By the Rev. Barbara Mraz
As her name was announced and she stepped up to receive her college diploma, the school choir burst forth with the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel’s Messiah, an enthusiastic acknowledgment of a remarkable accomplishment and a dream realized.
Her journey brought her from war-torn Liberia to Morris Brown University in Atlanta and in 2004 to the Twin Cities. Today she is a mother of two impressive young daughters, a mental health practitioner and also a member of St. John’s. Hers is a story of personal and family strength, steadfast commitment, and the saving power of community.
UNDER ONE ROOF
She grew up in Robertsport, a small city in Liberia that was densely populated by Muslims. It was a close community; everyone knew one another including the kids. Her father was a traveling judge, and eventually an associate justice on the Supreme Court of Liberia. An older brother became a professor at the University of Liberia.
Her father loved his church, St. John’s Irving Memorial Episcopal Church, founded by Baptist missionaries from the U.S. He held virtually every position in his parish including senior warden, and was also chair of the Diocesan Council and Chancellor of the Diocese. Her mother was a practicing Muslim. Wuyah explains, “My siblings and I knew what Ramadan was and not to interrupt my mother when she was praying, but she also woke us up in the morning to go to church. She was there for all of our activities and reminded us when it was time to go to choir practice.” (Wuyah sang in the church choir from age seven until she came to America). “My mother held me when I was baptized and was present later when I was confirmed at age 12. Christians and Muslims got along fine in my community so I was confused and then shocked when I came to the U.S, and saw so much discord, intolerance and prejudice.”
WAR
In the early Nineties when Wuyah was thirteen, civil war broke out in Liberia. The family was forced to leave their home and city and flee to the west coast near Sierra Leone. Three years later, they returned to find their city in ruins. The roof had been blown off the school (although they still resumed classes there, without the roof). Her farther had lost his law practice and the family‘s finances were decimated. Wuyah lost two brothers during the war and a host of friends and relatives. After her brother Matthew was shot by a Nigerian soldier at a check point, Wuyah rushed to the scene and witnessed his lifeless body dragged and thrown into the back of a truck. Instantly, her world changed: She would leave her country and somehow go to college in America.
Her father had earned a Master’s degree himself at the State University of Illinois and had taught her: “Education is the key that will unlock the doors.” She believed him.
“I THINK I CAN SING”
Immediately, Wuyah went to the American Embassy and applied for a visa. One requirement was to have a support system in America—relatives, friends, someone who could help provide financial support. She had none of these but told the interviewer ,”I can’t live in this country any more.” She related the murders of family members and the death of her brother. She was told to come back the next day.
When she did, the interviewer said, “I believe in you and God bless you.” She handed Wuyah her passport. Inside was her visa.
Immediately she began researching schools and sent out numerous applications. She had decided that that the first school to accept her would be where she would go. That school was Morris Brown College in Atlanta, an historically-black school originally affiliated with the African-American Episcopal Church.
She arrived at Morris Brown in 1997 and started attending classes, not knowing she was not officially registered. After a month she went to the registrar’s office and admitted she had no money, no scholarship, and no obvious means of support. When asked about her interests she said, “I think I can sing.”
She met with the head of the Music Department and formed a lasting friendship with the woman who would become her mentor. She cleaned houses, she slept on people’s couches, and along the way she received scholarships to help her. She graduated with a degree in Business Management and Accounting and a 3.8 grade average, Magna Cum Laude.
“THEY EMBRACED ME”
In Atlanta, Wuyah had two children, Geegbey and Hawah Sharon, “named for my African and American mothers.” (Hawah was her mother’s name; Sharon was the name of the music director at Morris Brown.)
With her daughters in tow, Wuyah came to Minnesota in 2004 because she found she had cousins here. “I didn’t realize it would be so cold,” she admits.
Wuyah remembers: “For a time I was really struggling; my girls were ages three and under one. I stayed with a cousin, I stayed with a friend, I had no job and no transportation. However, I befriended a woman in the Liberian community who then introduced me to some other women about my mother’s age. There were nine of them and they embraced me; they babysat for me every day so that I could find a job and go to work.”
TWO FULL-TIME JOBS
Wuyah got a job at Wells Fargo in the mortgage department and a second job at a human services agency, two full-time jobs. Her daily schedule would be to get up and be on her way by 5:00am and drop off the kids so as to be at work by 6:00. She finished her second job at 10:00pm, picked up the kids at 10:30 and then went home to make lunches and get ready for the next day. She slept four hours a night. She did this for five years.
She says she often wondered where she got the strength, why she didn’t break down. She says,” I believe in the concept of parental blessing. I believe my parents were praying for me. I believe you have to honor your parents and every word that comes out of their mouths. My father taught me that to whom much is given, much is required. He believed in high standards, in respect for elders.”
Wuyah’s culture require her to take care of her parents, siblings and other family members. She is the bread winner for her family. For the past twenty years, she has consistently shared her monthly earnings with siblings, parents, nieces, nephews and others. She has paid tuition for over fifty family members. She is responsible for medical bills and emergencies for her family, not only in Liberia but also in Ghana.
She had subsequent jobs working with the elderly and this led her to a Master’s degree in Health and Human Services at St. Mary’s University; she is about to receive a second Master’s there in Human Resources Management. She managed a Traumatic Brain Injury program and now is a social worker working in the field of mental health. (“There is not one mental health agency in Liberia,” she notes.) She and her daughters live in Maple Grove.
Wuyah looked at churches in the Twin Cities for a long time before coming to St John’s. It was the choir and the warmth of the welcome that convinced her to stay. Now she is a mentor for a Hearts to Homes family and notes, “It would cost people a lot of money to get these services and they are provided free. The fact that St. John’s does this is a very big deal.”
TRAGEDY RESURFACES
In 2014 she was struck by yet another tragedy. The Ebola outbreak in Liberia took the lives of her older sister and a niece; a total of 14 family members died in less than two weeks. Yet Wuyah says, “Despite experiences of 13 years of civil conflict, hardships and tragedies, I am not bitter but remain grateful because God has never failed me.”
Wuyah’s personal strength and steadfast belief continue to have positive effects, large and small, on those around her. One day her daughters rushed by another young girl in the apartment lobby. Wuyah insisted that they come back and introduce themselves to each other. Now they walk home from school together.
“Hallelujah” indeed.
Originally published in the January-February 2018 Evangelist.
