Immigrant communities join to help repatriate their dead.
By Gaiutra Bahadur
The Philadelphia Inquirer
Author: Gaiutra Bahadur
A Final Trip to a Distant Home
Immigrant communities join to help repatriate their dead.
By Gaiutra Bahadur
The Philadelphia Inquirer
As Claire Outou Bakayoko lay in a casket in West Philadelphia, a choir of fellow immigrants from the Ivory Coast sang:
Je suis un étranger.
(I am a foreigner.)
Je me suis un passant. Je me dirige vers mon Père.
(I am just a passerby. I am going home to my Father.)
On June 26, the day after that refrain, Bakayoko did go home. Air France flew her body to the West African country where she was born and where, on Saturday, she was buried.
It is a final journey many immigrants replicate. Just as they straddle two countries in life, they frequently do so in death.
Bodies travel from the Philadelphia region to a range of countries, including Honduras, the Dominican Republic, Korea, Vietnam, Ghana and the Philippines, according to local mortuaries. One serving the Latino community ships a body at least once a week. The practice is most common among Mexicans, who often crisscross the border to work here but leave wives and children behind.
Mexico’s government has set aside $12 million to assist poor migrants with burial back home. Its consulate in Philadelphia has helped repatriate the bodies of 171 U.S. residents since 2003. They included four soldiers who died in Iraq fighting for their adopted country but wanted to be laid to rest in their native country.
Even for migrants from more far-flung places, culture and divided lives lasso them back to their homelands in death.
Bakayoko struck out alone to the United States a decade ago, at 26. She always meant to return to Boujbo, her village 50 miles from Abidjan, the country’s major city – but with a degree from a U.S. university.
“She used to say they need her more in Africa than here,” her husband said.
Political turmoil at home and the hard scrap of life here as an immigrant got in the way.
To make a living, she started braiding hair at her apartment. She opened Diva, an African hair-braiding salon, in the Logan section of Philadelphia. She had two sons here and brought her eldest, born in the Ivory Coast, to join them. And she married Moustapha Bakayoko, a worker at the Hope Full Gospel Church, in October.
Still, even with a life in Philadelphia, she held onto hopes of a return to the Ivory Coast.
“She didn’t want to stay here, get old here, mmn-mmn,” said Philomen Maye Outou, her sister-in-law. “We work hard. To braid hair is not easy. You do it to have something over there . . . to go back home to.”
Families who can’t bring their dead home may invite shame, because some African traditions say the soul stays with the body, said Robert Djiriga, an Ivoirian pastor in Philadelphia.
“It is about honor,” he said.
That feeling runs so deep that the Cote D’Ivoire Association of the Delaware Valley even has a funeral committee that raises money for expensive burial rites both here and there.
In Africa, “it’s unheard of to have someone buried outside the country and outside the continent,” said Eric Edi, the association’s president. “Your ancestral tie is very important.”
It costs about $5,000 to fly a body to the Ivory Coast.
Once Bakayoko’s casket was carried from the viewing room at the Terry Funeral Home, the mood – and the mission – of the 200 grievers changed.
Bakayoko, who died of lung cancer, had been mourned. Now it was time to collect contributions to send her home.
The hard-charging rhythms of gbegbe, dance music from the
Ivory Coast, issued from two stereos. Two men from the funeral committee took to the mike, a cardboard box between them open for cash, checks and money orders. Women who had been wailing retreated to a church nearby, where a buffet of cassava, plantain and African stews was laid out to sustain them through eight hours of telethon-style fund-raising.
“We’ve cried,” Edi said. “It’s about money now.”
A civil war in the Ivory Coast has divided Ivoirian immigrants here along ethnic and religious lines, but politics did not enter Bakayoko’s hair-braiding salon. And Bamba Ibrahim, head of the funeral committee, was asking the crowd to transcend the conflict, too.
“Claire saw all the world as her brother or sister,” he told them. “Please follow Claire’s footsteps without regard to background.”
