New York (CNN) 鈥� Alpha Oumar Diallo hunches over a kitchen counter at a library caf茅 in Brooklyn, his nose hovering above a plastic container of brownie batter. Eyebrows furrowed, he tries to pinpoint where this batch went wrong.
鈥淚 don鈥檛 know what you did,鈥� chef Ashley Fils-Aime lectures from behind him, both hands on her hips. 鈥淏ut I can tell you it鈥檚 shiny and dark and not as solid as the other mixtures.鈥�
Diallo and his classmates groan. Can they at least give it a go in the oven, they ask.
Fils-Aime shakes her head.
鈥淭hrow it away,鈥� she says, 鈥渋mmediately.鈥�
However stern, the rebuff is also gentle. It could never match what this man was facing just three years ago.
Back in his native Guinea, Diallo鈥檚 evenings had been a blend of watching soccer and baking. As he kneaded dough for bread, biscuits or cookies, his shouts of 鈥淕oal! Goal! Goal!鈥� echoed through the kitchen, replaced with disappointed grumbles when his favorite player missed a shot.
But as his west African nation鈥檚 government personal and press freedoms, Diallo joined thousands protesting in the capital Conakry. Military personnel , he says, leaving scars. He got arrested, he continues, leading to three months curled up in a tiny prison cell, tortured and starved, the agonized screams of others being electrocuted within earshot.
After another arrest for protesting 鈥� a two-month ordeal 鈥� Diallo鈥檚 family urged him to leave, he says. So, in August 2022, he set out on a grueling, two-week journey through Senegal, to Turkey, across the ocean to Nicaragua, Honduras and Guatemala, then an 11-hour nighttime walk through Mexico to the US border in California.
With little more than a backpack, Diallo eventually made it to New York with the help of his uncle. He struggled for months to find work before a new friend 鈥� aware of his love of baking 鈥� told him about a special school tucked inside a Brooklyn Public Library branch near historic Prospect Park that teaches newcomers like him how to cook.
In a city long celebrated for gastronomic excellence and diverse international cuisines, nearly 60% of New York restaurant workers are , many having brought a wealth of culinary knowledge. Not all arrive, though, with the skills to survive in a professional kitchen. And refugees can face peculiar workplace stresses rooted in the political violence or extreme poverty they fled. For some, the Trump administration鈥檚 now the strain.
Diallo holds up his cell phone to show a photo of his six sisters and mother, still in Guinea, where safety and freedom 鈥� of girls and women 鈥� are not guaranteed. He has requested asylum in the United States and hopes eventually to bring his relatives here, too.
He kisses the screen and smiles. Tears begin to fall.
鈥淎nywhere I go, anywhere I am,鈥� he says, 鈥淚鈥檓 thinking about them.鈥�
Also never far is Diallo鈥檚 work ethic: 鈥淚 learned it from the advice of my father,鈥� he says. 鈥淎 man has to work for himself, for his integrity, for his honor. It isn鈥檛 easy, what we go through to get here or what we have escaped.鈥�
Diallo kisses the phone screen again and wipes his cheek with a small towel.
Then, he turns to grab a fresh container for the next batch of brownie batter.
Finding hope in hopeless times
About 15 minutes away by bus, at this cooking school鈥檚 other caf茅, a quiet morning slips into a busy afternoon, soft light spilling over every table. In the corner by the windows, two gray-haired friends trade cups of coffee, pausing to contemplate flavors. Eyebrows lifted in approval, they dive back into a passionate exchange of stories.
Migrants shape every corner of the place, which like its counterpart at the Brooklyn library is called Emma鈥檚 Torch to honor the on the Statue of Liberty鈥檚 pedestal beckon the world鈥檚 鈥渢ired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.鈥�
Ani Tsetskhladze, in a black apron and a cap, chops up onions, peppers and mushrooms for an omelet sandwich soon to be served to the table where a couple, immersed in playful banter, sip glasses of red wine.
Her apron bears a simple quote: 鈥淚n the eyes of the stove, we are all equal.鈥�
鈥淎fter my first week here, I realized I didn鈥檛 know many things about myself,鈥� Tsetskhladze says a few minutes later, sitting with her hands in her lap. 鈥淚 was always a very quiet person inside. But now I see I am very competitive. You come here and you start learning, and you immediately want to be the best.鈥�
The soft-spoken mother of three immigrated from the former Soviet republic of with her husband 鈥� her love since they were 9 years old 鈥� and their three children.
鈥淭he Georgian government is now pro-Russian, and there is severe discrimination against minority groups,鈥� Tsetskhladze explains. 鈥淓verything went from worse to worse for us. I was on the street demonstrating, and we were tired. For our children, I would like a better life.鈥�
Georgia鈥檚 ruling party a 鈥渇oreign agents鈥� bill likened to Russian laws used to silence dissent. Hundreds of arrestees have alleged beatings, torture and other ill-treatment by law enforcement, while opposition politicians have faced
In Tbilisi, Tsetskhladze was an actress who quietly dreamt of attending culinary school, an ambition she could not afford. Breaking into New York鈥檚 competitive theatre scene, especially with a language barrier, proved challenging, so when Tsetskhladze found Emma鈥檚 Torch, it felt like destiny.
Tsetskhladze and other migrants in this kitchen are among over 500 students at this school who are paid to get culinary training, funded by private donors. The non-profit鈥檚 mission is to empower them and help them gain employment, confidence and financial independence while overcoming the challenges and traumas of forced migration.
Culinary careers also can present invaluable opportunities for immigrants, especially in New York, where they can embrace their full identities 鈥� including their knowledge of native dishes 鈥� in the rich mosaic of ethnic restaurants.
