We are deeply saddened to announce that our dear friend Alain Mentha passed away on January 1st 2023 after a long battle against pancreatic cancer. We all miss him dearly and will continue to do this work in his honor. For more information please check out this news article.
“My father immigrated to Canada from Switzerland, where his family had sheltered Jews fleeing the Nazis. I was born in Canada and French was my first language. My dad learned English as an adult, and I learned it as a child. My grade school teachers in Indiana in the 70s didn’t know a French accent from a speech impediment, so I spent my early years in the school basement with the kids who were deaf or had a cleft palate.
I believe these experiences made me inclined to help immigrants and refugees as I got older. After the 2016 election, my wife and I decided to volunteer with a refugee resettlement agency, knowing that was an area the new administration would try to dismantle. The first family we met, whose apartment we had set up and furnished, had a daughter, Diborah, who was our daughter’s age. We invited them to coffee one day, but Jennifer and I didn’t speak Tigrinya, and Teshome and Simret didn’t speak much English, so we just sat and smiled at each other. Then our daughters came to us with toy sandwiches. I lifted my sandwich in the air and said “sandwich!” Teshome lifted his sandwich in the air and said “panino!” We laughed and started teaching each other English and Tigrinya, struck up a friendship, and never looked back!
I continued to help set up apartments and help new arrivals find their bearings, and with other volunteers who also came to recognize the need to extend and augment the services provided by the resettlement agency, I co-founded Welcome Home which provides educational, employment, and material support to refugees. I’m Welcome Home’s volunteer Executive Director. The service I do is its own reward.”
My father’s entire family was murdered by the Castro regime. I escaped in my mother’s arms when I was 8 months old. After my father abandoned us in Miami, my mother and I made our way to Union City. Although Cuban refugees are in a special category, and able to get permanent residency and a Social Security number, I was unable to finish that process until I was 13. With no support in the U.S. and little money, my mother turned to drugs and my life fell apart. The meeting that I was supposed to attend when I was 13, which would have given me permanent status, was missed. I had no money and had an addict for a parent, so I had to fend for myself. As happens to many young men in that situation, I found a home in a gang, taking drugs and selling them. I eventually ended up in juvenile detention, dropped out of high school, and was later incarcerated as an adult.
For most, this would have been the beginning of a life in and out of prison, but I was introduced to Project Inside, which helped me understand that my life was going nowhere on this track, but that I had the power to change it. I got my GED and started taking college courses in prison, as well as studying immigration law. With no money for an attorney, I went before an immigration judge myself and argued my case, difficult with a criminal record. The judge was impressed with both my legal knowledge and how I had turned my life around. He gave me my permanent residence status and I am now on my way to citizenship. With the support of my wife and son, I am studying for my college degree, with hopes to become an immigration attorney. Between classes, I work part-time at First Friends, helping others make their way in my adopted country.
June May 4, 2021. Photo by Jennifer Brown
This is crazy, some would say. How can you put your childrens’ lives in danger by taking them to sea? But our daily life in Syria was already more dangerous, unbearable. The bombs, death, destruction, hunger, the cold. The cold. One night, I remember screaming. I wanted to break our furniture to use the wood for a fire, to warm my children. We decided to leave by sea. We agreed that we would either make it together, or die together. In the end, we were fortunate not to have to take this route. A family member lent us the money needed to go to Thailand.
Aly, the youngest of my four children, had stopped talking by then, traumatized by the war. He was terrified of policemen. We had a few months of peace in Thailand, until one early morning, the police raided our house. We were sleeping. They didn’t wait for us to open the door. I begged them not to wake Aly up. They did it anyway. They woke him up at gunpoint. After we were released from detention, Aly’s condition deteriorated dramatically. He was not sleeping or eating. He was scared all the time. When we got an opportunity to go to the U.S., Aly’s psychologist advised me it’s best for him. But I was only allowed to take my two minor children with me. I was torn. How can I leave my other two children behind?
In the end, I had to save Aly. We came to the U.S. but I left a piece of my heart in Thailand. I hoped Noor and Mohammed would soon join us, but little did I know. I got the call while heading to work one morning. My kids were rounded up in an immigration raid. They spent almost a year in the most horrible conditions. I felt helpless. It was a difficult time for our family. By a miracle, my friends here were able to help get them released. They had been approved to immigrate to Canada but the pandemic put a stop to the process. I am still hopeful. I envision our reunion. Where will it be? What will I do? One day, it will happen.
