It's just after 2 p.m. when Myint Thawng turns into the parking lot at Avondale Estates' Willow Ridge Apartments, a putty-colored haven for newly arrived refugees.

He has spent the entire morning helping recent transplants apply for Social Security cards, identification they will need to navigate life in the United States.

LOUIE FAVORITE/AJC (ENLARGE)

Burmese refugee Myint Thawng (left), of Duluth, with a family of Burmese refugees in their new Avondale Estates apartment.

LOUIE FAVORITE/AJC (ENLARGE)

Thawng points out how to place a curtain inside bathtub for showers.

It has been a long process, but Thawng, a part-time case aide and translator for Catholic Charities' resettlement program, smiles. He knows that the work he does is important.

Just a year ago, the 21-year-old Burmese refugee was among those receiving help adjusting to a foreign country.

For the next hour or so, the Duluth resident will return the favor, teaching the agency's latest clients basic living skills and what to do in an emergency. It's an orientation that could mean the difference between success and failure for many who arrive from war-torn countries with only the clothes on their backs.

Since Catholic Charities launched its resettlement program with the first wave of Vietnamese and Cuban refugees in 1975, some 15,000 people in the Atlanta area have received such aid, said Frances McBrayer, manager of the program.

Thawng and his brother, Ro Lian, were among 90 refugees the program helped in 2007. This year, Catholic Charities expect to assist about 150 people who fled persecution in their own countries because of their political opinion, religion or nationality.

Every now and then, one of the program's beneficiaries will use his or her recently acquired knowledge to help others trying to wade through the complicated process of sudden relocation.

Help a phone call away

At Willow Ridge, one of seven complexes Catholic Charities uses to house refugees, Thawng and a Catholic Charities caseworker plop on the floor to begin their work with No Be, his wife, Lor, and the couple's three children. In the sparsely furnished apartment, family members form a semi-circle and their orientation begins.

First, Thawng offers a quick lesson on the cellphone he will leave with them. He inputs his and the caseworker's names. If for any reason the family needs to get in touch with them, he explains, push these buttons, leave a name.

The family has many questions and concerns, which Thawng translates for the caseworker into English.

May they have a television? There is none available, the caseworker tells them.

Will the agency be able to help them bring their oldest daughter, left behind in a refugee camp in Thailand? As soon as we get her arrival information, the caseworker says, we'll let you know.

Where can they go to learn English? Classes start in two weeks.

Thawng introduces them to common household items that they are unfamiliar with. Refrigerator. Thermostat. Stove.

Like Thawng a year ago, the Be family arrived with basically nothing .

The family, Lor Be said, escaped their home in Burma to live in a camp in Thailand, where two of their children were born.

Police, she said, often stopped and harassed them. They were confined to the camp because they had no identification.

"Everything was really bad," she said. "Now there's hope because we have help."

In addition to housing, the resettlement program assists families with enrolling their children in school and budgeting, McBrayer said.

The program is funded by the U.S. Department of State but is always in need of donations of furniture and gently used household items. (To make a donation, contact Catholic Charities at 404-881-6571.)

According to McBrayer, about 2,000 refugees arrive in the Atlanta area this year. Nationally, about 70,000 refugees will be admitted into United States this year alone, she said.

Fleeing repression

Thawng first arrived in the United States in 2006, fleeing Burma shortly after the military learned his brother had joined the Chin National Army. The Chin of western Burma are primarily Christian, Thawng said, and face cultural, religious and ethnic repression from a predominantly Buddhist junta.

"They tortured my father in front of my mother, then threw him in jail," Thawng said recently.

Thawng, then a teenager, walked three days to the jail in hopes of taking his sick father's place, but the military wouldn't allow it. In December 2002, after nearly six months in jail, his father was finally released. But two weeks later, the family was forced to flee their home, left burning in the distance.

Myint Thawng still isn't sure how he became separated from the rest of the family but said he walked five days through the jungles of Thailand before settling in a refugee camp in Malaysia, where he lived for the next three years, packed in a tent with nearly 20 others. Catholic missionaries in the camp gave him a job as a translator.

'A heart for refugees'

Myint Thawng said his brother was located in 2005, alive and well. The brothers still don't know the whereabouts of the rest of the family.

The two came to the United States, first to Nashville, Tenn., then to Atlanta because of its larger Burmese population.

"Catholic Charities," Thawng said, "helped me with everything."

But McBrayer said Thawng also was willing to help himself and others.

"It became apparent that a lot of refugees from Malaysia knew him," she said, "and that he was always willing to pitch in and help at the agency. He has such a heart for refugees, a lot of compassion for people."

He uses his story to encourage the Be family, who, under the resettlement program, have six months to become self-sufficient. That means that the family can make enough money to pay for rent, utilities, transportation, clothing.

After one year, the agency will help the Be family members file for legal residency status and, after five years, assist them in becoming American citizens.

That's the hope of both the Be family and Thawng.

Before, Lor Be said, "There was no hope. Now we can do what we want freely."