Praying to be reunited: Somali refugees anticipate longer family separations under Trump

Habiba Mohamed was working at a restaurant that served government soldiers in Somalia when al-Shabab insurgents began threatening her to stop. The terrorist group attacked the establishment, killing some of her coworkers, and Mohamed fled to a refugee camp in Uganda in 2018.

Her mother went into hiding in another part of Somalia after the attack, and they were reunited at the camp five years later. They had another difficult goodbye in April as Mohamed was approved to resettle in Minneapolis, and Mohamed fears a second long separation as President-elect Donald Trump prepares to crack down on refugee admissions.

"I was trying to apply for my mom to join with me, but when I heard about the election of Trump, I wanted to give up," said Mohamed, 29. "I'm going to apply but I'm not sure if I will be denied."

Trump cut the ceiling for refugee admissions to a record low of 15,000 during his last year in office. The pandemic and other factors slowed admissions even after President Joe Biden raised the figure to 125,000. In Minnesota, Somali refugee admissions dropped significantly during Trump's first term to under 100 a year, and remained low until rising to 403 in fiscal year 2023 and 1,267 in 2024. Families like Mohamed's fear that just as refugee admissions are gaining momentum and resettlement agencies have expanded their capacity, they will see long delays in reuniting with relatives.

Afghan, Congolese and Ethiopian refugees are other groups that will be affected, along with Karen people from Myanmar. But Somalia has been the largest nation of origin for refugees admitted to Minnesota in recent years.

The incoming president has vowed to pause refugee resettlement, along with instituting sweeping restrictions on unauthorized immigrants, saying that he would "save our cities and towns in Minnesota" and other states. He also plans to bring back a travel ban for Somalia and six other Muslim-majority countries that he instituted during his first term.

"On Day One of the Trump presidency, I will restore the travel ban, suspend refugee admission, stop the resettlement and keep the terrorists the hell out of our country," Trump said during a July rally in St. Cloud.

News of Trump's plans has greatly worried people at Nakivale Refugee Resettlement in Uganda, where Mohamed lived for six years and her mother still resides. At the oldest refugee camp in Africa, people hoped that Trump would not win; after his election "they pray. 'Please, Trump, change [the policies] from before,'" said Faduma Ali Farah, Mohamed's mother, in a phone interview.

She added: "Life in the camp is not easy. It's hard. You can't get a job. You can't do anything. And these days my daughter sends us some money, but it's too hard to stay here. And I would love to join her."

Nawaal Jama, who arrived in St. Paul from Nakivale a year ago, understands their hardships.

She was a teenager when she witnessed al-Shabab militants kill her father. Jama, 30, fled Somalia and resettled in Uganda as a refugee in 2011. Refugee documents said Jama was attacked in 2019 by several men; she told refugee authorities that when she reported them to the police, the assailants and their associates threatened, followed and harassed her. By then she was a single mother of three children and said she feared what would happen to them if she was harmed or killed.

As Jama was trying to get out of the refugee camp, she befriended Mohamed and used her English skills to help her find medical treatment for a sick child. Jama also formed a supportive relationship with a cousin who resettled in the camp after surviving an al-Shabab car bombing that killed her husband and mother. Her cousin would give Jama's family food when they didn't have enough, and cared for her children when Jama went out to work jobs doing laundry and selling clothes.

Once in the United States, Jama found a job at an Amazon warehouse and built a comfortable life for herself and three children. Still, she fears what will happen to those left behind in Africa.

"I'm OK, already I'm in the U.S., but the main problem is I'm worried about the people who [are supposed to be] coming and what they suffer," said Jama.

Jama's cousin forwarded her an email three weeks ago from a refugee agency saying that the cousin's case "is pending identification of a resettlement location in the United States." Jama just wants her to make it here before Trump's crackdown takes effect.

"We have a lot of concerns since we don't have protection here," said her cousin's daughter, Naimo Mohamed, from Uganda. "We are concerned because we were told that [Trump] is not allowing immigrants to come into the country."

Jama feels that America is peaceful; at last, she doesn't fear for her safety. "Here we can work … you can pay your rent, you can buy your food," she said. "In Africa, we suffered a lot. Sometimes we can eat one time the whole day. …I so appreciate the United States of America. I so appreciate it. I don't know what I can say."

In Plymouth, Laali Mohamud finally reunited with her mother last month — days after Trump's was elected to another term as president. They hadn't seen each other since 2013, when they landed in separate refugee camps after fleeing unrest in Somalia.

Mohamud resettled in the United States in 2015, but after she started the process to try to bring over her family from the refugee camp Trump won re-election and the case stalled. Without family support, Mohamud had to work two jobs — instead of pursuing higher education, as she wanted — and send money overseas to help support her mother, brother and grandmother. Her grandmother died in the camp.

"The first election I was new in this country, and I remember that night I didn't sleep. … I knew I wasn't going to see my mom for a long time," said Mohamud.

Her brother, who knew Jama in Nakivale, came in April and found a job at the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport. Mohamud said the feeling of reuniting with her mother after a decade is something "you can't imagine." Sometimes she remembers that Trump won again and has to check that her mother is really with her. "Is that true, are you here?" she asks.

Her mother wants to take English classes, while Mohamud is hopeful that she can go back to school or open a Somali grocery store and Islamic school in Plymouth. She doesn't want other families to endure the same separation.

"It's too much," she said.

While her husband works at an Amazon warehouse, Habiba Mohamed cares for her three children and is pregnant with a fourth. Her mother gives her advice over the phone: Eat organic food, listen to the doctor, don't lift anything heavy.

But Mohamed wishes her mother could be here to support her.

She prays for their reunion.