Living in Immigration Limbo

Alaa Mukahhal parks her car at the Bridgeview Mosque Foundation, a Muslim haven in the midst of the diverse Southwest suburb. She steps out of the car, pulling a denim jacket over her black hijab, and greets an old Arabic teacher with a kiss and hug. She has a brief phone conversation with her mother in flawless Arabic punctured with an occasional English term, an“Ok” or a “yes.”

“My family calls that Arabish,” says the 24-year-old, flipping her cell phone shut. “We make up words that don't exist in either language, but they make sense to us.”

Mukahhal was translating for her parents' landlord at the age of 7. By fourth grade she was reading at a sixth grade level. She is a University of Illinois graduate, a social justice advocate, an aspiring architect. And she is an undocumented immigrant.

“I was born in Kuwait, but that does not in any way make me Kuwaiti,” said Mukahhal, who has lived most of her life in the United States. “I consider myself American, even though I don't have the papers and number to prove it.”

Though she was born in Kuwait, she and her Palestinian parents, Mustafa and Asmaa, were forced to move to Jordan in 1991 in the midst of the Persian Gulf War. The family lived in Jordan for two years before selling all they owned to come to America for a better life in 1993.

“I was in second grade, and it was very bizarre, worlds apart from what I knew,” Mukahhal said. “But my parents told me, 'If you want to fit in, if you want to succeed, you have to work hard.' My grades, my education, that's all that mattered to me.”

After mastering English, a feat she attributes to Dr. Seuss and Power Rangers, Mukahhal soon excelled in her schoolwork in every subject.

“Alaa is one of the brightest people I know. She was always taking advanced classes that none of the rest of us could get into,” said Meha Ahmad, 22, a classmate and friend of Mukahhal's at Aqsa, an Arabic-focused high school in Bridgeview.  “She even designed the logo for my dad's bakery. She just thrives on hard work, and she's so capable.”

Mukahhal went to the University of Illinois in Champaign and became one of the top students in her class. She studied architecture, a passion that grew from her natural artistic abilities and encounters with the work of Zaha Hadid, an Iraqi Muslim and the first female architect to win the Pritzker Prize.

But upon graduation in May of 2010, the ever-assiduous Mukahhal faced the job market without a social security card, without a green card, and without citizenship. No one asked for these documents all through her schooling, but now she can't go further without them.

“Right now I feel like I'm stuck in a limbo,” she said. “I can't move back, can't move forward. And it's frustrating because all I've ever known is 'work hard, be successful.' I'm desperate for a chance.”

Overqualified but undocumented, Mukahhal works as a cashier at a local store, trying every angle she can to get her papers in what she calls a “green card lottery system.”

“My parents and I got a lawyer. We asked him how we could stand in line to get papers,” she said. “He told us, 'There is no line to stand in....' To say that our immigration system is broken is such an understatement.”

Mukahhal is not scared of admitting that she is an illegal immigrant. She hopes that sharing her story will inspire others, especially other Arab immigrants, to stand up for immigration reform and the Dream Act, a proposed legislation that will give qualified undocumented youth the opportunity for a six year conditional path to citizenship if they get a college degree or serve in the military for two years.

“Alaa's story is so unique because it drives home the point that immigration is not only a Latino issue,” said Seemi Chaudry, a communication organizer for the Immigration Coalition for Immigrant Refugee Rights. “If American Muslims are more engaged civically, there will be no other future than a future with immigration reform.”

Until that day, Mukahhal will not sit still. She will continue to sketch blueprints in anticipation of getting a job in her field, and one day opening her own architecture firm. She will force any door that she must to get her documents. She will vigorously fight for immigration reform.

“We just have to wait for the Dream Act, for immigration reform, wait for congress,” Mukahhal said with a strong brown-eyed stare and a level voice. “I know that I'll have to wait for awhile, but I have to be optimistic because I strongly believe in this country. It's beautiful that there is always room for change. We just need time.”

Will be published in Mosaic Magazine in May of 2011.