Volunteering at Women for Refugee Women

I ask A. what she likes most about coming to class. 

She smiles and says, 

“My family.” 

Sometimes, you do not need many words to describe something immense. 

A. has been coming every Monday. Always on time. Always committed.

But learning is not easy for her. 

She is nearly 80 years old. 

Her life almost certainly carries a long history of upheaval, probably more than one uprooting, more than one goodbye, more than one forced beginning again. 

But I know almost nothing about that. 

Our time together, with the other women in the group each Monday lunchtime, is not about the past.  

It is about the present and about the future.  

We begin by singing. 

We share stories from our weekends. 

We laugh. 

Sometimes we cry. 

We talk about temporary accommodation and uncertain futures. About children and loved ones far away. About the heartbreak of losing loved ones without the chance to say goodbye. 

And together, we try to grasp the basics of a new language, one that can so often feel less like a bridge and more like another barrier standing in the way of feeling at home. 

As a volunteer English teacher for entry-level learners, I have learned that teaching is only a small part of the work. 

As A. so beautifully describes it, you are there to help create a family. 

And like any family, that requires commitment, compassion, patience and consistency.  

It means celebrating tiny victories that others may overlook: a new sentence spoken aloud with confidence, a first attempt at writing a word, the courage to walk through the door again after a difficult week. 

It means showing people they are seen before they are understood. 

Some students progress quickly and move on to the next level. Others take longer. For some women, this is the first time they have ever learned to read and write. Others have not sat in a classroom for decades. 

But progress here is not measured only in worksheets or vocabulary. 

Sometimes progress looks like friendship. 

Like trust. 

Like hearing someone say, “This feels like family.” 

So, we sing. 

We talk. 

We laugh and we cry. 

That is what our Monday lunchtime sessions are really about: showing up for one another, creating connection, and taking small but meaningful steps towards helping A. and the other women feel at home… feel that there is a family we all belong to, one that sees no barriers or differences. Just human.