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America TonightMon-Fri 9:30pm ET/6:30pm PT
America Tonight

Driven: 3 immigrant cabbies on the road to their American dreams

America Tonight profiles three immigrant cab drivers who are striving to build better lives for their families

April 11, 2014 2:30PM ET
by Chris Bury @ChrisBuryNews

In past eras, new immigrants built America's railroads, and made our country's garment industry. Today, thousands of new arrivals to America get a license to drive a cab.

The driver's seat of a taxicab is a life in constant motion, a life often chosen by people who have uprooted themselves to navigate a new country. In the last couple decades, foreign-born workers have become the majority of cab drivers in America’s biggest metropolises. In New York City, only 6 percent of cabbies are from the U.S., according to a December report from the Taxi & Limousine Commission. Like other first jobs for new immigrants, driving a cab involves lots of hard work and hustle. Unlike other first jobs though, it involves learning a city’s streets better than the people born and raised there.

In our “Driven” series, America Tonight shone a spotlight on the stories of immigrants who drive cabs around three major cities. When the average annual pay of a cab driver is $23,000, are their lives in the U.S. what they expected? Have they built a better life than they would have in their native countries? Is the taxicab a modern symbol of the American dream?

Iraqi boxing champ shuttles Chicagoans

While many Chicago cabbies are known for their storytelling, Estaifan Shilaita’s personal history might be the most interesting tale. He went from bobbing and weaving in the boxing ring in Iraq to bobbing and weaving in Windy City traffic. Once a huge boxing star in Iraq, he was persecuted because of his Christian faith, and followed his wife to America in hopes of a better life. Shilaita began driving a taxi to support their family of six, and 15 years later, he hasn't missed a day of work. 

