The Fear of Uncertainty

By: Wael Rabeay, Case Manager

As usual, I found myself sitting on those uneven seats in the small waiting area tucked into a corner of XNA airport. The whole place felt like a metaphor—half-finished, slightly chaotic, under renovation. It was late. I was waiting for the Salim family (name changed for privacy), the last refugee family I would welcome before the pause on new arrivals was announced.

Their flight had landed, but they were delayed coming through baggage claim. This happens often. Imagine arriving in a place you’ve only seen in your dreams, navigating a foreign airport after days of travel, surrounded by signs you can’t read and languages you barely recognize.

Kevin, one of our board members, and I got up to see if we could spot them. But by then, theirs was the last incoming flight of the night, and security wasn’t letting anyone past the gates. A kind officer stepped in to help, pointing the family toward us from the other side.

And then, there they were.

I saw them before they saw me—eyes scanning the crowd, taking in the unfamiliar faces, the swirl of languages, the blur of motion. You could read the exhaustion on their faces, but also something deeper: the fear of stepping into the unknown. Of starting over. Of wondering if they’d made the right decision to leave everything behind.

And then our eyes met, and I greeted them in Arabic. I cannot explain the shift that happens in these moments—the visible relief that washes over someone when they hear their own language in an unfamiliar land. Smiles followed. Handshakes. Words of welcome.

We guided them through baggage claim where the rest of the Canopy welcome team was waiting—Tasha from our board, my colleague Shabnam, and members of their Circle of Welcome holding handmade signs and a bouquet of flowers. Simple things, maybe. But to the Salim family, they meant everything. I could see it happening in real time: fear giving way to relief, anxiety melting into hope. Their exhaustion seemed to lift just a bit as they realized they were not alone here.

They asked me, almost immediately, if the changes in the U.S. government would affect them.
I wanted to give them certainty. I wanted to promise them that everything would be fine.
But I told them the truth: “None of us can predict the future. But Canopy is here for you. We will not let you down.”

And I meant it.

Our executive director, Joanna Krause, has said it again and again over these past few difficult weeks:
We won’t abandon the refugees in our community.

Even as new arrivals pause, we continue to walk alongside the 750+ people already here in Northwest Arkansas, people who are building new lives and contributing to the rich diversity and strength of this place we all call home.

The Salim family may have been the last family we welcomed for now, but the work doesn’t stop. The promise of the Long Welcome continues—because refugees are not just arriving. They are staying. They are our neighbors.

And in times of uncertainty, the most powerful thing we can do is keep showing up for each other.

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