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thedrifter
05-14-09, 07:14 AM
Though Navy family is so far apart, still bound by love

The Virginian-Pilot
May 14, 2009

Machinist's mate Sallyvidia Isiaho shipped out Wednesday morning aboard the amphibious assault ship Bataan, bound for the Mediterranean and Persian Gulf with two other ships and 4,000 fellow sailors and Marines.

On the pier in a brilliant green dress, his wife, Teresia, bade the ship goodbye before heading back to base housing. There she will wait for him and for their young son, who is nearly 7,500 miles away in their native Kenya.

Sallyvidia came to the United States in the spring of 2005, after winning a green-card lottery. He stayed with his sister, a nurse in Silver Spring, Md., and did odd jobs to pay his way.

The following year, he was walking down the street when he passed a series of military recruiters. He had been interested in the military in Kenya but lacked the connections necessary to join.

Sallyvidia spoke with the different services and decided to go with the Navy on two conditions: that it give him an education and help get his wife and son to America.

Sold, the Navy said.

Sallyvidia enlisted in March 2007. Before he did, however, Teresia beseeched him to return to Kenya and explain the Navy life to her.

Enlisting had put him on the fast track to U.S. citizenship, he told her. This meant he could bring her to the United States. It meant they could raise their family there, buoyed by a steady federal salary.

Teresia gave her blessing and Sallyvidia was off to boot camp. Soon after, they began the paperwork for her green card. Her immigration status was still in flux during a second visit Sallyvidia made to Kenya during Christmas 2007. Then, life took a dark turn.

During national elections in Kenya, President Mwai Kibaki was re-elected in a race his opponent alleged was rigged. Violence erupted all over the country as several tribes targeted Kibaki's - the Kikuyu.

Sallyvidia is a member of the Luya tribe. Teresia, however, is a Kikuyu and had reason to be fearful as mobs raged through the countryside, assaulting and killing other Kikuyus. About 1,500 people had been killed and 600,000 displaced by the time the violence ended.

Sallyvidia was under orders to return to the U.S. and report for duty. He had to leave Teresia and their nearly 15-month-old son, Bill Braham, behind.

Teresia fled to the capital, Nairobi, where she and Bill Braham moved in with an aunt, and she vowed never to return to their former home. Her concern wasn't just her tribal affiliation - if people knew her husband was in the United States, they would assume Teresia had lots of money and she could be targeted.

The months dragged on and the family remained apart. Sallyvidia got his citizenship in March 2008, but Teresia kept hitting bureaucratic snags.

The Bataan's legal office and commanders got involved, reaching out to immigration officials and giving Sallyvidia the support he needed.

"He's one of mine," said Capt. Sam Howard, the ship's commanding officer. "His issues are my issues."

Persistence and patience paid off, and the couple were finally reunited last month, nearly 18 months after Sallyvidia had left Kenya during the post-election violence.

But the reunion was not complete. Teresia had come alone.

Sallyvidia had originally applied as a green-card holder for their son to immigrate. Now that he was a citizen, he had to restart the process, which could take another six months.

"It's like torture," Teresia said. "Every woman has to be strong."

In the meantime, Bill Braham is living with his grandmother near Nairobi.

His father will be deployed for seven months. Though the Isiahos have spent so much time apart, they say they have done the right thing. America is where they want to make their lives.

Teresia would like to be a pediatric nurse. Sallyvidia said he can see himself doing 20 years in the Navy - he hopes to make petty officer third class this year. But those two decades pass one deployment at a time.

On Wednesday, the couple stood on the pier at Norfolk Naval Station, shuffling their feet, staring into the distance, small-talking in Swahili.

"I'm just going to weep," Teresia said.

Just after 11 a.m., the Bataan pulled away.

Now the waiting begins again.

Matthew Jones, (757) 446-2949, matthew.jones@pilotonline.com

Ellie