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DAN OLSON: When people have lost their family, friends, and home to war, and have little more than the shirt on their back for personal possessions, it's no wonder, Osman Sahardeed says, they see Minnesota's growing economy as a beacon on the horizon.

OSMAN SAHARDEED: Nobody came here for the weather. But the word went out before even they come from the refugee camps from Kenya that Minnesota is the place to go. And there's a lot of jobs around there.

DAN OLSON: Sahardeed left Somalia well ahead of the East African nation's Civil War in 1991. He and others watched clan warfare destroy the government and the economy. Somalia's Civil War sputters along and leaves the already impoverished country of 9 million in such a lawless condition, the US State Department tells travelers to stay out.

Now Sahardeed works for the Somali community of Minnesota. Like groups serving other refugees, the Minneapolis-based organization gets public money to help Somali refugees find housing and jobs.

[MUSIC PLAYING]

Lawlessness also plagues some of the streets in Minneapolis's Phillips neighborhood. But compared to his hometown of Mogadishu, Kareem [? Gear ?] finds Phillips a safe haven for his new business, [? Djeziri ?] Entertainment, a small storefront on Chicago Avenue, selling tapes, CDs, videos, and crafts from African nations, including Somalia.

Hundreds of Somali families have settled in Phillips and surrounding neighborhoods. Like the majority of Somalis arriving in Minnesota, [? Gear ?] took any job he could find.

SPEAKER 3: Yes, actually, I started in the airport. And I sky shift in the airport in Lufthansa. And I was doing in a flight checking and also customer service.

DAN OLSON: Airports, fast food outlets, parking ramps-- any place there's work, it's likely a Somali. Then by word of mouth, a cousin or a brother or a nephew of a Somali has found work. The rest of Kareem [? Gear's ?] family is in Arizona. He says they're moving to Minnesota in August to find jobs.

State officials say Somalis with enough English language can find work paying $7, even $9 an hour, substantially higher than wages in other states. Minnesota's Somali population has doubled the past two years to 8,000. People who help them find housing and jobs say dozens more are arriving every week.

[ENGINE REVVING]

[VEHICLES HONKING]

Todd Carlson's family owned printing business is a block away from Kareem Gear's store. He doesn't know any Somalis he says or anything about their religion and culture. He sees no reason why they should be anything but a positive influence. A big window in his office affords a panoramic view of Franklin and Chicago, until this summer, an intersection rife with drug dealers.

TODD CARLSON: One thing in the Phillips neighborhood that I do notice about them that I don't think that they're causing a lot of trouble. And I think people are well aware that there is trouble in this neighborhood. So in that respect, I can say that, in my mind, I would say they're welcome because they perhaps-- they're not here for the same reasons that a lot of other people have moved into the neighborhood.

DAN OLSON: With some exceptions, Carlson's live and let live attitude is common in the Minnesota towns and cities where Somalis are finding homes and jobs. The exceptions are the white men who beat up a Somali boy and man last year in Rochester. One of the attackers got an 11-year prison sentence, and three others were given shorter terms.

The racist acts prompted Rochester officials to call for residents to take a pledge of non-violence. The incidents sparked outrage among Somalis, but they say most Minnesota residents welcomed them.

LUL HASSAN HUSSEIN: Hello, Somali community of Minnesota can I help you please? Line 1. [? Adani, ?] line 1.

DAN OLSON: Many of the Somalis arriving in Minnesota are the families, or what's left of them, reuniting. Before the war, Dr. Lul Hassan Hussein was an obstetrician-gynecologist in Mogadishu. The 34-year-old mother of three lives in Minneapolis raising six children, including three of her own. Her husband, father, and brother were killed in the Civil War. Also killed were her nephew and his wife. She took their children with her.

Hussein made it to a Kenyan refugee camp where she waited seven years for permission to come to the United States. She says she and the thousands of other Somalis in the camp lived in tents with no running water. She says a fifth of the residents died from preventable diseases.

LUL HASSAN HUSSEIN: The people-- those who lived in the refugee camp, they got malaria. They got diarrhea. They get many problems like that. So they didn't get enough food, enough medicine. So if I tell as average, maybe 20% or 30% died every month.

DAN OLSON: The families who make it out alive often split up to find housing and work. Saynab [? Abdi ?] graduated from Roosevelt High School this spring. She's living in Minneapolis with a sister, a brother, and another sister live in Seattle. Saynab says her parents and a couple of other siblings are in Maine, where her father has found a job as a teacher. She'll visit her parents, but Saynab says she wants to stay in Minneapolis.

SAYNAB: I don't really like going back there because it's a boring place. All you got to do is stay home, go to school. But I don't think I'm going back there.

DAN OLSON: 18-year-old Saynab's uncovered head, her bright yellow short sleeved Nike athletic shirt and baggy corduroy pants are in sharp contrast to a group of older women a few feet away, listening carefully to her conversation in the Somali community organization lobby. In observance of Islamic teaching, their flowing garments cover them head to toe with little but hands and face exposed.

No matter how willingly Minnesotans extend their hand to welcome Somalis, some cultural misunderstanding is inevitable. Lul Hassan Hussein says Muslim women are allowed to shake the hands of only a few men.

LUL HASSAN HUSSEIN: Like your father, like your husband, like your brother, your son, and your nephew. But the rest of that, you can't shake your hand, whether he is your neighbor or your relative or the same religion or whatever. No, you can't shake the hand. The religion says that.

SPEAKER 7: That's our rock music.

[SOMALI ROCK MUSIC PLAYING]

DAN OLSON: Somali rock and roll spills out of the kitchen, and a huge map of Africa hangs on the wall at the Waamo Restaurant on Bloomington Avenue in South Minneapolis, where another tenet of Islamic culture is apparent. All the customers are men.

Waamo manager Mustafa Ali says Muslim men and women socialize separately. A side effect, he says, is a lot of stares from people passing by who, Ali guesses, are wondering, what are all those Black men gathered together doing?

MUSTAFA ALI: Actually, I know some American people, they thinking about a lot of just men sitting here. Seeing what's going on here. Actually, it's our tradition and our culture and religion. We don't go that much together, women and men, same place.

DAN OLSON: The number of Somali in Minnesota is less than a third of the Hmong from Southeast Asia, the state's biggest refugee group, and less than the Vietnamese, the second largest refugee group. But the Somali population is growing fast. Another 500 refugees are expected next year. And an equal number of Somalis already in the United States are expected to move to Minnesota as they reunite with other family members. Dan Olson, Minnesota Public Radio.

[SOMALI MUSIC PLAYING]