In Springfield, Ohio, chaos, bomb threats -- and English lessons

At a low, squat building in Springfield, Ohio, housing a Haitian community center, the FBI has arrived to investigate menacing phone calls telling this small US town's immigrant community to get out.

But a few rooms over attention has turned to more immediate concerns: how to pronounce "refrigerator."

The syllables mash together, ground up by the five Haitian students seated in front of the white board as they try to flex muscles in their mouth they've never thought about before.

The local volunteers putting on English class are part of a different side of Springfield, which has been drawn into the national spotlight after racist rumors about the immigrants -- amplified by Republican politicians -- have spiraled into bomb threats and harassment.

As the class goes through parts of a house, they find an easier time with "cabinet," as sing-song, Creole-accented cries of "cab-i-net" light up the room.

"I just want to help," says Hope Kaufman, the retiree leading the class. "It's hard to be thrown into a new culture, with a new language. If there's something I can do, even if it's little, that's what I want to do."

The mostly white city in the American Midwest has seen a boom in population in recent years, fueled mostly by Haitians attracted by its economic revival, and new businesses happy to attract laborers.

- 'Poetic' vocabulary -

But frustrations over the growing pains of the city -- where some 10-15,000 Haitians have arrived, in a town that had less than 60,000 people in 2020 -- eventually spiraled into racist rumors the immigrants were stealing and eating people's pets, putting the city in the national spotlight.

None of that chaos, however, is present during the hour-long class, as Kaufman and her colleagues add vocabulary words to the white board, quizzing the Haitians on "sinks," "couches" and "closets."

"In my living room, I have more than one chair," laughs Kaufman explaining, with a smile, the difference between plural and singular.

"OK," deadpans student Edougie Joseph, his eyes locked on the board, laser focused on the lesson.

With nervous giggles students then draw cards for a memory game -- which quickly goes off the rails when they insist on sharing their answers and helping each other.

"I live in this country, and if you don't speak English, you can't work, you can't express yourself to people," Joseph, a factory worker, tells AFP.

But it's not easy.

"The most difficult is refri… refrigere," Yranor Estime adds, before giving up on "refrigerator."

But "cabinet," he adds, "is poetic."

Eventually, the hour is up. Much of the house has been conquered, from "stoves" to "sofas."

Up next week: the bathroom.

nro/md