April Moo, 22, came with her family to San Diego from a refugee camp in Thailand six years ago. They settled into a City Heights apartment furnished by the International Rescue Committee.
"I remember we were so excited because, OK, the building and all the utensils in the kitchen, the bed, the couch, those are like brand new to us," Moo said. "I had never seen them except for in a movie."
Moo is a Karen, an ethnic minority from Burma. Karen rebels and other ethnic groups have fought for greater autonomy from the Burmese government for 65 years, bringing violence to the Karen village in the southeastern corner of the country, which also is called Myanmar. Her parents crossed the border into Thailand in 1983, and she was born in the refugee camp, where she stayed until she was 15.
"Living in camp, it's so hard because you just live your life like the bird in the cage," Moo said.
In San Diego, Moo felt her wings spread. She became the first in the local Karen community to graduate from high school and pursue a college degree. But she said that bird-in-the-cage feeling doesn't go away as easily for Karen parents and grandparents, who don't adapt as quickly to life in the United States.
She's working with the Karen Organization of San Diego to help older Karen refugees feel they're part of the community. She brings together youth for a weekly weaving class that enlists the elders as instructors. The program is called Homespun, and it's a place where some of the 1,800 refugees from Burma who live in San Diego County can bond.
Language barriers are often the biggest challenge for refugees, especially for the older family members who can become isolated and depressed because they don't know English.
Refugee youth learn English much quicker than adults — they're immersed in it from the moment they step on a school campus here. Many parents end up having to rely on their English-speaking kids to take the lead in parent-teacher conferences, doctors appointments and errands. And often, the language barrier keeps them from working.
Mental health professionals say many older refugees experience linguistic isolation, often resulting in depression and anxiety.
At the Karen organization offices on University Avenue on a recent Monday, a middle-aged Karen woman instructs a young teenager on using a traditional Karen loom. She shies from the spotlight, her voice is almost as delicate as the tapestry they weave.
The technique involves tamping alternate colored string into a tight pattern. Unlike standing looms, the Karen attach their base string to a heavy object — in this case, folding tables — and wear the other end of the apparatus around their waists, usually with a belt made of repurposed rice bags. A collection of wooden dowels from a craft store and PVC pipe separates layers of bright string to set the pattern.
Founder Grace Michel said she started the program with the intention of setting up a micro-enterprise opportunity for Karen women to sell their tapestries. It's not there yet, but Michel said it's empowering the women in other ways.
"This is a place where there's a lot of acknowledgement that the elders have something to teach," Michel said. "They are in this space treated as the wise ones, you know, treated as the ones who have knowledge and skills."
Michel said she's only recruited a few women as regular instructors so far but hopes to see the intergenerational component grow. Currently about a dozen youth show up to weave.
"To be really honest, it's still really hard to get (the women) out of their homes," Michel said. "But the ones that have been involved, I think they've been really gratified by seeing that the youth really are interested in learning and that the tradition is staying alive."
And there's an added sense of calm for their young students, who take on responsibility and stress early to help their refugee parents.
"They're constantly having to deal with the cross-cultural piece and the translation," Michel said. "So I think it's nice to have a space that is just like a different place for their minds."
The traditional mother-daughter relationship may be reversed sometimes, but for at least an hour a week during weaving class, everything is in its right place. Kids as learners, and elders as teachers.
