Like many refugees, Bhim Dhungana was born that way.
“The refugee is not a choice,” he said. “It happened due to circumstances. People were not born thinking they would be refugees.”
A native of Bhutan, he learned at a young age that he belonged nowhere.
In 1990 the Royal Government of Bhutan began numbering the people. Those from families with government tax receipts dating back to 1958 were given priority status, or No. 1.
“I remember my grandfather looking so desperately for that receipt,” Dhungana said. With no paper proof of their nationality, his family was given a number closer to seven, though they had farmed the rich soil and raised livestock on a fertile plot since his grandfather immigrated there with family in the late 1920s.
“What I can say to you is if you are a No. 7, you are not a citizen of Bhutan,” Dhungana said.
No. 7s were denied what the government called No Objection Certificates, which granted access to higher education, civil service jobs, and the ability to operate a business or travel or own land or sell crops. “Employers asked, ‘What category are you?’” Dhungana said.
As a sixth-grade boy, he noticed the subtle shift toward nationalism. The government forced traditional garb unfit for the warmer southern region where he lived. His teacher began speaking only Dzongkha, the official language of Bhutan.
In a flurry of policies aimed at ethnic cleansing, the government became more controlling before resorting to violence.
“The Bhutanese government would come at nighttime,” Dhungana said, recalling one night hiding in a mountain cave with his grandfather. “And if they did not find the men at home, they started raping the women.”
His family fled into the jungle, stealing away in the back of a cargo truck with other refugees. In the mountains of India, they found no persecution — and no food. In 1992, the Indian military relocated the encampment east to Nepal, where they settled beneath a single large tent with other dislocated families.
Dhungana spent the next 15 to 16 years “thinking of going back to Bhutan,” his unwelcome homeland. They built bamboo enclosures to brace from the wind. They sat on rice sacks to stay dry in the jungle. “Eventually, they made a school of plastic,” Dhungana said.
He studied at a university in Kathmandu, earning bachelor’s and master’s degrees in the biomedical field. He argued with his parents to seek refuge in America.
“No one was convinced to come,” he said.
Then, over the course of five months in 2008, his family left as refugees, resettling in Akron with some 3,000 others who have formed America’s Nepalese diaspora in North Hill. There, they’ve opened stores and restaurants in empty buildings.
Since arriving in summer clothes, unable to pronounce Ohio and pacing in the winter cold for a public bus, Dhungana has learned fluent English. Within six months here, amid a Great Recession, he found work as a landscaper, a cellphone salesman at a mall kiosk and a liquor store clerk before becoming an interpreter at the International Institute of Akron. He’s since bought a home in Tallmadge, where he lives with his wife, whom he met while immigrating, and their 2-year-old son.
In 2014, Dhungana gained U.S. citizenship. For the first time in his life, a country has claimed him. But now, as a former refugee, he is careful about how he describes his past to strangers.
“Now, it’s different to say I am a refugee because people think I am a burden to the country. I only want to work hard and provide for my family,” said Dhungana, 39.
“[America] is one of the best country,” he said. “If you work hard, you have opportunity. Your future is in your hand here.”
Doug Livingston can be reached at 330-996-3792 or dlivingston@thebeaconjournal.com. Follow on Twitter: @ABJDoug .