The 9-year-old never owned a pair of shoes.
Long laces spilled around his feet, a web washed in small lights blinking from his sneakers. Dilli Subedi remembers wrapping them around his ankles until knots could be fastened tightly from the back.
He tucked his feet underneath his seat, but the shoes only joined bright colors in other mismatched donations. Subedi knew he stood out, just when he wished he could fade to the back of the classroom. The new Pennsylvanian had cried his way to the small school desk, after his mother dropped him off in a blur of smiling white faces and words he couldn’t understand.
That morning was his first day of school outside a refugee camp border. That fall held his Bhutanese family’s first months not living between bamboo slats and gravel streets. With his head down, eyes glued to the desk, he’d never felt more alone.
“I was in the middle of this world that I've never been in before. And I felt completely lost,” Subedi recalled over a decade later, sitting in the basement of his family’s grocery store. The now-23-year-old was born and raised in a Nepali refugee camp.
“In Nepal, you’d see the same kids over and over and over, who spoke the same language, dressed the same way; we were all poor. And coming here, it was different.”
Subedi’s culture shock mirrors a journey like thousands before and after it, as refugee families like his began to find safe haven in an unlikely place: rural Pennsylvania.
The city of Lancaster and its surrounding county — about two hours’ drive west of Philadelphia, roughly 30 miles from the Maryland state line — has been a landing zone for refugees for over three decades. In USA TODAY data tracking refugee resettlement from just 2002 to 2019, the city itself received nearly 5,000 people.
One of its most prominent resettlement agencies, a branch of Church World Service, has helped thousands of refugees from nearly 30 countries across roughly 35 years of activity in the region.
Now, the central Pennsylvania city known intrinsically by its Amish roots is reaping the benefits. A dining and art scene recently compared to Brooklyn, economic and demographic impacts — the small city has blossomed from newcomers, some seeking greater opportunity, others escaping the most violent corners of the world.
“The community has thrived because of these refugees,” said Valentina Ross, director of Church World Service Lancaster.
“Lancaster is now what it is because these people have come here, and they have brought their skills, their unique cultures, their desire to grow their families in a safe and productive environment. And they have changed Lancaster.”
Over 70 languages are spoken in the Lancaster school district. Over 20% of the youth speak a language other than English. The county’s population has seen a 6% increase over the last 10 years, and while known for its rural areas, the region’s latest census data also shows the urban population is on the rise.
Sluggish population growth across the rest of the state has led to losing a congressional seat.
That very success can put strain back on continuing resettlement efforts, as costs of living increase and affordable housing opportunities wane in abundance.
New Americans, both refugees and the immigrant population in Lancaster County, contributed $52.5 million in state and local taxes, $103.3 million in federal taxes and held $440.5 million in spending power in 2014 alone, according to a study from New American Economy Research Fund.
More from Pennsylvania: They give at least $273M annually, take less than $25M. Study shows impact of Erie's 12K immigrants
That same population touts nearly a 5% entrepreneurship rate, generating over $37 million in business income, according to the same study. And that figure has likely risen, as the city’s foreign-born population has since increased by nearly 7%.
Nationally, the rate of new entrepreneurs among foreign-born Americans nearly doubles that of the native-born.
Resettlement in the region began with many Russian refugees in the '80s, according to CWS, followed by Vietnamese, Nepalis, Somalians, and later Syrian refugees. More recently, the agency has seen high numbers from the Democratic Republic of Congo, as well as Central American countries.
Back in the basement, Subedi sat between stacks of produce lining cement walls. His family runs Everest International Grocery, a hub for the Bhutanese-Nepali community growing in the area for decades.
His family — once needing to phone for help working their first gas stove — now keeps the shelves stocked with foods and flavors for many immigrant communities. And Subedi, who was once too shy to speak to classmates outside ESL class, has just helped coordinate the installation of the first cricket pitch in Lancaster last summer.
One of over 100,000 escaping "ethnic cleansing" in Bhutan, Subedi doesn't often find himself thinking about economic revitalization.
“We've seen the hardest things in life,” said the youngest of five. “Obviously, you don't want to go back to that, but that has taught us to survive... We don't think much about ‘Oh, because of us, this is happening and that's happening.’
"We’re just trying to live.”
The unintentional economic strategy
Serving dishes overflowed with chicken, rice pilaf, salad and more, as they swung between out-stretched hands and blue floral tablecloth. But Ahmad couldn’t keep from discussing his letter.
On an October night like many others, the Khilo family prepared a meal to welcome new faces into their Lancaster home. Between the clanks of silverware bouncing around him, the eldest of four excitedly told his Syrian family he was becoming a U.S. citizen.