The owner of La Calebasse Restaurant stepped forward with $425.
The Christian Church of Love and Good Works – Djiriga’s largely Ivoirian congregation – offered $1,050.
The local affiliate of the FPI, one of the political factions in the Ivory Coast, gave $1,000.
Cisse Ibrahim, the local leader for the rival RDR party and a member of an Ivoirian mosque in the city, contributed $200.
In the last four years, Gregory Burrell, owner of Terry Funeral Home, has watched at least 10 such scenes unfold before sending bodies back to West Africa.
“It’s amazing how they come together for a cause,” he said. “They listen to music. A lot of times, they talk, and they start laughing, and the money just starts rolling in.”
Ivoirians from Atlanta, Washington, New York and New Jersey trekked to Claire Bakayoko’s funeral. In the end, they raised nearly $25,000 to send her home.
© The Philadelphia Inquirer. All rights reserved.
In Now-religious Iraq, No Tolerance for Gypsies
By Gaiutra Bahadur
The Philadelphia Inquirer
By Gaiutra Bahadur
The Philadelphia Inquirer
BAGHDAD – Kamalia used to be whispered about as a place of sin, part of the decadence of Saddam Hussein’s rule.The houses in this former red-light district once bore carvings of the deposed dictator with dancing girls – the Gypsy courtesans he had installed here. Now, the walls are papered with images of another Hussein, the grandson of the prophet Muhammad and the most revered Shiite saint.
Today, the Gypsies are gone, and the neighborhood’s name has been changed. It is called Hay al-Zahra, after the Muslim prophet’s daughter.
Most of Iraq’s Gypsies, a tiny ethnic minority with roots here hundreds of years deep, have been driven out of the country since the U.S. invasion in March 2003. They came under assault as darlings of the old regime. And, as reputed alcohol sellers and prostitutes, they were told there was no place for them in an Islamic country.
Iraq was one of the most secular countries in the Middle East, but the holy warriors who have flooded it since the war and the new power of religious parties in politics have transformed it. Women who never covered themselves now don hijabs, the head scarves dictated by Islamists. Liquor shops and churches have been bombed, as have barbershops that cut hair in ways the Koran forbids.
“Now, Iraqis have become Muslims,” said Akeel Hamid, 34, a former Kamalia resident and a remnant of a community of Iraqi Gypsies that once numbered 50,000. “So it’s become harder for us to be here.”
Hamid is now a squatter on the grounds of an air force officers’ club reduced by bombs and looting during the fall of Baghdad. He lives with dozens of other Gypsies in tents improvised from dried date palm leaves, bamboo, and cardboard. The children have scabs on their feet, and barbed wire with trash in its coils litters the camp.
“We used to have very nice houses,” Nadia Ali Mehsin said, crouching in her hut. “Saddam gave us the right. . . . No one could harass or annoy us.”
Mehsin, 35, once owned a two-bedroom concrete house in Kamalia. It had a guest room, a spacious kitchen, a telephone, even a garage and garden. But a month after the U.S. invasion, men carrying grenades and rifles evicted them in the middle of the night, she said.
“They pushed doors in,” she recalled. “They told us: ‘Now we are the government. The government doesn’t exist anymore and we can do whatever we want.’ They told us to get out.”
Mehsin said she did not know the men. But followers of Shiite cleric Muqtada al-Sadr, whose army of black-clad enforcers police some sections of the country, claim responsibility for emptying Kamalia and other enclaves of Gypsies.
“They did bad things for society,” said Sheikh Ahmed al-Amshani, the head of Sadr’s office in Kamalia. “The girls would sit in the street wearing naked clothes. They would dance. They would sing loudly. They would try to tempt young men.”
Gypsies trace their origins to India a thousand years ago. In their trek west over generations, one group branched off to Eastern Europe and another to what is now Syria and Iraq.
