Afghans in Perris

I'd worked as an RN for about 20 years when I decided to return to school to get a degree. In addition to earning a bachelor’s degree in Registered Nursing, I also was to receive a Public Health Nurse Certification upon graduation from California State University in Fullerton. I spent one semester studying public health and received my clinical training from the public health department in Corona, California. Riverside County, I was soon to find out, was NOT Orange County.

Towards the end of my semester I was assigned Afghan duty in Perris. It was 1990 and when the soviets invaded Afghanistan and civil war erupted, millions of refugees tried to get out of the country. I was to go see a large group that had somehow made it to Perris, California. There was one adult male that spoke English, and he was the only person that was able to work, so he wasn’t in the home most of the time. All of the refugees had tested positive for tuberculosis and the Public Health Department had been trying for months to get them in to have chest X-rays to check for active disease. In many countries of the world, people are vaccinated against TB with BCG vaccine, which isn’t highly effective. However, once vaccinated, the person will have positive skin test results for the rest of their lives. So, the only way to find out if they have TB is to X-ray.

     Perris is a dusty little desert community out in the middle of nowhere. I drove around and finally found the house. I parked my car and knocked on the front door. No answer. I walked around to the back of the house and found two mobile homes, up on blocks in the yard. I knocked on the door of one and it was answered by three women who did not speak English. They did understand I was there on some kind of official business...the white lab coat has that affect...and they led me to the main house. We went inside and they invited me to sit on the only piece of furniture in the place, a dirty white sofa. I did, and then all of the refugees gathered around and seated themselves on the floor in front of me. They smiled, offered ‘juice,milk,tea’, the only English words they knew. I smiled but declined. The place wasn’t exactly clean. I gave them the name of the man I was supposed to contact, and they pantomimed calling him on the phone. They gave me the phone and the man said he would leave work and be there in fifteen minutes.

     That fifteen minutes was the longest of my life. There I sat, perched on the edge of the sofa, surrounded by refugees that couldn’t speak a word of English. And they all just sat there looking at me, smiling every now in then. The most disconcerting person was an elderly man. He wore traditional afghan clothing, a long white caftan and pajama pants, and had a white turban wrapped around his head. He was obviously blind in one eye and that eye was scarred and clouded white, so when he looked at me, all I could see was the scarred eye.

     Finally, the man in charge arrived home and we were able to have a conversation. I provided him with all the information on where to take the people to get their X-rays, and how important it was to get it done. He was upset because he said they had all been checked prior to arriving in California and no one had TB. I apologized but stressed that they still needed to be cleared in California, now that they were living there. I made an appointment to return in two weeks to follow up, and rose to leave. All the Afghans stood, too, and followed me out to the car. They watched as I put away my briefcase in the trunk, then got into the car. They were still standing there as I drove away.

     Two weeks later I returned to the same situation, and no, they had not gone to get their X-rays. But I was at the end of my semester, so the problem reverted back to the head nurse.