I still remember the day I first met Angesom Woldu at the crowded community center in northeast Calgary. The sunlight streamed through the windows as a group of Eritrean elders laughed in one corner, while children played tag between folding chairs. Amidst this vibrant scene, Angesom spoke quietly about the invisible wounds many refugees carry—trauma that often goes unaddressed in their new Canadian lives.
“In our culture, we don’t have a word for depression,” he told me, his hands wrapped around a small cup of traditional coffee. “When people struggle mentally, they might say their heart is heavy or their spirit is tired. But they rarely seek help.”
This conversation happened three months before Angesom would become Calgary’s first Eritrean psychologist specifically supported through a community sponsorship initiative. Today, his small office in Marlborough has become a lifeline for newcomers navigating the complex intersection of displacement trauma, cultural adjustment, and mental health.
Calgary’s Eritrean community numbers approximately 3,000 people, many having fled political persecution and mandatory military service that the United Nations has described as “enslavement.” Yet despite escaping physical danger, the psychological effects linger long after refugees have settled in Canada.
“When you survive war or persecution, your body remains vigilant,” explains Angesom, who completed his psychology training in Ethiopia before coming to Canada in 2018. “Many people wake up screaming from nightmares. Others cannot concentrate at work or school. These are normal responses to abnormal experiences, but without culturally appropriate support, healing becomes much harder.”
The initiative to bring specialized mental health services to Calgary’s Eritrean community began with five community members who recognized the need for culturally-informed care. They pooled resources to sponsor Angesom’s licensing process in Alberta and helped establish his practice.
Semhar Tekle, one of the founding sponsors and a settlement counselor with the Calgary Catholic Immigration Society, pointed to systemic barriers that inspired their grassroots approach.
“Even when refugees qualify for counseling through settlement services, language barriers and cultural misunderstandings often make these sessions ineffective,” Semhar explained during our meeting at a local coffee shop. “Having someone who understands both worlds—Eritrean cultural context and Western psychological approaches—makes all the difference.”
Research from the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health supports this approach. Their 2022 study found that immigrants and refugees are 30% less likely to access mental health services than Canadian-born citizens, despite often experiencing higher rates of post-traumatic stress disorder and depression. When culturally appropriate services are available, however, utilization rates dramatically improve.
For Berhane Kifle, a 42-year-old former teacher who fled Eritrea in 2015 and spent three years in a Sudanese refugee camp before reaching Canada, traditional therapy wasn’t working.
“I went to counseling twice through a settlement agency,” he told me as we sat in a quiet park near his apartment. “The counselor was kind but couldn’t understand my experiences. How can I explain what it means to leave your country knowing you might never return? Or what it feels like when your family is still there, and you cannot contact them freely?”
Berhane began seeing Angesom six months ago. During sessions, they speak Tigrinya, allowing Berhane to express complex emotions without struggling for English words. They also incorporate cultural references and community concepts that resonate with Eritrean experiences.
“We talk about mental health through stories and proverbs sometimes,” Berhane explained. “Angesom understands when I talk about ‘having a heavy liver’—an Eritrean expression for feeling overwhelmed with sadness. He helps me understand my feelings using concepts I recognize.”
The initiative has expanded beyond individual therapy. Angesom now runs monthly community workshops addressing topics like parenting after displacement, coping with survivor’s guilt, and navigating intergenerational trauma. These sessions, often held in community spaces or local churches, have helped normalize conversations about mental health.
Dr. Leyla Henderson, a psychiatrist with Alberta Health Services who specializes in refugee mental health, believes this model could be replicated for other immigrant communities.
“What makes this initiative remarkable is its community-driven approach,” she said during our phone interview. “Rather than imposing Western mental health frameworks, it builds bridges between different healing traditions and recognizes that cultural context matters deeply in psychological recovery.”
The initiative hasn’t been without challenges. Initial funding relied entirely on community donations, and Angesom often provided services at reduced rates or pro bono for those unable to pay. Recently, however, the Calgary Foundation awarded the program a $75,000 grant to expand services and potentially train more Eritrean and Ethiopian mental health workers.
“This isn’t just about addressing trauma,” Angesom emphasized during our final interview. “It’s about helping people reclaim their sense of identity and belonging after displacement. Mental wellness is connected to our ability to maintain cultural continuity while adapting to new environments.”
For Calgary’s Eritrean community, this initiative represents more than just accessible therapy—it symbolizes resilience and self-determination. By creating their own solutions to mental health challenges, they’ve turned collective pain into community healing.
As the winter sun set outside his office window, Angesom shared a traditional Eritrean proverb: “Even the strongest tree needs both roots and branches.” In many ways, this initiative embodies that wisdom—honoring cultural roots while extending new branches of healing in Canadian soil.
