Photo: Heval stands outside the Clarkston Community Health Center. Contributed by Brian Meltz, Emory University
6
The dishwasher
Heval found his first job in America washing dishes at the Mediterranean Grill, a bustling restaurant near Emory University. Located in a bland tan-colored strip mall, the restaurant is sandwiched between a used sporting goods store and a consignment shop. A bright red neon sign in the front window advertises “Fresh Kabobs.” In a narrow open kitchen that looks out over a small dining room, the chefs serve up falafel, baba ghanoush and sweet, flaky baklava.
Embarrassed by his limited English, Heval stayed behind the scenes, feeling like a “ghost.” Enviously, he watched the Emory medical students dining at the restaurant in their blue and green scrubs. He vowed he would one day be like them.
“As hard as it was, that was the only thing that kept me hopeful and kept my family hopeful — that one day I could become something and take care of them,” he said.
When the kitchen fogged up amid all the steam, Heval would trace the English words he was learning on the metal dishwashing machine. He turned the English words over in his mind hundreds of times, rehearsing how to say them. He made a promise to himself that he would read a page in a book for every dish he washed. He treated learning English like a full-time job. The kitchen became his office.
Heval got straight A’s at Clarkston High School. But after he took the SAT on the Emory campus, he cried as he walked back to work at the Mediterranean Grill.
“I felt the most frustrated and confused in my life,” he said. “I felt like I did terribly because the test was hard. You are talking about someone who had just spoken English for four months.”
But Heval did well enough to get into college. A fellow refugee from Rwanda helped him navigate the application process at Georgia State University, where he excelled in premed. He studied on his train and bus rides to school and work, and he paid his way with a mix of grant and scholarship money. To support his family, he got a loan and continued washing dishes at the restaurant, mowed lawns and took babysitting jobs. After he graduated from Georgia State, Heval and his parents and brother became naturalized U.S. citizens in 2006.
Dr. Omar Lattouf, a heart surgeon who teaches at Emory, learned through the grapevine of Heval’s desire to be a doctor and took him under his wing. A Jordanian native, Lattouf mentored Heval and wrote recommendation letters for him to get into the Morehouse School of Medicine and then a residency at Emory where he was awarded a prestigious fellowship focusing on preventative cardiology.
When he got his Emory ID, Heval walked back to the Mediterranean Grill, tracing the same path he followed years before when he was depressed about his performance on the SAT. With a tear in his eye, he proudly presented his Emory ID at the grill for a student discount. It was a moment of triumph for him, a hard-fought achievement that took about 10 years. He wore his scrubs into the restaurant. His Emory ID had his name and photo on it. It said “MD.” He wasn’t a ghost anymore.
“Nobody could take this away from me,” he recalled, “not the mukhabarat.”
Photo: Local American veterans and Atlanta-area Syrian refugees enjoy a large buffet during a luncheon at Clarkston Community Center. Steve Schaefer / For the AJC
7
The vet and the doctor
Garrett Cathcart felt like he was being stabbed in the back with a dull knife. A 36-year-old U.S. Army veteran and three-time recipient of the Bronze Star for combat leadership in Iraq and Afghanistan, he was prone to kidney stones. And this one felt serious. So he headed to the Atlanta VA Medical Center, a blue and cream-colored hospital complex in Decatur.
Heval was moonlighting at the medical center that day, making some extra money to support his mother and father, both of whom live with him in his Lilburn home. Garrett felt out of place among all the Vietnam War veterans in the medical center and wanted to leave quickly. He asked if he could get some pain medication so he could be on his way. As a soldier, Garrett learned to grit his teeth and tough it out. But Heval was concerned. He kept the veteran there with small talk long enough to get a blood sample and complete a CT scan. Confirming the presence of a large kidney stone, Heval directed Garrett to return the next day so he could see a urologist about having it removed. To Garrett, it seemed like Heval genuinely cared about him.
Months passed and Heval faded in Garrett’s memory. Then a friend invited Garrett to All Saints’ Episcopal Church. The featured guest speaker that day was Heval. He talked about his harrowing journey from Syria to America. And he introduced a young Kurdish Syrian girl who fled her native country with her family after the Islamic State invaded her village and began executing her neighbors with a sword. Inspired by President Donald Trump’s campaign promise in 2015 to temporarily bar Muslims from coming to America, Heval had become more vocal in support of refugees.
His speech that day at the church gave Garrett goosebumps. He approached Heval and introduced himself. Heval peered into his eyes for a moment before asking: How are your kidneys? Garrett was flabbergasted. He felt foolish for not remembering the attentive doctor who cared for him. The two struck up a friendship. Garrett works for Team Red, White & Blue, a nonprofit that supports veterans. He and Heval recognized the similarities between the groups they champion. Veterans and refugees have both experienced war and they both love America. Why not bring them together for an event that could help foster understanding at a particularly fraught moment for refugees?
