Homework Nights

Once a week or so I go help Aliyah and Tariq with their homework because their mother doesn’t speak English well enough to do it herself. I show up at the apartment and take off my shoes, take a deep breath and knock on the door. From this point on I’m never sure exactly what the night will hold. Someone flings the door open and exposes me to the sweet smell of incense and the spicy scent of cumin. I am welcomed in and take my place on the floor while we go through the ritual of discussing the health of our extended families.

Tonight I work on reading with the little girl, Aliyah, a first grader who has improved amazingly in the last year. After we are done with her homework and while everyone else is in another room she is delighted to have me all to herself, so we work on setting up her new doll swing. She tells me- “Jo-hay-na, I have 100 songs in my heart” I ask her to sing to me but she says “ I only sing when I am sad. I have a lot of sadnesses in my heart too.  I sing so that I am not sad anymore, because my beautiful voice makes me happy.” Then she adds, “My mom gets sad a lot and she cries, but I do not like to hear her cry” I tell Aliyah that I am SO glad that she has a beautiful voice and that singing makes her happy. I tell her I am glad God gave her such a special voice. I do not know what else to say.

I already know that her mom is  sad.  She is a single mother trying to raise kids in a foreign environment where most things don’t make sense: the school system, doctor’s remedies, government programs. Add to this confusion the fact that her children are more fluent in English than she is, that she can not even help them with basic homework. She worries that they are losing their proficiency in their native tongue which they can not read or write. She often tells me that this will be a problem when they return “home.” But home is still a very dangerous place.

Then the extended family bursts in and we watch the news  while we sit on the living room floor eating dinner with no silverware-using our bread to dip into various bowls. We watch the news from their homeland. It’s hard to eat while you’re watching pictures of  people killed by bombs-pools of blood and embedded shrapnel. We talk about how horrendous it all is, clicking our tongues shaking our heads when there are no words left.

Then I work with Tariq, a second grader. He too is getting better, but even after several weeks he still doesn’t know what a quarter, nickel, and dime are. His aunt and mom whisper the answer to him while we work. I’m still trying to figure out how to let them teach him first. We go over his homework from last week, because his mom did his it for him,  all of it! (and he still missed a lot because she isn’t good at counting money either!) So we do it all again. After homework we play Pokémon battle. He is like Aliyah in so many ways, he delights in my undivided attention. I see him crumple or expand when his mom talks about how poorly he’s doing in school or when someone comments that he is doing his homework perfectly

I say my goodbyes and am given the standard gift of a Pepsi which I tuck under my arm as I pull my shoes on and head home.