The American Nightmare

Photo by C.G.P. Grey. Image held here.

Saeed Bajhshandh shuffles his way to the back of the dinner line 60 men deep. He is unshaven and his khaki pants are dirty and slightly torn, but he puts on a smile as he receives his ham sandwich and ladleful of beans.

Bajhshandh has been living at REST Homeless Shelter in Uptown for more than a year, but he is not complaining. To him, the conditions are much better than the L stations, where he slept for four months prior to coming to the shelter.

When Bajhshandh immigrated from Tehran, Iran, six years ago, this was not how he pictured his American experience. He lost his job at Frdusa, a construction company in Tehran, in 2000 and worked in Germany for three years before coming to the United States in 2003.

Just weeks after getting a job at a construction company in Chicago, he suffered a serious back injury, lost his job, and has had physical and economic problems ever since.

“I worked hard for 16 hours a day in Iran. Now I cannot do this work, but I am not qualified for anything else,” the 56-year-old said in broken English. “I came here for a good life, a good situation. But this is jail to me.”

Bajhshandh's is not the only story of an American dream gone bad. The economic downturn has brought an increase in homelessness overall. Immigrants are no exception to this trend.

But according to Erin Ryan, executive director for the Lincoln Park Community Shelter, a Chicago interim housing facility, homeless immigrants encounter more than just a general “falling through the cracks.”

“Even for people who come the the United States through a legal channel, things become harder than they imagine and they don't know how to navigate the system,” Ryan said. “This is true in general for homelessness, but adding the immigration on top of things makes it that much more overwhelming.”

The culture shock and difficulty of the immigration system can magnify economic struggles.

Constance Omandi, 41, immigrated from Nairobi, Kenya, in 2006 to join some family members who were already living in Chicago. She ran a successful product distribution business in Nairobi and was hoping to continue to operate it from the United States until she got her bearings. But in 2008, her profits plummetted with the global economy. Two years later, she found herself at the doors of the Lincoln Park Community Shelter.

Many immigrants do not have families in America that they can turn to for assistance, and for those who do, like Omandi and Bajhshandh, pride will often keep them from asking for help.

“I don't want to be a burden on my family,” Omandi said. “It was my decision to come here, not theirs.”

Bajhshandh's ex-wife, Ateneh, moved to Chicago in 2000 shortly after they divorced, and now lives with their 18-year-old son in Skokie. Ateneh is a teacher, but Bajhshandh does not like to go to her for money.

“If I really need her, she helps me, but it makes me feel bad,” he said. “In my culture, the man has the responsibility. Always. And I am not showing that to my son.”

According to the Chicago Coalition for the Homeless, there were about 75 thousand homeless people in Chicago in 2009. But it is unknown how many are immigrants.

Because of the lack of statistics and uncertainty of immigrant numbers, fighting immigrant homelessness is not an easy task. Shelters and programs often combat homelessness as a problem in its entirety.

“We typically don't cater to specific groups of people,” said Anne Bawhay, Director of Foundation Relations at the Chicago Coaltion for the Homeless. “We cater to people with common problems, and we work across the demographics of the group. We don't have specific groups for one demographic.”

But Omandi and Bajhshandh will not lose hope, and both have found help at the shelters where they stay.

“The most important thing I can do is keep optimistic,” Omandi said. “When you feel defeated is the moment you stop trying, and you're never going to get anywhere. And that's why I came here, right?”

Omandi is on the employment track at the Lincoln Park Community Shelter, working her way through computer and business programs while searching and applying for jobs. She eventually wants to rebuild her product distribution business with her own team of sales people. In the meantime, she teaches Swahili to the volunteers and other residents at the shelter.

“It's always good to share my culture with other people, it helps keep it alive for me,” she said. “It helps me remember the importance of it by teaching other people.”

Through REST, Bajhshandh was connected with a caseworker who recently found him an apartment. He plans to move in next month. He still does not have a job, but he will have a place of his own.

Bajhshandh returns to the table with his dinner tray in the loud room filled with men wearing blank stares. Before taking a bite, he pulls out a tattered wallet containing only two pictures. Both are school photos of his son, one from 2004 and one from this year, his high school senior picture.

“He wants to become a lawyer,” Bajhshandh said with a pleased smile. “When I get my own apartment, he can come visit me. And he will be proud.”

Will be published in Mosaic Magazine in May of 2011.