Mohammad
“I carry the burden on my shoulders alone,” Mohammad says with a deep sigh. At 34 years old, Mohammad is facing the pressures of supporting his elderly parents, his pregnant wife, and his three year old son in a new country without work permits.
“I cannot share my anxieties and stress with anyone,” he explains, “I do not want to stress my wife more than she already is while carrying our child, and my parents are old and sick and cannot take on any more burdens. So I must always reassure them that everything is fine and keep a smile on my face, but the moment I am alone, I feel like breaking down… because everything is not fine.”
Right now, Mohammad is living every day not knowing how he will pay his upcoming bills. The US has not granted him a work permit yet, so he lives every day in limbo, relying on other charities to help him survive every month.
“You don’t understand what that stress is like,” he tells me, “not knowing what tomorrow will look like, not knowing if I will be evicted next week if I can’t collect enough money.”
He must be his family’s support, but who helps him? Who can ease his mind? Spending day and night with his hands tied behind his back unable to work but dying to provide, Mohammad explains his situation.
“All he wants to do is work.” he says, “If I receive my work permit in the mail today, I won’t even go home, I’ll go straight to a job. I need to work. I will do anything. Any job. Anything to provide for my family.”
With a Masters in International Law, Mohammad was originally a University Professor in Afghanistan and his wife was a doctor in a hospital. However, the political climate threatened their lives and they were forced to flee to the US through the humanitarian parole program. Yet this program does not grant a work permit and Mohammad is now in the application process which can take months.
“I had a good life in Afghanistan,” he explains, “I had a beautiful home, a good salary, my wife was advancing in her career and I had goals to finish my PHD. Now I feel like I’m wasting time and opportunities. I’m finding it hard to make goals and grow when I’m living day by day.”
Mohammad cannot afford to focus on his education and career goals anymore. Even with a work permit, he knows that he will struggle to find a job in academia and is willing to take any job that is offered. Itching to work, he cannot afford to think of his dreams anymore, he must support his family.
As someone who loves the world of academia as well, I related to Mohammad’s passions. As he talked about his life studying and working in the University, he dreams that one day he will be able to go back to school and receive his PHD so that he can teach in Universities in the US. “But that’s a far off dream now,” he says. “I know I must take whatever job I can, even if it is not within my field.”
“Tell me more about your dreams here,” I asked, wanting him to expand on the future he believed was too far away.
“I dream of working within the academic field again, of teaching students and continuously learning. I dream that my wife can go back to her career as well and become a doctor. We have been researching what it takes and she can do it, she needs to take an exam and spend some years studying, but she can do it.”
His dreams began to spill out, willing them into existence.
“I dream that I will get through this dark period of my life and teach others how to do the same. I would love to ease the minds of people struggling like I am and show them that this is all temporary. With the grace of god, I hope it will be.”
“I dream of a healthy baby. Girl or boy, it doesn’t matter as long as the baby is healthy.” Mohammad paused for a moment, thinking, then spoke softly with a small grin forming in the corner of his mouth. “Although I would really love a little girl. I hear that girls love their fathers, and I want a girl I can spoil and adore.”
“I have many dreams,” he says wistfully as he looks above me into a different world he imagines. He wore a heavy smile, hopeful but weighed with a saddened realization of his current situation.
I smiled back, thinking of my own father, an immigrant as well who raised me with so much love that nothing else mattered. “You have wonderful dreams,” I said with a smile, reflecting on his story and his commitment to providing and protecting the ones he loves… “I think your dreams are a lot closer than you think.”