Refugees in New Hampshire turn to farming for an income and a taste of home

DUNBARTON, NH — It’s harvest time in central New Hampshire and it looks like one of the farms there has been relocated from a distant continent.

Farmers balance large crates of vegetables on their heads as they chat in Somali and other languages. As the sun burns away the morning fog, the farmers pick American staples like corn and tomatoes, as well as crops they grew up with, like okra and sorrel. Many of the women wear bright orange, red and blue fabrics.

Most of the workers on this Dunbarton farm are refugees who have escaped terrible wars and persecution. They come from the African countries of Burundi, Rwanda, Somalia and Congo and now run their own small businesses, selling their harvests to local markets and to friends and connections in their ethnic communities. Farming offers them both an income and a taste of home.

“I like it in the U.S. I have my own job,” says Somali refugee and farmer Khadija Aliow as she takes it easy by waving past a reporter, one hand holding the crate of produce on her head and the other giving a thumbs-up. “Happy. I’m so happy.”

The farm is owned by a New Hampshire nonprofit, the Organization for Refugee and Immigrant Success, which provides land for the farmers to use and training and support. The organization runs similar farms in Concord and the nearby town of Boscawen.

In all, 36 people from five African countries, including South Sudan and the Asian nation of Nepal, work on the farms. Many were farmers in their home countries before coming to the U.S. or had previous experience in farming, said Tom McGee, a program director at the nonprofit.

“These are farmers who are basically independent entrepreneurs, who are working with our organization to bring these products to life in this country,” he said. “And to have another sense of purpose, and a way that they can bring themselves into the community and be a part of it. And really participate in the American dream.”

The nonprofit runs a food market in Manchester, where people can buy fresh produce or sign up to have boxes delivered. McGee said there are a few other programs with similar goals across the U.S., but the model remains relatively rare. He said his organization relies on state and federal funding, as well as private donations.

Farmer Sylvain Bukasa said he escaped from the decades of conflict in Congo which has resulted in millions of deaths. He spent six years with his wife and son in a refugee camp in Tanzania before being allowed into the US in 2006.

“I was worried about my safety,” he said. “I just decided to go somewhere a little bit safer.”

Bukasa said he has worked hard since arriving in the U.S. and is enjoying his new life. But at first, he missed the food he grew up with. He could only find it in specialty markets, where it was often expensive and poor quality.

“At home we ate more vegetables and less meat,” he said. “When we came here it was more chicken, more pizza, that kind of thing. They taste good, but it’s not good for you.”

Bukasa began growing crops on the farm in 2011. The original plan at the Dunbarton farm was to allow migrants like him to grow traditional crops for themselves and their families. But demand grew, particularly during the pandemic, leading to the farm’s evolution into a commercial operation.

For a few farmers, the crop is their primary income. For most, like Bukasa, it’s a sideline. He works full-time as a service agent for a car rental company and travels when he can to tend to his 1-acre (0.4-hectare) plot. The biggest challenges are making sure his crops get enough water and keeping weeds from taking over, he said.

Monday is harvest day, and recently Bukasa listed the crops he was picking: tomatoes, pumpkins, zucchini, kale, corn, okra and the leaves of squash and sorrel – which he and the other migrants call sour-sour because of its taste.

He said there is a surprisingly large Congolese community throughout New England and they appreciate what he grows.

“It’s a tough job, but hard work is good work,” Bukasa said. “It’s fun and it helps people. I like it when I make people happy with the food they eat.”

His dream is to one day buy his own farm with a few acres of land so he can walk from his front door to his crops instead of driving 20 minutes like he does now. A more immediate challenge, he said, is working on the marketing side of his business.

He’s gotten to the point where he’s growing more food than he can sell, and he hates to see any of it go to waste. One idea is to buy a van so he can deliver more of the produce himself.

“You see the competition there,” he says with a grin, pointing to the tent where other refugee farmers are washing and packing their crops. “Look at how many farmers are trying to sell their produce.”