Shilatia likes to entertain passengers with his own homespun version of "Cash Cab" – a free ride if they guess his home country.
Chicago cabbie Estaifan Shilatia likes to entertain passengers with his own homespun version of "Cash Cab," the TV show that pays taxi riders who answer trivia question correctly. His customers don't win any money, but Shilatia offers them a free ride if they guess his native country on the first try. America Tonight
Growing up in Basra, Iraq’s southernmost city, Shilatia dominated the country’s light-heavyweight boxers.
Growing up in Basra, Iraq’s southernmost city, Shilatia dominated the country’s light-heavyweight boxers. “I was champion,” he said. “I was beating every champion in Iraq in my way.” From 1968 to 1976, Shilatia was Iraq's national champion in his weight class. But as a Christian, he could not represent his Muslim country beyond its borders. “When I box, step in the ring, I do the cross and I pray before the fight. Some Muslims, they boo on me.” courtesy photo
In Iraq, Shilatia was seen as an outsider on two counts. He wasn’t Muslim or Arab.
In Iraq, Shilatia was seen as an outsider on two counts. He wasn’t Muslim or Arab. He’s Christian and Assyrian – a proud ethnic group that traces its heritage and native language of Aramaic to ancient Babylon, which he likes to remind his passengers. “We used to control the world, now we are minority all over the world as a culture. Religion, we are the first people [to] believe Jesus, the first Christian.” courtesy photo
In Greece, a young woman caught his eye. And his life took another abrupt turn.
Proud of his identity, and fearful that his religious beliefs would end his boxing career in Iraq, Shilaita left his trophies behind and fled. “My family, they told me, ‘Estaifan, don't stay here. You are a good boxer. You're beating every champion, they don't let you represent Iraq. Run away from this country, because you're going to be good boxer.” After traveling to Jordan then Greece, a young woman caught his eye. And his life took another abrupt turn. courtesy photo
“First time I saw her, I love her,” Shilatia recalls of meeting his now wife.
“First time I saw her, I love her,” Shilatia recalls of meeting his now wife. “I told her, ‘I’m going to Australia,’ and she say, "My family, they are in America and I’m going to go to Chicago and we're going to stay in Chicago.’ … She said, ‘If you love me, you can come with me.’” So, in 1979, the young lovers came to Chicago – far removed from the desert landscape of Basra. He married Anna, also an Assyrian Christian from Iraq. They are still happily married 37 years later. America Tonight
Shilaita wears his wedding band on his right hand because he broke his left hand boxing.
Shilaita wears his wedding band on his right hand because he broke his left hand boxing. “A lot of people, they told me, ‘This is right hand now. Are you engaged?’ I say, ‘No, I’ve been married, but my hand is broke. I can't put it here.’” America Tonight
In Iraq, Shilaita had to keep his Christianity quiet. But here, in Chicago, in his taxi, he proudly displays a crucifix.
In Iraq, Shilaita had to keep his Christianity quiet. But here, in Chicago, in his taxi, he proudly displays a crucifix on his rearview mirror. “Before I leave, I kiss my cross and I pray – me and my wife – and go to work.” America Tonight
After he arrived in Chicago, Shilaita got back into the ring.
After he arrived in Chicago, Shilaita got back in the ring – this time as a professional. He signed up with a big-time promoter, the former heavyweight champ Ernie Terrell. Shilaita won five bouts and lost two. But by then, he was pushing 30. And the last fight, the one that broke his hand and nose, was enough for his young wife. “She said, 'No, no, I want your face straight. I don't want you to fight no more." courtesy photo
At home, Shilaita's kids grew up thinking their parents had a lot in common with the boxing hero and his anxious girlfriend from “Rocky.”
At home, Shilaita's kids grew up thinking their parents had a lot in common with the boxing hero and his anxious girlfriend from the movie “Rocky.” “She didn't want to be in the ring, or be next to him in the ring, to see him suffer or in pain. So it's honestly like a Rocky and Adrian kind of thing,” his daughter Sweedlana told America Tonight. America Tonight
Now, Estaifan's only fights are with Chicago’s tangled traffic and its brutal winters.
Now, Estaifan's only fights are with Chicago’s tangled traffic and its brutal winters. After years of working for others, he saved up to buy a Chicago taxi medallion – now worth nearly $400,000 – so he could be his own boss. For 15 years, he has been behind the wheel every single day, paying for his kids to get through college and a modest home in the suburbs. America Tonight
“I told my kids, ‘you never know what you're going to be in this country.’"
“I told my kids, ‘You never know what you're going to be in this country.’ God bless America. I told them three years ago, four years ago, ‘Who believes there’s going to be black president in this country?’” America Tonight
Like so many immigrant families, they embrace two cultures: the old world and the new.
Like so many immigrant families, the Shilaitas embrace two cultures: the Old World and the New. Not long before the Sept. 11 attacks, the Iraqi boxing champion became an American citizen. “I told my kids, 'You're born in this country, you are citizen of this country.' And when I got the citizen of this country, I told them, ‘Now I am the top of the world. I am citizen of this country.’” America Tonight
Shilaita backs an easier path to citizenship for other immigrants. But he has no patience for newcomers who complain about this country.
Shilaita backs an easier path to citizenship for other immigrants, but he has no patience for newcomers who complain about this country. “I say, ‘Hey, listen, you come here, this country is paradise country to the world. You don't like this country, get the hell out of here.'” Any passenger who slides into his cab is certain to hear him say one thing again and again. "God bless America. God bless America." America Tonight

A change of plans in New York

Originally from Nepal, Yogesh Dangol, 36, spent most of his life near the city of Katmandu, where he went to law school and obtained a master's degree in sociology. Curiosity about the American dream brought him to the U.S., but when none of his school credits could transfer here, he needed money quickly. Dangol started working in fast food, then became a cabbie. His driving supports his wife and two teenage kids, along with extended family back home. He considers his life in America a temporary sacrifice, and hopes to return to Nepal once he gets his kids to college.

