{"id":3966,"date":"2016-10-16T11:48:34","date_gmt":"2016-10-16T15:48:34","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.monmouth.edu\/magazine\/?p=3966"},"modified":"2018-10-17T09:59:34","modified_gmt":"2018-10-17T13:59:34","slug":"no-ordinary-life","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.monmouth.edu\/magazine\/no-ordinary-life\/","title":{"rendered":"No Ordinary Life"},"content":{"rendered":"

The manner in which Patrick Julu \u201915M describes his early life\u2014in an even tone, his voice leavened with the lilt of a West African accent, a broad smile on his face\u2014gives the impression his was an ordered and ordinary childhood. It was not. When Julu was seven, his native Liberia was beset by a series of civil wars that resulted in more than 250,000 deaths and displaced or made refugees of more than 750,000 people. West Point, the densely populated Monrovian slum where he lived with his eight siblings and their father, aunt, uncle, and cousins, was particularly hard hit by the conflict.<\/p>\n

\u201cBefore the civil war, we were living like normal kids,\u201d he says. \u201cWe had fun. We played. We went to school.\u201d But \u201clife began to disintegrate\u201d when fighting broke out in 1989. In the years that followed, Julu saw his neighbors murdered or driven from their homes. In 1997 rebels burned his house, and his family scattered. \u201cI was separated from my people,\u201d Julu says with an almost preternatural calm, \u201cand I couldn\u2019t locate them again.\u201d He was 15.<\/p>\n

Julu banded together with a small group of friends to find a way out of the country. They traveled by bus across the Liberian border into Ivory Coast, and then to Ghana, where they\u2019d heard the Buduburam refugee camp was host to a large number of Liberians. The roads leaving Liberia were thronged with fellow refugees, and during the two-day, 900-mile trip Julu was haunted by thoughts of what he might find: Where am I going? Who do I know out there? But there was a counterbalance to those anxieties, he says: \u201cAs long as I could be in a place where I wouldn\u2019t be harassed, where I\u2019d never have to hear the sound of bullets, where I was just going to have peace and be safe\u2014those were my motivating factors.\u201d<\/p>\n

An Imperfect Refuge<\/h2>\n

Buduburam, run jointly by the Ghana Refugee Board and the United Nations High Commission for Refugees, was a haven\u2014but to call it safe would be an exaggeration. People living in nearby villages resented the camp\u2019s inhabitants for receiving what they believed was government aid at their expense, says Julu. At night the villagers made forays into the camp and attacked the refugees, many of whom slept outdoors to escape the heat inside their crowded, largely airless dwellings. For 10 years Julu lived in a small mud hut with 10 other refugees. \u201cIt was a bit tight and very humid,\u201d he says, \u201cbut that was what was available at the time.\u201d He ends the observation with a single word, \u201cSo,\u201d an apparent acknowledgment that some things must be endured.<\/p>\n

While Julu\u2019s life in Buduburam was punctuated by moments of chaos, it was also strictly regulated by the authorities who ran the camp and oversaw the distribution of food and medications, along with lesser concerns like where and when people could shower. \u201cIt was like you were totally under control,\u201d says Julu, \u201clike you had no voice.\u201d<\/p>\n

He found an outlet for his frustrations in sports. Not long after arriving in the camp, he was recruited by the authorities for what they saw as his leadership potential. Like most who grew up in Liberia, Julu was passionate about soccer, so he helped organize a league for young refugees in the camp, becoming both a coach and mentor to his charges. \u201cIt was great,\u201d he says, \u201cworking with people who were having the same experience I was, and serving as a motivator, as a changer.\u201d<\/p>\n

Eight years after arriving in Buduburam, Julu was afforded a potential exit. A friend in the camp, Anthony Payne, was leaving with family in hopes of making it to the U.S. \u201cIf I get there, I\u2019ll see what I can do for you,\u201d he told Julu, who, until then, had planned to return to Liberia after the war. Two years later, Payne sent information about the U.S. government\u2019s Diversity Immigrant Visa program, a lottery for immigrants from countries with historically low levels of immigration to the states. Julu applied and was accepted. His flight to America was paid for by Zah Rahan Krangar\u2014a soccer player with FELDA United of Malaysia, whom Julu had coached as a child in the camp.<\/p>\n

Forging a New Home<\/h2>\n

In a perfect world, Julu\u2019s arrival in the U.S. would constitute a happy ending to his story. But even in 2007, four years before events in Syria launched another torrent of asylum seekers into the world, the life of a newly arrived refugee was fraught with uncertainty and struggle.<\/p>\n