For centuries, they made their living as entertainers and dancers. That tradition, and its suggestion of sexuality, persists, although many Gypsies converted to Islam. A racy music video that swept the Middle East last year features Iraqi Gypsies tossing their hair and shaking their shoulders as a singer croons about eating a luscious orange to a woman clad in orange.
Gypsies have been persecuted for centuries, including under Nazi Germany. Many Iraqis associate Gypsies with the commercial sex trade, so all Gypsies have been treated harshly, even those with no connections to prostitution.
Sadr’s father, a revered ayatollah assassinated by Saddam Hussein, had devoted entire sermons to calls for Gypsies to reform and had even sent envoys to their enclaves to convert them to a pious lifestyle.
“After the war, we had this great chance to get rid of them,” Amshani said.
A year ago, police blamed the Mahdi Army, Sadr’s militia, for driving out about 1,000 residents of a southern village known as Qawliya, Arabic shorthand for both Gypsy and prostitute. The militia said at the time that it ran into resistance while trying to rescue a girl kidnapped by the Gypsies and that neighbors razed the village. Gypsy camps in Abu Ghraib and Hillah also disbanded in recent months after Sadrist imams condemned them, Amshani said.
The cleric described gunfights between the Gypsies and “religious young men” in Kamalia that lasted a month after the toppling of Hussein. Gypsies came to him seeking protection from hostile neighbors, he said, but he could not help if they clung to prostitution.
Others said the neighborhood’s Gypsies were pressured to go – but not with arms.
“The heads of clans went and asked them to leave because they gave the place a bad reputation,” said resident Hussein Miklif, 25. “Everyone knew if they stayed they would hurt people’s feelings.”
Neighbors gave them a week to arrange their affairs, he said.
“It’s clean now,” Miklif said.
Regardless of whether guns triggered it, the 200 Gypsy households in the Kamalia area – so sympathetic to insurgents that there are no army or police checkpoints – have scattered.
“After the fall of the regime, their houses were raided,” said Nadwa Dawood, spokeswoman for Iraq’s Ministry of Displacement and Migration. “We consider them as refugees because they left their houses and are moving from place to place.”
Some sold their houses cheaply or sublet them. Others simply fled in caravans to Syria and Jordan without looking back.
“The neighborhood was empty,” said Abdul Mohsin Saahib, 47, who moved in two months after the war.
He looked at many houses vacated by Gypsies before settling on one. He saw paintings of scantily clad girls on the walls, rooms with cabaret stages, and others with windows opening onto the street to sell alcohol.
“They don’t have religion,” said Saahib’s father, Hajj Jassim Mohamed, 58. He also said supplanting the Gypsies evened the score with Hussein.
“The government used to oppress other Iraqis, honest Iraqis, and bad families used to have many houses,” he said. “After the war, they realized people in the neighborhood were religious and didn’t want them anymore. They knew it would be dangerous for them to stay.”
The family purified their house with soap and water after buying it from Gypsies. They cemented the liquor counter shut. And they hung pictures of Sadr and his father on the wall.
Another buyer said the cleric’s office in Sadr City told him the house was available. Sheikh Ghaith al-Tamimi, the spokesman for the cleric in that Baghdad slum, said the office had the names of the Gypsies in Kamalia by street but stopped short of selling their houses.
“We asked them to leave the place, but we couldn’t deal with their houses,” he said. “But if we knew of someone who needed them, we would tell him or her to buy or rent them.” Mehsin, the squatter at the officers’ club, returned to her house after being forced out. A woman with a kitchen knife greeted her, but she managed to extract three million dinars (about $2,000) for her house, she said. She called it less than a tenth of its value.
She and the other Gypsies arrived at the squatters’ camp a year ago after being kicked out of refuges in a school and a military base.
“What can we do? We just don’t have the money,” Mehsin said. “People who could afford it left the country. Where could we go? This is our country.”
© The Philadelphia Inquirer. All rights reserved.
Critics Say Satellite TV Beams Western ‘Poison’ into Iraq
By Gaiutra Bahadur
Knight Ridder Newspapers