When my father arrived in America from Ethiopia in 1978, he was resettled, with the help of an immigration agency, to Peoria, Ill. It was a startlingly American childhood, made moreso by the fact that we spent our weekends at a Southern Baptist church on the other side of town.
Your mom and dad tried to go there, she said, but the priest or pastor told them not to come back. He said they would be more comfortable somewhere else. That sort of thing happened a lot.
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