Settling in Trenton, New Jersey\u2014just downstairs from Payne\u2014he quickly discovered that life in America wasn\u2019t as \u201crosy, rosy\u201d as Hollywood portrayed it to be. He\u2019d imagined \u201cthat the United States was a nation that accepted everyone without regard to differences,\u201d he says. Instead, he was denied job opportunities because people questioned his capabilities given his status as a former refugee. He eventually found work pumping gas, but was determined to forge a better, more productive life. \u201cI had a goal,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n

In the camp he\u2019d met many social workers\u2014from organizations like Oxfam, Catholic Relief Services, UNICEF, and UNHCR\u2014who advocated for the refugees and provided emotional and material support. In America, he began to dream of taking up social work himself. \u201cMy inspiration came out of their empathy toward me and the other refugees,\u201d he says. \u201cI felt I had to give back to vulnerable populations across our societies\u2014that\u2019s my driving force.\u201d<\/p>\n

He took out a loan, applied for financial aid, and enrolled at Mercer County Community College. He was bullied there, he says, because of an accent that sometimes makes it hard for speakers of American English to understand him and which remains a source of frustration for him. But he found academic and moral support from a counselor who exhorted him to keep working and remain determined. He did, earning his associate\u2019s degree from Mercer and, in 2012, a bachelor\u2019s degree from Rutgers.<\/p>\n

In 2015, eight years after arriving in the U.S., Julu received his master\u2019s in social work from Monmouth University. He says he found both an education and a home at Monmouth. \u201cSuch wonderful people there,\u201d he says, adding that Robin Mama, dean of the School of Social Work, \u201ctook me in as if I were her child.\u201d<\/p>\n

Julu reunited with his once-dispersed family, visiting them in Liberia in 2013 and again earlier this year. The family expanded in 2012 with the birth of his son, Josiah Thierry Julu, whom Patrick credits with making him feel even more fiercely protective of children the world over. In 2016, the older Julu founded Project Football: Liberia, an organization that uses soccer to send Liberia\u2019s kids the message that education is the only way out of poverty.<\/p>\n

Today, Julu works as a mobile therapist at Carson Valley Children\u2019s Aid, a nonprofit in Philadelphia, as part of a treatment team delivering behavioral health support to troubled children and adolescents. He follows the story of Syria\u2019s nearly 5 million refugees\u2014many of them turned back from European countries in which they sought asylum\u2014with a growing and profound sense of sadness. \u201cIt hurts,\u201d he says. For Julu, the issue is as personal as it is political. He knows what it feels like to be powerless\u2014to leave your home not because you want to, but because you have no other choice. \u201cThose are people who are innocent,\u201d he says of the Syrians fleeing the carnage in their homeland. He might also be speaking of himself when he adds, \u201cNo man is going to say to you, \u2018Today I want to become a refugee. Today I want to be vulnerable.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

He muses on the fundamental problems that create refugees. \u201cOther people make policies that shift our destinies,\u201d he says, referring in part to the events in Liberia that altered his life, but also to all-too-similar occurrences happening around the world today. And he\u2019s angry, he says, at politicians who appeal to voters with anti-refugee rhetoric.<\/p>\n

But for all that, Julu remains resolute in his optimism. When asked about his goals, he puts the universal before the personal. \u201cMy first major goal,\u201d he says, \u201cis to see mankind experience its full potential, to see that everybody has equality [and] understands, \u2018Yes, I belong here, regardless of my social and economic status, my religion, my ethnicity.\u2019\u201d More than anything, Julu wants to give back, particularly to young people struggling to overcome the toxic legacies of poverty and violence. \u201cI believe,\u201d he says, \u201cmy story can make a change in their life.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

As a teen, Patrick Julu was forced to flee his homeland when a series of brutal civil wars took place. Today, this former refugee helps others overcome the toxic legacies of poverty and violence.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":11,"featured_media":3968,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"image_focus":"{\"x\":80,\"y\":40}","hide_title":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[10],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3966","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-features"],"thumbnail":"\"\"","catString":"Features","issue":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.monmouth.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3966","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.monmouth.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.monmouth.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.monmouth.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/11"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.monmouth.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3966"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/www.monmouth.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3966\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4751,"href":"https:\/\/www.monmouth.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3966\/revisions\/4751"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.monmouth.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3968"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.monmouth.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3966"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.monmouth.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3966"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.monmouth.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3966"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}