Like most kids her age, Siloé, the youngest daughter of Sylvan and Sheria Kasondwa, loves to draw.
It was part of why she was so thrilled to get a visit from Kari Miller, CEO and founder of International Neighbors, who recently dropped in on the family to bring new markers and clean sketch pads.
The family also hadn’t seen Miller, their first American friend and neighbor and a former public school teacher, in months.
“Ah, look at you!” said a tearful Miller, who showed up by surprise at the Kasondwa’s front door.
“Welcome home!” said Sylvan, as Sheria blinked back tears.
Most of the Kasondwa family was born in the war-torn Democratic Republic of the Congo but lived in a Ugandan refugee camp for a dozen years before resettling in Charlottesville in 2016. Across their early months, the Kasondwas repeatedly turned to Miller and her group for more granular, but still critical help: how to use an air conditioner. Communicate with landlords. Fill out job applications, navigate car repairs, and when to leave their $2,000-a-month Charlottesville apartment to purchase a more affordable home for their growing family of eight.
Sylvan, a professional tailor, works as a parking attendant at Hershey’s in Stuart’s Draft. Sheria is a certified nurses assistant at Western State Hospital in Staunton.
“Anytime I had a problem, I could just run to her,” Sheria remembered of her early connections with Miller. “Everybody that was around me, like, everybody I knew, said, ‘Go to this lady.”
Miller started International Neighbors a decade ago to connect newcomers with American neighbors who could help them demystify everything, from microwave ovens to new student registration, across their first five years.
But given the Trump administration’s freeze on refugee admissions, and forthcoming changes that are poised to slash the number of newcomers allowed into the U.S. by as much as 95% beginning in early 2026, Miller, her organization, and the 517 refugee families they served are at a turning point, and facing growing hostility.
“I’ve always been proud to be able to educate the community,” said Miller, “that, ‘No, sir, the wall at the border isn’t going to impact my job.’ ‘No, ma’am, the folks from Norway are not refugees because they never had to flee a war.’"
A gun was pulled on International Neighbors’ school bus driver. The group’s domain and database were hacked. Miller says people routinely extend their middle finger at the bus and shout obscenities. Refugee clients report threats.
“2025 gets more and more full of surprises and events that just are unfair and don’t make sense,” Miller said.
While International Neighbors teetered on the brink of collapse, recent donations are helping it limp into 2026. But hate crimes, hunger, and refugee families’ access to basic necessities remain a concern. Miller, who hasn’t earned a paycheck since September, continues to get a stream of messages asking for help.
“I had no idea how much courage it would take to run a non-profit organization,” said Miller. “Like, I just assumed that people genuinely cared about neighbors, you know, and people in our path, and on our path. Because, aren’t we all going toward the same thing? For your family to have enough?”
“There is a saying in my language that whoever is full does not know how somebody who is hungry, how they feel. So, whenever you are full, you think everybody else ate,” Sheria Kasondwa said. “Whoever is trying to say, ‘Oh, why are they coming? They should do this, they should be in their countries,’ he has no idea what these refugees are going through. No idea.”
Miller does, though.
“Little by little, I feel like, once you know your neighbor, and that proximity, you’re not going to hate them, you’re not going to be fearful of them. You’re going be astounded that you ever, ever, ever thought that they were less than.”
This report, provided by Virginia Public Radio, was made possible with support from the Virginia Education Association.