The plan was set. In just over a week, he and his younger brother, Mohammad, would both travel to the ceremony date printed within the envelope he held at the dinner table.
“Becoming an American, especially where I came from, I’m proud. I’m happy,” Mohammad said between bites, his two sisters murmuring in agreement beside him. “It accepted me and my family, brought us over, gave us everything we need.”
The refugee family has filled the small home on West Fredrick Street since resettling in Lancaster in 2015, far away from bombings in Aleppo that left the family with nothing. Far away from chilling demands that Ahmad join militants fighting in Syria. Far away from years spent in Turkey hoping for resettlement. Far away from fear.
The Khilo family members were no strangers to sharing their story.
Across the bustling table, Mustafa Nuur finished his plate with one dollop of yogurt in its center. The former Somalian refugee, living in Lancaster roughly six years, had in many ways brought the table together.
He built a business on it.
Nuur created "Bridge" — a platform for patrons to sign up for dinners hosted by refugee families in the area — aiming to allow these families to make money, while connecting people to their culture, cuisine and stories. He hoped the vision would draw connection between various groups calling Lancaster home.
The Khilo family was his first. By 2020, Nuur had pooled about a dozen host families across the area, nearing 2,700 bookings in his first five years.
The business continued to expand, now seeing Nuur run a Bridge food stand downtown, not far from the city’s historic Central Market. The COVID-19 pandemic seemed to put that growth on hold, but Nuur is confident his vision and other refugee-run businesses will continue to boost Lancaster.
“I'm happy,” he said. “We hope this small town, in the middle of Amish country, can start inspiring other cities to follow suit.”
They’d have good reason.
“Recently there's a bit more celebration around how this history has served us so well as a community economically,” said Tom Baldrige, president and CEO of the Lancaster Chamber of Commerce.
“The immigrant and refugee population has a higher percentage of entrepreneurism than the rest of our community; they so often fill jobs that others don't fill; they continue to contribute in other broadly cultural ways that have evolved to a really obvious strength of our community.”
Research shows foreign-born workers have a net-positive effect on the economy, as native-born population both declines in numbers and increases in age. Future immigrants and their U.S.-born children will also account for 88% of the nation’s population growth from 2015 and 2065, according to Pew Research Center projections.
Though each story is different, the average refugee is expected to be self-sufficient in about 90 days, according to CWS. After utilizing the network’s support system in that timeframe, advocates say families often become contributors to the economy around them.
Nationally speaking, refugees contribute more in taxes than they receive in assistance by about their eighth year, according to National Bureau of Economic Research. By year 20, on average, they'll contribute over $20,000 more than they have ever received in assistance.
“They're not an intentional economic strategy... but they no doubt have positive economic impact,” Baldrige continued. “And I think a lot of communities are wrestling with that right now, in terms of how they position themselves to be welcoming of immigrants and refugees in a political environment that maybe has that as a flashpoint.”
As a business leader in the area for over 30 years, Baldrige imagines this support network, alongside the diversity of refugee business, also helps fuel the city’s growing rates of immigration — and retention.
Immigration to Lancaster County increased the total housing value in the county by $178.2 million, between 2000 and 2014.
Such economic boosts do not always run parallel to refugee resettlement goals.
Affordable housing, alongside access to public transportation and employment opportunities, made Lancaster fertile soil for resettlement operation in the first place. But continued economic success in Central Pennsylvania can tighten that access, as agencies across the state cite affordable housing options as the greatest challenge in resettlement.
In the School District of Lancaster, Adam Aurand is certain his district is "by far" the most diverse in the county.
"But we also have a really, really tight housing market in the school district," said the director of strategic communications. "So, there are oftentimes other places, even some of the more rural school districts, where refugees are placed, just because of the availability of housing."
Lancaster has been changing shape for a long time.
Ancestors of the area's large Amish and Mennonite populations themselves fled persecution, coming to Lancaster in the 18th Century. Value in welcoming people in need of a home hasn't gone anywhere.
Once called “America’s refugee capital” by BBC News, the city's deep resettlement history has come with a network of organizations to get refugees homes and employment. And the layers of diversity settling across the city have allowed it a rich identity beyond its Pennsylvania-Dutch image.
An unknown number of Afghani refugees will soon add to the template.
“A lot of people are picking up on the economic impact of immigrants in their community — whether they join the workforce, whether they actually open up those small businesses, like I did,” said Bridge creator Mustafa Nuur. “It's a very healthy way to improve cities that have seen some economic downfall. Immigrants really do, over time, bring cities back.”
Kelly Powers is a culture reporter for the How We Live team — covering race, culture and identity for the USA TODAY Network's Atlantic Region. Contact her at kepowers@gannett.com or (443) 694-0770, and follow her on Twitter @kpowers01.