The menus at both Emma鈥檚 Torch caf茅s 鈥� plus one in Washington, DC, and its catering operation 鈥� reflect this diversity. Dishes like the black-eyed pea fritter salad and North African shakshuka are inspired by students鈥� cultural identities. The menus are part of the curriculum, so students learn how to master every recipe.
鈥淲e also learn about the history of food, especially talking about colonization through food. What does it mean to have certain flavors, like hummus, that originated in some countries now be seen as the norm in others?鈥� says Kira O鈥橞rien, Emma鈥檚 Torch鈥檚 chief impact officer.
While 60% of the culinary program curriculum is divided into fundamentals, covering skills like knife techniques, kitchen sanitation, food safety and recipe reading, the remainder focuses on equity, employability and empowerment. A 鈥淜now Your Rights鈥� workshop, for instance, helps migrants understand the law and learn self-advocacy. Students also learn to read a paycheck 鈥� and protect against wage theft and employer exploitation.
Some workshops are led by Natalie Manukian, a program specialist whose lesson on a recent day focuses on how students should research restaurants, using three specific examples. The daughter of Armenian immigrants, Manukian wears an pendant over her black turtleneck, her hair in an elegant, messy bun.
鈥淭his is the country of immigrants,鈥� she says. 鈥淲hether you were born here or your parents were born here, somebody in your lineage immigrated to this country, and no one should have the right to decide who can or can鈥檛 be here.鈥�
The value of trauma-informed training
Vicheslav Komotopchyk prefers not to dwell on his trauma. He leans back against the wall, his classmates listening as they cook, and recalls the day he fled Ukraine after , one of some 10 million Ukrainians now displaced by the war.
鈥淭ake your time,鈥� he says he first told his children as they prepared to flee. Fifteen minutes later, a missile flew past their kitchen window, striking a few blocks away and shaking their house, he says.
鈥淎fter that I told them, 鈥楴ever mind, hurry!鈥欌��
Within minutes that day, Komotopchyk鈥檚 wife, three children and father-in-law 鈥� along with hastily packed backpacks 鈥� were crammed into a minibus, he continues. They drove for nearly 28 hours, he recalls, slowed by heavy evacuation traffic until they reached Warsaw, Poland.
鈥淚 don鈥檛 like to think about it,鈥� he says, shrugging. 鈥淲e did what we had to do, that鈥檚 it. I can鈥檛 keep counting: How many rockets? How many bombs? How many people died?鈥�
Almost every student at Emma鈥檚 Torch has a story like this: fleeing war or violence, driven by the choice to pursue a safe future for their families or lose everything.
鈥淲hen you鈥檙e working with folks who have experienced trauma, there are certain things that we try to be really mindful of,鈥� O鈥橞rien says from a table in front of the library caf茅.
In New York, where waves of undocumented immigrants and asylum-seekers arriving by bus from Texas have , sudden shifts 鈥� in public policy or daily routine 鈥� can be devastating. Some 234,000 migrants have come through the city intake system since spring of 2022, with more than 41,000 still relying on shelters, Mayor Eric Adam鈥檚 office told CNN in April.
鈥淲e try to make sure they鈥檙e feeling psychologically safe,鈥� O鈥橞rien says of Emma鈥檚 Torch鈥檚 students. 鈥淏ut when you have ambiguity about your own physical safety on where you鈥檙e going to live and things are out of your control, they become really scary, especially for survivors of forced migration.鈥�
The cooking school collaborates with other non-profits to make sure each student gets health care, shelter, food and access to immigration lawyers. Meanwhile, instructors teach with a focus on transparency and accountability.
鈥淚f I鈥檓 going to say, 鈥楬ey, can you bring this upstairs?鈥� I鈥檓 going to say, 鈥楬ey, can you bring this upstairs because they鈥檙e going to need it later for service?鈥欌�� O鈥橞rien explains. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 very different from the experience a lot of our students have had, where it鈥檚 been: 鈥楪et in that line.鈥� You don鈥檛 know why you鈥檙e in that line, you don鈥檛 know what鈥檚 gonna happen to your kids, you don鈥檛 know anything.鈥�
Students also are empowered to make their own decisions, from which marker their teacher will use on the whiteboard to new menu suggestions. The authority, O鈥橞rien says, is deeply meaningful, especially to migrants living in shelters, where they have no say in where they sleep, what they eat or, sometimes, what they wear.
鈥淭hink about all the different ways across the migration experience that people lose pieces of their humanity,鈥� O鈥橞rien says. 鈥淭rauma-informed care tries to help add those pieces right back.鈥�
The art of starting over, again and again
In the kitchens of Emma鈥檚 Torch, migrants run nearly the whole operation. And for his part, Diallo isn鈥檛 giving up on the brownies.
He pours out a fresh round of batter and slides the tray into the oven.
After one of his releases from a Guinean prison, his friends and family begged him to stop protesting. 鈥淏ut I was not fighting for myself,鈥� Diallo says with conviction. 鈥淚 was fighting for the future, for the new generation.鈥�
Now, he longs for those evenings back home, baking interrupted by soccer chatter and the giggles of his mother and sisters. He yearns to walk the streets of his hometown, to hear his native language, to feel his land beneath his feet again.
Above all, he dreams of a homeland where freedom is not just a hope.
Diallo also wishes for freedom for himself in the United States, even amid his concerns the 鈥� already long and uncertain 鈥� will be more challenging under Trump鈥檚 governance.
鈥淚f you don鈥檛 have freedom, to me, dying is better,鈥� he says.
In this New York kitchen, he can taste it.
The oven timer dings. The scent of brownies fill the air.
鈥淎nd thank God,鈥� he says, 鈥淚 am finally free.鈥�
The-CNN-Wire
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