For five years now, Yogesh Dangol has been driving one of the 13,000 yellow cabs that are as much a part of New York City’s identity as the Manhattan skyline.
For five years now, Yogesh Dangol has been driving one of the 13,000 yellow cabs that are as much a part of New York City’s identity as the Manhattan skyline. Like 94 percent of New York City’s 43,000 taxi drivers, Dangol was born in another country. America Tonight
Dangol’s story begins in a village in Nepal, tucked into the Himalayas between India and China.
Dangol’s story begins in a village in Nepal, tucked into the Himalayas between India and China. At age 16, he was married to a 14-year-old girl he had never seen before. “My mother chose her, and then I decided I just agree with my mother,” he said with a laugh. With a wife and two children to support, Dangol earned a law degree and went to work at a law firm in Katmandu, Nepal’s biggest city. courtesy photo
In Katmandu, he says, ambitious young men are often told America is the place to fulfill dreams that are out of reach in Nepal’s poor agricultural economy.
In Katmandu, he says, ambitious young men are often told America is the place to fulfill dreams that are out of reach in Nepal’s poor agricultural economy. "Everyone wants to go to America, wants to see the America. 'Oh, what is America? What is there?' They have a big dream about the America, and very positive thinking about America," he said. Many people think they’ll live like kings in the U.S., he said. courtesy photo
But after arriving in New York, Dangol quickly realized he would not be treated like royalty.
But after arriving in New York, Dangol quickly realized he would not be treated like royalty. No law school would honor his degree from Kathmandu University. He figured an American law school would cost at least $100,000 and he was running out of money, so Dangol found fast food jobs – first at Dunkin’ Donuts then at Subway. “I work there for seven months, and one guy told me that there's a lot of money in the taxi.” America Tonight
Now 36, Dangol has put his own dreams on hold.
Now 36, Dangol has put his own dreams on hold. A well-educated lawyer in his own country, he’s also fluent in three languages. But here, he drives his taxi six days a week so he can send money back to his parents in Nepal and save for his sons' college education. America Tonight
Dangol shares a third-floor walkup with his wife and teenage sons in a working-class neighborhood in Queens.
Dangol shares a third-floor walkup with his wife and teenage sons in a working-class neighborhood in Queens. The kids understand the sacrifice he is making for them. “He wanted us to have a better life,” one of his sons said. America Tonight
Dangol often thinks the slower, spiritual pace of his native Nepal are out of place in the hustle and bustle of Manhattan.
The family is Hindu, and Dangol often thinks that his slower, spiritual pace, born of his native Nepal, is out of place in the hustle and bustle of Manhattan. In New York, Dangol has found that the American dream is fueled by a hectic, workaholic culture. His passengers rarely have time for small talk. “Everyone is busy here. ‘Oh, I have a 5 minutes to be there.’ ‘Please hurry up, hurry up.’ ‘Oh, make the light. Make the light.’” America Tonight
At home, Dangol speaks in his native Nepali and writes a column for New York’s Nepali-language newspaper.
At home, Dangol speaks in his native Nepali and he writes a column for New York’s Nepali-language newspaper. He senses in his fellow immigrants a frustration that the dreams they chase are often out of reach. “They don't get the own level of respect from the people … They just miss their identity. It's a big pond, and they become a small fish. I think that is the thing, that they're depressed. And they're trying to get something better, and it's not easy here.” America Tonight
If Dangol has any regrets about trading his life as a lawyer in Nepal to be a New York cabbie, he keeps them to himself.
But if Dangol has any regrets about trading his life as a lawyer in Nepal to be a New York cabbie, he keeps them to himself. “I enjoy this job. Everyone should drive a cab in New York City once in their life. … I love the people who've been living here. They're really nice, and some are crazy, and really, I enjoy with them.” But he has no plans to become a U.S. citizen for fear he would lose many of his rights back in Nepal. America Tonight
Once his kids head off to college, Dangol and his wife plan to return to Nepal.
Once his kids head off to college, Dangol and his wife plan to return to Nepal. courtesy photo
Like so many ambitious and educated immigrants, Dangol arrived in this country with great hopes for the future. He settled for something less.
Like so many ambitious and educated immigrants, Dangol arrived in this country with great hopes for the future. He settled for something less. But he is comfortable with the compromise. “I never complain about my life, because I know nothing’s going to be changed when you worry about this things. Whatever it comes, we just have to accept it. I couldn't be a great man in America, but still, I am happy that I’m a taxi driver, from where I can learn so many things.” America Tonight

Driving for half her life

Among the hills of San Francisco, one woman is navigating her new life behind the wheel. After her family’s home country of Eritrea was torn apart by a brutal civil war, Senait “Freedom” Tekle sought refuge in the U.S. and became one of the few female cabbies in the American workforce.

