Stop into the Amin Restaurant on 531 East La Salle Ave. to find out.

A colorful array of items lay behind the cashier counter: deep red, emerald green and royal blue Muslim prayer rugs; bottles of Hebolene, Vatika, Amila and Tresemmé hair care products; and plastic-protected khimars of various colors and patterns for Muslim women.

“Facebook” and many other perfumes are sold at the restaurant on Barron’s La Salle Avenue.

Henna crème and candles sit behind the glass showcase where DurDur Bakery and Miswak wafer desserts are perched on top.

Jafar Hirmog stands against the backdrop of that merchandise.

His presence before the array of products mainly targeting Somali women is one of many, what some might call, contradictions.

He is a first-generation immigrant in a city which was 97 percent white in 2000.

Hirmog fled Somalia with his family and crossed into neighboring Nairobi, Kenya to escape the war and instability of his home country. The 41-year-old has been in Barron for six years, working at Amin Restaurant & Grocery and visiting Minneapolis on the weekends.

Visiting Minneapolis is a way for Hirmog to connect with a larger community of Somali people.

“[I miss it] a lot,” he said. “The culture, where you were born — you know everybody.”

Those bonds, along with a steep language barrier, explain why most Somalis only socialize with other Somalis, to the chagrin of some townspeople.

Isaak Mohamed is a neighborhood liaison between the Somalis and other Barron residents.

To hear him tell it, immigrants resist total assimilation out of love for their old and new countries; they want to bring the culture from Somalia, but not the violence.

That culture is often conservative and despite Mohamed’s insistence that the Somali community is a Democratic voting block, Hirmog is a Trump supporter.

“Most of (us) are conservative,” he explains. “That’s the way Somali are.”

Although Hirmog acknowledges parts of Trump’s immigration policy have been problematic — he says he knows friends who struggle to bring their families — he still supports him.

“I think he is a straight guy,” Hirmog says. “He keeps his word.”

And despite being unable to vote, Hirmog supports what he perceives as a cultural consistency with the Trump administration.

“Trump does not like the gay people, so [we] like Trump for his cultural way. In the ’90s, people thought if you touch people with AIDS, you get it like that,” he says, snapping his fingers. “Now, people with HIV get the medication, but many people (still) think that way.”

Hirmog, a Muslim, also says he supports the Trump cabinet’s religiosity.

“Respect for religion, that’s another thing,” he adds. “I don’t think (Trump) hates the Muslim, but everything is political: the terrorist guys, they become the Muslim image.”

Like most Somalis in Barron, Hirmog’s faith is strong and perhaps this explains how he can live smack in the middle of Wisconsin’s meth-use capital and seem relatively oblivious to it.

Alcohol, illicit drug use and even accumulating financial interest are all considered haram, or prohibited, by Islamic law.

While Hirmog took those traditions with him when he immigrated, there were realities he was happy to leave behind.

“In Somalia, they kill a lot of people. They don’t care who you are,” he says.

Hirmog was referencing the Somali Civil War between the Somali military, rebels and other groups, which has been raging in different phases for nearly 30 years. Since 1991, several hundred thousand civilians have perished from fighting and famine.

Compared to his old life, America is almost fictional.

“It’s like a movie when you are outside [the country] and you hear about America,” he says, his eyes still wistful. “Somalia is war. Back home, we are the victims. Here you have rights: to have a lawyer, to go to court.”

Now, he makes the best of both worlds.

A perfect example?

Before we leave, he suggests we return for dinner and try the restaurant’s new twist on an Italian oldie: spaghetti with goat meat.

The post Jafar Hirmog: A Somali Immigrant Living the American Dream appeared first on Welcome to Barron.

“The guy had turkey eggs and was driving a ’41 Pontiac,” he said, smiling.

Now Mayala is retired, the proud father of his son, David, and the proud owner of a home along Barron’s Highway 8.

Crimson, sage and amber vestiges of fall blanket the 40 acres of Mayala’s property in defiance of Northern Wisconsin’s impending winter.

He’s been watching the sunlight bounce off the house since he purchased and remodeled it in 1965; for the past 15 years, he has claimed the surrounding 40 acres as well.

This picturesque scene belies the tragedy which struck just yards down the road, at the Closs family home.

Soon after the Closs’ murder and Jayme’s disappearance, Highway 8 was full of sheriffs and FBI agents, who checked with neighbors, but never talked to him.

It’s just as well; Mayala says he didn’t hear anything about the murder.

But he’s been living in Barron for many years, long enough to notice the dirge of methamphetamine use which has disappeared an entire generation and transformed the community.

“I know it’s in the paper every week,” he says about the drug.

According to the Department of Justice, Barron County reported 137 cases of methamphetamine use in 2018, which is the highest number in the state by far — the second-closest county is Outagamie (67).

Captain Dale Hall of the neighboring Polk County says that even successful police apprehensions can’t handle the scale of the problem.

“You know, if you take a hundred pounds off the street, it’s back in a couple days,” Hall says, a tinge of frustration in his voice.

Mayala says he doesn’t know anything about where the meth is coming from, probably because it’s a part of the town he doesn’t experience; instead, he found solace through prayer and work.

Prayer runs especially strong throughout Mayala’s family: his grandparents started a Lutheran church south of Almeno and Mayala’s faith helped him through the loss of his wife of 55 years when she died from Alzheimer’s.

His grandparents’ church has since closed. Today, he attends First Lutheran with Lauretta, a new friend who brings a twinkle to his eye every time he mentions her.

Mayala is lucky.

In this area of Northwestern Wisconsin, support services are in short supply. In fact, the Barron News-Shield reported that after reviewing over 800 surveys, 100 Barron residents placed mental health and substance abuse as two of the top three most-important healthcare concerns for the county.

Captain Hall says the drug problem has worsened since the explosion of meth and specifically blames Governor Scott Walker’s passage of Act 10 as a reason for the reduced revenue and lack of adequate funding.

“We are dealing with third, fourth, fifth generation of meth users (and) there’s no real money to throw at the programs to try and [help] these people out,” he explains, that frustration in his voice more than just a tinge now. “So, you know, we find ourselves driving people literally 10 hours round-trip to get [them] mental health help.”

Mayala voted for Hillary Clinton in 2016. Why?

“Republicans never helped the working man any,” he says with a half-grin.

And working man he was.

Mayala was an operating engineer of heavy machinery for over four decades, earning the 40 acres he calls a backyard, the Jayco trailer parked nearby and the race cars in his garage.I

As the years have stacked up, Mayala comments there have been fewer deer in his backyard.

And that’s not the only demographic change he’s witnessed.

Up until the Somalis arrived, there were only 20 African Americans living in the city in 2000. More recently, African-Americans represent at least 13 percent of the city’s population, many of whom work at the Jennie-O Turkey Factory Wallace Jerome started using the eggs in his 1941 Pontiac.

Mayala remarks that the Somalis seem to do well in school, wryly adding: “There are a few that are a problem, but there a few native [residents] that are a problem too.”

And he doesn’t have much else to say on the subject.

But a call and a few follow-up questions later, he does mention that he will receive a 60-year pin from his job on Friday, Nov. 30 — a celebration of his lifetime of work.

And he also takes a few seconds to summarize his feelings about the 2018 midterm election results in four words spoken with a classic Midwestern lilt and a satisfaction one can hear over the phone:

“’Tis okay with me.”

The post Working, Praying, Racing: John Mayala’s Life as a Barron Resident appeared first on Welcome to Barron.