from his captors and then, with the help of liberation army rebels, he and his family stayed on the run in the jungle for almost six years.
In 1995, they reached the refugee camp in Thailand, where they would remain for the next 14 years. But the experience would only be slightly better than life in the jungle.
There was always too little food to go around in the crowded camp. By strict rule, camp residents were not allowed to work in Thailand. Breaking that rule would get the transgressor and his family deported back to their home country.
Consequently, for most of their time in Thailand, Saw and Ku felt like prisoners with very little hope for the future.
But, Saw says, when the UNHCR presented him with a chance to emigrate to San Diego, he viewed the offer as one he couldn’t refuse.
“I was excited,” he says. “The idea of freedom in the land of opportunity immediately flashed in my head. I could see myself, after so long getting a job and finally being able to stand on my own two feet.”
There is little doubt that this family will make it, Eh says.
For her husband, Saw Reh, with whom she’d grown up in a simple little Karenni hill tribe, it was a most exhilarating event. But there was no time to savor the moment.
There was too much to mourn; too much to fear; too much yet to keep pushing for.
Saw’s parents had just died from malnutrition. He and his family were in at least their third year of dodging government troops, who were after Saw for fleeing from brutal enforced labor.
And like his wife and his 2-year-old daughter, Saw couldn’t remember when they weren’t thirsty, hungry and in need of shelter and a good night’s rest.
“Oh, I was happy that my son was born,” says Saw, 47, while seated today with his family in a City Heights apartment far removed from his native land. “But how could I enjoy the happiness?”
Adds Ku, 46, his wife of 30 years: “The whole time I was pregnant, always moving around in the rain and other (elements), I feared that I would lose my baby and that I would never see my family again.”
Such was only part of the disjointed existence for this couple, who like thousands of other folks in what is now Myanmar, were thrust into the losing side of the longest ongoing war in the world.
The conflict, primarily based on race, politics and religion, has raged in degrees since 1948. It pits the repressive Burmese military government against various ethnic groups, mostly coordinated and led by rebels of the Karen National Union and the Karenni Liberation Army.
But now, thanks to strong faith and perseverance, aided by UNHCR (United Nations High Commission for Refugees) and Jewish Family Service, Saw and Ku are chasing bright dreams in the land of promise.
They have lived in City Heights for five months since being relocated from a refugee camp in Thailand as part of Jewish Family Service’s resettlement program.
Resettlement caseworker Eh G. Paris estimates there are between 800 and 1,000 refugees from Myanmar in San Diego County.
The program provides assistance with rent, furniture, some food, counseling and job training for refugee families like Saw’s for up to eight months, he says.
If a household head has not found a full-time job after that time, Eh says, his or her family is referred to the county Welfare Department.
Although Saw, Ku and their four kids, ranging from 8 to 22, are all studying English, the elders speak the language of their native tribe and they communicate through interpreters.
They say one of their greatest blessings is that they and their children now have access to good educations. They don’t have to keep looking over their shoulders and dreading that something horrible will sneak up on them and catch them.
Also, Saw says, the family never goes to bed hungry.
“There’s lots of good food here,” he says smiling.
But he and Ku will tell anyone that it’s not easy adjusting in a strange new land with strange new customs and a strange new language. Farm people, they have limited educations.
Their children find adjusting a little easier, because they are still in school.
The family, including Ku and Saw’s 22-year-old daughter, Reh Meh, and her husband, Mar Ku, 25, remain determined to stick together and make it in the U.S. as a team.
“One of the hardest things has been trying to find jobs with our (limited educational backgrounds),” Saw says. “But we all will do any kind of work to support the family. We’re hill people, we’ll do anything -— cooking, cleaning, farm work, arranging flowers — anything.”
Although the elders say they would never return to their native land, they still miss their tiny village, Dawtacat. Marauding government troops destroyed Dawtacat in 1986 soon after a military junta seized power in Myanmar.
Mar Ku’s brother-in-law, Saw Boh, 38, who recently arrived from that same Thai refugee camp, misses Dawtacat too.
“Our village (was) small,” Boh says. “But it (was) home — we were born and raised there. You never really lose the feeling for that.”
The troubles began around 1986 when junta soldiers began violently forcing poor villagers into doing backbreaking, demoralizing labor.
Saw freed himself from his captors and then, with the help of liberation army rebels, he and his family stayed on the run in the jungle for almost six years.
In 1995, they reached the refugee camp in Thailand, where they would remain for the next 14 years. But the experience would only be slightly better than life in the jungle.
There was always too little food to go around in the crowded camp. By strict rule, camp residents were not allowed to work in Thailand. Breaking that rule would get the transgressor and his family deported back to their home country.
Consequently, for most of their time in Thailand, Saw and Ku felt like prisoners with very little hope for the future.
But, Saw says, when the UNHCR presented him with a chance to emigrate to San Diego, he viewed the offer as one he couldn’t refuse.
“I was excited,” he says. “The idea of freedom in the land of opportunity immediately flashed in my head. I could see myself, after so long getting a job and finally being able to stand on my own two feet.”
There is little doubt that this family will make it, Eh says.
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