Columnist Susan Snyder: Refugees start anew in Vegas

Saturday, Jan. 13, 2001 | 10:46 a.m.

Susan Snyder's column appears Sundays, Tuesdays and Fridays. Reach her at snyder@lasvegassun.com or 259-4082.

The Bosanac family's apartment sits under McCarran International Airport's flight path.

Jelena Bosanac watched a jet roar overhead in a dark, drizzly sky.

"It's always louder when it is cloudy," the 18-year-old said. "I don't like it when they go over."

Where she came from, explosions typically followed the sound of airplanes flying over. But that was back home in Bosnia, where Serbs and Croats waged war on each other.

Jelena, her 16-year-old sister, Svjetlana, and their mother and father, Dragica and Milan, live in Las Vegas. They are among a growing number of foreign refugees adjusting to American life with the help of Catholic Charities of Southern Nevada's Migration and Refugee Services.

The agency aided 843 refugees last year, Ed Robichaud, the program's coordinator, said. Most came from Bosnia, Cuba, Iran and Somalia. One fled from Rwanda. The biggest number now come from Sudan.

"Refugees are here because they are being thrown out of wherever they come from. They have no choice," Robichaud said.

Jelena and Svejtlana said the family sought asylum in Canada but was told they would go to the United States -- specifically, Las Vegas. They can move to another town, but the girls say it's too much trouble. Starting over is hard no matter where you do it.

Milan and Dragica have jobs at the Primm Valley hotel-casino and ride the bus to get there. He works in housekeeping. She works in the kitchen. Jelena is a Valley High School senior. Svejtlana is a sophomore.

The teens do most of the talking because English comes easier to them. An adult needs about five years to become proficient, Patti Morello, a program counselor, said. Language is the biggest barrier to freedom for most refugees.

Memories can be another.

Svjetlana, who turns 17 in February, recalls her family's home being burned to the ground when the fighting started. As the war escalated, just staying together as a family was a trial.

She said her father was a solider who spent three months as a prisoner of war. And their mother often sent them to live with relatives in safer towns.

The Bosanacs listened intently as their daughters curled up on the floor of the family's two-bedroom Hampton Court apartment and described how they once went three months without hearing about or seeing their parents.

"We didn't know if they were dead or alive," Svejtlana said.

"Our father was wounded, and we didn't even know about it," Jelena added.

Dragica's eyes welled with tears. She understood enough English to recall those hard months. Such snapshots make it challenging to circulate with Americans for whom the biggest daily struggle can be a traffic jam or finding the money for a new CD.

"American kids have had a perfect life and they don't know it," Svjetlana said.

Most don't know what it's like to unconsciously shudder at the sound of a jet flying overhead.

"You'd hear something drop, and you'd wonder if it was going to hit your house," Svjetlana said.

"You didn't know if you were the next target," Jelena added.