Hearing-impaired refugee finds voice
At school, youngster can communicate.
By Vianna Davila
[email protected]
Published: January 9, 2011
In a world full of noise, Nduwimana Richard can’t hear a sound.
Not the clank of his classmates’ food trays against each other in their
elementary school cafeteria; not the screams of his toddler brother as he
wrestles with his mother over a pair of scissors; and not his parents’
struggles to speak English three years after moving to the United States
from East Africa.
Known as Richard to his family and teachers, he’s among the nearly 3,000
refugees who have relocated to San Antonio in the past five years because
they no longer could live safely in their native or adopted countries.
But besides the challenges most refugees face — language and cultural
changes, financial struggles and sometimes post-traumatic stress disorder
— Richard, 9, also is hearing impaired.
His parents first learned of his condition from doctors in the Tanzanian
refugee camp where Richard, like his father before him, was born.
But their oldest child didn’t learn sign language, or any other structured
way to communicate, until after the family of six relocated to the U.S.
three years ago.
“Over there,” said his father, Hakizimana Metusera, “zero, zero” sign
language.
Life in the U.S. has not been easy: Richard’s father struggles to stretch
his paycheck from a housekeeping job at the Westin-La Cantera. His mother
still struggles to learn English.
Everyone in the family has trouble signing with Richard.
But in the States, this exuberant, expressive third-grader has found a
voice.
He attends Braun Station Elementary School, a cluster campus for
hearing-impaired students including those who, like Richard, communicate
completely through sign language.
Richard’s hearing loss is considered so profound he only can faintly hear
very loud sounds, like a trash can slamming on the ground, said Rose Greive,
an auditory impairment teacher at Braun.
He arrived eager to learn but without any basic knowledge about signing or
how to behave.
His parents worried the school might kick him out because of his condition,
said Lupe Chavez, who oversees Northside Independent School District’s
auditory impairment department.
Teachers had to teach him how to stand in line. They had to persuade him he
was safe in school.
“You couldn’t get him to sit in a chair,” said Angela Detlaff, a Braun
auditory learning assistant. “Just walking down the hallway used to be a
challenge.”
But since enrolling, Richard has learned how to read and add. He can explain
when he feels sick or tired. He asks a flurry of questions.
“He’s able to express it,” Greive said. Now he can sign, “Markers please.”
In school, he bounds around as if he were built on a spring. He poses
dramatically, does anything to make other students laugh. He bulges his eyes
or juts out his chin, a sly grin on his face.
“He’s not even the same kid at all,” Detlaff said.
But the lessons haven’t necessarily transferred to home.
NISD sent two auditory impairment specialists to the family’s small
apartment off Wurzbach Road, to help bridge the gap between school and home.
But the family’s proficiency remains limited.
Richard still communicates with his parents in grunts or by pointing. When
he wants something, he takes it. Sometimes, he has yelling fits or simply
disappears.
“No listen to me,” said his mother, Ndayisenga Nadine. “He stay here — no
obey me.”
After school, Richard plops in front of the television and watches the
screen intensely, his expression blank but fixated on the silent images.
Around him, the room is a whirl of activity — his sister, 8; his brothers,
ages 5 and 1; a 5-year-old uncle; and his parents — that he ignores.
One night after school, Richard sits next to his father and signs, making a
motion with his left hand over his right palm. His father signs back “I
don’t know” and shakes his head.
Richard repeats the sign. His mother, who still struggles with English,
says, “I don’t know, either.” Richard throws himself against the couch in a
huff.
All refugees get an initial health assessment about three weeks after they
arrive here; those with special needs or disabilities receive it sooner,
said Irene S. Martinez, the refugee medical program coordinator for Catholic
Charities, the local resettlement agency.
For cases such as Richard’s, a deaf interpreter on staff or caseworkers can
refer the families to community resources.
Ultimately, Metusera would like to send his son to the Texas School for the
Deaf in Austin. But he’s not sure how to get in touch with anyone there.
“If he goes there,” Metusera said, “he can take off fast.”
In his own way, Richard accelerates in school every day. He rejoices in an
activity successfully completed, a math worksheet finished.
Recently, after completing an addition game, he shot out of his seat, raised
his arms up, and let out a “Yaaaaaay!” as he jumped up and down.
Watching him, his teachers laughed. They could hear him, loud and clear.
Source:
http://www.mysanantonio.com/news/education/article/Hearing-impaired-refugee-finds-voice-946452.php