PATRIOTS AND LULLABIES

(Image by: BiancaVanDijk | Pixabay)

A few years ago, I was introduced to Cleophace Mukeba, who, along with his family, arrived in Vermont as a refugee from the Democratic Republic of the Congo. After many years of turmoil, violence, trauma and separation, the family was welcomed here through the Vermont Refugee Resettlement Program. Hundreds of families from war-torn countries have peacefully settled in Vermont and have found a new life amidst our green mountains and lakes and our less frenetic way of life. Many, like Cleophace and his family, are deeply engaged and thankful. They give back. Tirelessly.

So, when I think of a patriot, I think of Cleophace.

Cleophace Mukeba is an educated man. He holds a bachelor’s degree from Saint Michael’s College and a master’s in environmental law from Vermont Law School. He is also a man with a great sense of gratitude and compassion. He has a conscience. In addition to employment with an environmental company, Cleophace worked in the Winooski School District supporting students and their families to adjust, learn the culture and language, and adapt to all the newness of their adopted homeland. He is kind, fatherly, observant and dogged about providing new citizens with the support they need to feel at home here. He is also a good teacher to those of us whose feet have been in this soil for generations. He’s taught us why it is important that we participate and welcome our new neighbors. He also founded the Ibutwa Initiative – a nonprofit organization that supports women and children in his home country to create jobs and incomes to support their families and stay out of conflict. He raises awareness and funding in a tireless effort to get Americans to understand the challenges facing people from the Congo — the endless violence, the poverty.

Last spring, Cleophace put out a request for assistance for a new family who had just arrived from a refugee camp in northern Africa. The couple had been living in the camp for many years following their exodus from the Congo. They met in the camps, were married, and applied for asylum here. It took years for that to happen. This young couple arrived in Vermont with their five-year-old son and were living in a modest apartment in the old North End of Burlington. Furniture was sparse but functional. There were no pictures on the wall. No television set. An added stress was the young mother’s imminent delivery of their second child, a baby girl.

Cleophace called me and asked if I could help welcome them; if I could find supplies for the new baby. They had nothing. I said, “yes,” and reached out to family and friends who willingly contributed a cache of supplies. There were diapers, blankets, baby clothes, toys, a crib and bassinet. All kinds of welcoming items were gathered across northern Vermont and delivered to the appreciative family — it became an impromptu baby shower!

Cleophace and I met at the family’s Burlington apartment, which just happened to be right around the corner from where another immigrant family, my aunt’s, arrived one hundred years prior and built an iconic Italian restaurant and pasta sauce business from humble beginnings.

When we arrived, we were greeted by a young and shy couple and their equally bashful toddler. As I could not speak their language, Cleophace served as interpreter. It was hard to know how to converse without feeling intrusive or impolite, so I kept my responses brief. I told them how glad I and so many others who provided gifts for the baby were to help them feel at home here in Vermont.

The baby was cooing in a playpen that had been outfitted to serve as a crib. I went over to greet her — her mother close at my elbow and proud to show off her precious little one. I smiled and said how beautiful she was — Cleophace translating for us both.

We stood there for a minute or two, and then, I then began to sing.

It was a lullaby I’d made up for my son when he was a baby. The words were Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.” The melody, my own creation.

“Whose woods these are, I think I know...”

The mom smiled. The baby cooed. The father and young son stood close by in the kitchen, listening.

Cleophace and I left shortly thereafter. It was a good visit, and I repeated my greeting. I said, “I hope you and your family find happiness and feel at home in Vermont. We are glad you are here. Welcome.”

In the stories of what is happening in cities and towns and farm fields across America, I think of that new Vermont family, a young father, mother, toddler and baby. I think of my friend and his effort to bring people “home” to Vermont where they can feel safe, included, respected and hopeful for a new life. Where they can shrug off the mantle of “refugee” and just be a neighbor, friend, colleague, contributor.

Everyone deserves to feel safe in their homeland. When that is not possible, those of us who are safe in our homeland must become the helpers to restore peace to those for whom it has been uprooted. We must help people who have been victimized by war, aggression, greed, bias and prejudice. While we did not necessarily create these conflicts, we can be part of a peaceful and welcoming solution. Most of us have come to this country because of conflicts elsewhere, however many generations ago. It’s important not to forget that.

The innocence of children should remind us of our shared humanity and relationships to one another.

Lastly, I think, someone needs to sing lullabies to all those babies who are languishing in war torn countries or confused by the deportation of a parent or other loved ones here in our country. The innocence of children should remind us of our shared humanity and relationships to one another. We need to ease the suffering of those who have been innocent victims of war and oppression. It is woven by prejudice, ignorance and indifference; and the only fix for it is to become aligned with peace in our actions.

We are all immigrants, most of us. We are all kin. As we begin to recognize how much so, our world will begin to heal. Perhaps it will begin with a lullaby.

We all have promises to keep, and miles to go before we sleep.