Growing up in the midst of the civil war in Sierra Leone, I managed to get through high school, but it was impossible to go to university. Feeling unable to change the atrocities being committed around me, I decided to document them instead. Initially I worked on my own, and then later with the American filmmaker Trent Harris to show the world the horrors taking place around me. I eventually also worked with the UN to try to build a future in Sierra Leone, but unfortunately, the history of my country haunted me, and safety was not a guarantee. My only option was to leave my war-torn home behind and make my way to the United States.
I arrived at Kennedy airport and requested asylum on landing. After 16 hours of background checking, ICE gave me the okay. I was put in chains and taken to immigration detention, where I remained for 5 months. When I was finally released and granted asylum, I was welcomed by First Friends and Welcome Home.
The impact that First Friends and Welcome Home made on me is immeasurable. The people that work with these organizations, they touched my heart. I want to give back to these organizations. They helped me and their donations helped me. They are still not done with me yet.
When I get there, it is my responsibility morally and spiritually to turn back and be a support to those who are in a worse situation than me. I want to continue to support the values of these people so my children and grandchildren will look back and understand. That is what I want them to have.
My parents immigrated to the United States from the Philippines in the late 1950’s. I’ll never forget how proud they were when they became American citizens in 1973. Our neighbors on Long Island threw them a big party at our house where they proudly hung the American flag outside our front door. Throughout my childhood, my parents welcomed many family members from the Philippines into our home who were beginning their journeys in America. Some stayed with us for weeks, while others remained in our home for months and even years. Their reason for coming to America was the same: they hoped they could achieve a better life for themselves and their families.
In 2005, I began working as a director for the International Rescue Committee (IRC), an organization that helps refugees all over the world by providing humanitarian aid in war-torn countries and refugee resettlement services in the U.S. At the IRC, I created a new donor services department staffed by four resettled refugees. These new friends reminded me of my immigrant family members when they began their new lives in America. On World Refugee Day in 2020 (three years after my departure from IRC), I attended a virtual event featuring the IRC in NJ and First Friends of NJ & NY. I had never heard of First Friends before that event even though I had lived in New Jersey for 24 years! I was so moved by First Friends’ mission to provide dignity and compassion to immigrants and asylum seekers in ICE detention that when I learned they were seeking a new Executive Director, I applied for the position. I’ve been working at First Friends since October 2020 and am so grateful to be part of this extraordinary organization.
I remember May 1st, 2020 like it was yesterday. It was National Decision Day, the day when most seniors declared which college they will be attending. Despite being accepted to my dream college, George Washington University, and many other wonderful colleges, I had no hope of attending any of them. Being an asylum seeker and immigrant jeopardized my chances of being considered for financial aid and I could not afford college. I spent the rest of the month in agony and fear of not attending college altogether. I was angry because I worked so hard and wanted to attend college in order to achieve my goals.
On June 5th, another day I will never forget, I was accepted into New York University. I remember texting my best friends “ughh I just got into NYU” accompanied by a sad face emoji. I did not want to go through the same process of getting accepted, celebrating, and then realizing that this college was financially out of reach. However, I soon realized that I had gotten a full ride to NYU! I was in shock and shed tears that washed away all the exhaustion and fear that I was consumed with. Since then, NYU has become home and the place where I truly belong. I love the city, my amazing classmates, and the countless opportunities presented to me daily. Through this process, I realized how important it is to provide people with opportunities. I will always remember this and help others rise above their socioeconomic challenges because we all deserve a chance.
In May 2018, I had a thriving bakery and catering business in Nigeria, even though things had become unsettled. Thinking that I might eventually need to leave Nigeria, I came to New York to start considering the future for myself and my three children. Following a trip to the emergency room with my son, and a difficult diagnosis, the doctors told me: If I wanted my son to improve, I had to stay in the United States where there was the kind of medical support and treatment he would need. If the condition had not been found from birth in Nigeria, there were no doctors there who could handle it.
After this life-altering pronouncement, I had some enormous decisions to make, but of course,my son had to come first. A social worker referred me to several agencies, but it is never easy to settle in the U.S., especially with no preparation. A Nigerian friend gave me the phone number of a minister at a Nigerian Church in Harlem, and the church allowed me to stay there while it was being renovated. Catholic Charities got involved, and helped me get a lawyer who was willing to take my case.
The time in the church came to an end, and my children and I were about to become homeless. Catholic Charities put me in touch with Welcome Home, which helped me find an apartment and get started in Jersey City. My son is still under the same doctor’s care, and is improving steadily. I have started my own baking business here, making “Chin Chin,’ a West African version of a donut, and selling to several local businesses. We are slowly and surely building a new life in the U.S. with the help of friends.