On April 9 in the Clarkston Community Center, with several local television news crews filming, Syrian refugee women set out a feast of fragrant tabbouleh, zucchini stuffed with lamb and long rice sprinkled with cashews. On stage, a professional musician who fled the violence in Iraq played piano. Bearded and tattooed veterans sat elbow to elbow with Syrian refugees, sharing a meal. And at the end, they danced hand in hand to traditional Syrian-Kurdish music.
Garrett still marvels at how the day went. As he thought about it recently, he recalled a moment in Afghanistan when he was leading his men in a firefight against the Taliban. As he stood on a rooftop that day and called in airstrikes, he remembered thinking that was the very moment he mattered most in his life, the moment he had the biggest impact on the world. But through his work with veterans and refugees, Garrett has found a new purpose. And Heval has been instrumental in that.
“It has meant a lot,” Garrett said. “It’s enriched my life for sure.”
Photo: Heval speaks after receiving a humanitarian award from New American Pathways.
8
The American dream
The Atlanta ballroom falls silent as Paedia Mixon takes the stage and stands before a backdrop of translucent red, white and blue curtains. The costumed Laotian children’s dance team has finished its performance and is taking a break. The ebullient emcee in the shiny teal jacket has put away his microphone. There are no sounds save the clinking of spoons among the hundreds of guests dining on Mississippi mud pie and banana pudding parfaits.
The crowd is there to raise money for New American Pathways, the Atlanta refugee aid organization that Mixon leads, the same agency that resettled Heval’s family in Clarkston in 2001 when it was known as the Christian Council of Metropolitan Atlanta. Mixon reminds the audience that Trump’s travel ban has severely restricted America’s refugee resettlement program at a time when there are nearly 23 million refugees seeking a home. Then she introduces Heval as the recipient of her agency’s 2017 Friend of Freedom award, citing his work helping newcomers from around the world.
Heval starts out with a short, humorous account of his dishwasher-to-doctor story before identifying the secret of his success. He pauses for dramatic effect, looking out over a large crowd of people sitting at round banquet tables draped with white tablecloths. Yes, he worked hard and studied hard. So did his younger brother, Mohamed, now a surgical resident at East Tennessee State University. But something else helped get them to where they are now.
“The answer is you — people like you who took their time and funding and invested in people like us to invest back in the community one day,” he says.
Sitting at one of the round tables in the audience, listening intently to Heval and laughing at his jokes, is the Somali native who picked up the Kelli family at the Atlanta airport in 2001, and a volunteer from All Saints’ Episcopal Church who helped furnish their apartment in Clarkston.
“When you look at someone like a refugee or an immigrant or a minority or someone in need who you think could serve this country, please look at them as an investment — an opportunity to invest back in our country,” he says. And then in a subtle jab at Trump’s “Make America Great Again” campaign slogan, Heval declares: “This country is great, period.” The crowd applauds and cheers.
Emotion catching in his throat, Heval turns to his mother and thanks her for working so hard to support his family. She is sitting at his table near the stage. The audience gives her a standing ovation. Heval finishes by thanking God, saying he is grateful for everything that has happened to his family, even their painful experiences in Syria and Germany, the unpredictable and extraordinary twists of fate that brought them to America. Even as America was still recovering from the grievous wounds inflicted by the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks, this country welcomed Heval — a Muslim refugee from Syria — and helped him achieve his dream. And now Heval is living out that dream by helping fellow Americans and newcomers heal.
ABOUT THE STORY
While always gripping and inspirational, immigrant stories about people coming to this country with nothing and managing through hard work and dedication to achieve their dreams is familiar. Nevertheless, Dr. Heval Kelli’s journey is particularly dramatic, considering the dire circumstances of his escape and the lofty heights of his achievements. But perhaps what makes his story stand out most is how much he’s given back to the refugee and immigrant communities, multiplying the aid he received many times over. Heval’s story is particuarly timely, considering President Donald Trump’s travel ban, which goes before the U.S. Supreme Court next month.
Suzanne Van Atten
Personal Journeys editor
personaljourneys@ajc.com
ABOUT THE REPORTER
Jeremy Redmon covers immigration and refugees for The Atlanta Journal-Constitution. His reporting has taken him to the U.S.-Mexican border, Central America and the Middle East. His latest work has focused on the Syrian refugee crisis, the plight of Dreamers and deaths in federal immigration detention centers. Redmon is enrolled in the University of Georgia’s Master of Fine Arts program in narrative nonfiction writing.
ABOUT THE PHOTOGRAPHER
Bita Honarvar is an Atlanta-based photographer whose work has appeared in The New York Times, Guardian US, Chicago Tribune and The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, where she was a staff photojournalist and photo editor for 16 years.
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