Senait Tekle’s day begins, without fail, at a coffee shop near San Francisco’s Union Square
Senait Tekle’s day begins, without fail, at a coffee shop near San Francisco’s Union Square. Known to everyone as "Freedom," the 39-year-old is starting another very long workweek. She puts in 12 hours behind the wheel of a red Ford Escape every day, seven days a week. America Tonight
Tekle and her fiancé lease Royal Taxi No. 699. She started driving a cab only six months ago after losing her job as a home care aide for the elderly.
Tekle and her fiancé lease Royal Taxi No. 699. She started driving a cab only six months ago after losing her job as a home care aide for the elderly. “My fiancé was like, ‘OK, you know what, why don't you drive a taxi?’ I said, ‘Oh that's scary, you know, I don't think I can do it.’ He said, ‘Yes, you can do it. You know how to drive. You know how to read. You know how to speak English, so you can do it.’ So I wasn't really sure but after a little I decided, ‘OK, let me just do it then.’” America Tonight
For Tekle, the hills of San Francisco are a long way – more than 9,000 miles – from the horn of Africa where she grew up.
For Tekle, the hills of San Francisco are a long way – more than 9,000 miles – from the horn of Africa where she grew up. Her parents fled Eritrea – a poor country about the size of Pennsylvania – during its 30-year war for independence from Ethiopia, where she was born. Her birth name Senait is Arabic for "lucky." courtesy photo
Her nickname Freedom came later. “My dad gave it to me … because he wants freedom for his country.”
Her nickname Freedom came later. “My dad gave it to me … because he wants freedom for his country.” In Ethiopia’s capital of Addis Ababa, her family lived in fear, hiding their true nationality because Eritreans were considered the enemy. The very concept of freedom was foreign to her family. Speaking your mind could be a death sentence. courtesy photo
Her family fled to Kenya, spending time in a refugee camp. But, at age 22, she left Africa.
Her family fled to Kenya, spending time in a refugee camp. Then, at age 22, she left Africa entirely. In 1996, Tekle was allowed to come to the United States as a political refugee. Her first stop was Seattle, on her relatives advice, because of its large Eritrean community. But she had a hard time adjusting. “It was too much rain. I didn't like it. It was so depressing.” After seven years in Seattle, she left for California.
In San Francisco, as in most big American cities, nearly all taxi drivers are immigrants.
In San Francisco, as in most big American cities, nearly all taxi drivers are immigrants. But Tekle is among the relatively few women who drive cabs for a living. She said she feels safe driving a cab during the day, but not at night. America Tonight
Twelve years ago, after spending the first part of her life as a refugee from war and political turmoil, Tekle became a U.S. citizen.
Twelve years ago, after spending the first part of her life as a refugee from war and political turmoil, Tekle became a U.S. citizen, which made it easier for her to travel. “Being in America, wherever you go you're more respected,” she said. “It's easier for you to do whatever you want to do. At the same time you can say, ‘Yeah I’m a U.S. citizen.’” But this new citizen believes that Americans born here don't always appreciate their freedom and privileges, saying many take too much for granted. America Tonight
Like so many recent immigrants, Tekle sends money back to her family. Her parents have returned to Eritrea, where the average income is about $500 a year.
Like so many recent immigrants, Tekle sends money back to her family. Her parents have returned to Eritrea, where the average income per person is about $500 a year. While in San Francisco, Tekle earns up to $150 a day chasing the American dream. Asked if she sees herself driving a cab in 15 years, she laughs. “I hope not,” she said. “No, if I can I will take some classes maybe own my own business or something.” America Tonight
Tekle said she and her fiancé hope to wed soon, but “we have to make a little money first,” she says with a laugh.
Tekle and her fiancé hope to wed soon, but “we have to make a little money first,” she said with a laugh. Until then, most of her waking hours are spent behind the steering wheel. Now, she has a deeper understanding of what her father so desperately craved in Eritrea, and why he gave her the nickname that he did. Would her father appreciate the freedom she now has in the United States? “Oh yeah, definitely,” she said. “Of course. Freedom is beautiful.” America Tonight
Late each day, Tekle hands over the SUV to her fiancé. A fleeting kiss is their only shared moment.
At the end of each day, Tekle hands over the SUV to her fiancé. A fleeting kiss is their only shared moment. For the next 12 hours, he drives the night shift. And, just as the sun comes up, she’ll take back the keys and begin chasing her dreams all over again. America Tonight

Editing by Dave Gustafson and Claire Gordon

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