By the time they reach high school, most American students are fairly well versed on the high points of Martin Luther King Jr.'s life.

	Martha Rial, Post-Gazette Somali Bantu refugees, from left, Sowdo Darbane, Amina Muya and Halima Abdalla, show their artwork and talk about their experiences in America after living in a refugee camp in Africa. Click photo for larger image.

But for one group of black teen-agers who attend Schenley High School, everything about the slain civil rights leader is newly fascinating. They are Somali Bantu refugees whose families have resettled in Pittsburgh over the past year.

The Somalis' ancestral history includes common threads with that of African Americans -- kidnapped from their native lands, forced into slavery, 200 years of persecution by a lighter skinned majority.

But those similarities can be hard to see across the cultural divide that separates the new arrivals from their black American classmates.

So last month, a small group of Somali teens got a private lesson in preparation for Martin Luther King Day, courtesy of Marcia Sturdivant, president of the Black Child Development Institute, and Khadra Mohammed of the Pittsburgh Refugee Center.

The two women took the teens to Carnegie Library's main branch to look at books and photos about King's life and times. They talked about the civil rights movement and his role in it, and drew parallels between the black experience in America and the Bantu experience in Somalia.

"It's important for us to talk about how we're connected across the continents," Sturdivant said. "We want to help them communicate their struggle coming into the U.S. and see how heroes and heroines have laid the groundwork for us to help each other."

Mindful of the language barrier, Sturdivant and Mohammed gave the students some art materials to take home. The assignment: Create something visual that shows how they feel about their life in Africa and/or here.

Those drawings will go on display tomorrow at the Center for Family Excellence on Dinwiddie Street in the Hill District as part of a program marking Black History Month. The event, set for 5:30 p.m., will also include a play written and performed by Hill District teens.

Martha Rial, Post-Gazette Somali Bantu refugee Halima Abdalla shows her drawing of Martin Luther King next to an American house. Click photo for larger image.

"This will help them [the Somalis] meet other people in the community and help them feel that someone cares," Sturdivant said. "A lot of our children don't understand how we are connected with Africa, so this will help them, too."

A few days after their lesson in the library, the Somali teens gathered in a sunny corner of an Oakland restaurant, spread their creations out like large, colorful quilt patches on the tables before them and talked shyly about what they'd learned about King. When their English faltered, Mohammed, a native Somali, translated.

Their voices were soft, but this much came across loud and clear: The idea of the descendants of African slaves rising up to demand equality was a revelation.

"If not for Martin Luther King, the refugees would not come to America," said Halima Abdalla, holding her drawing of King standing next to an American-style house with a table and chairs inside. He is taller than the building.

"He made the people free," said Sowdo Darbane, who drew an imposing school building with people standing apart in the yard, not talking to each other.

"White people could sit in front on the bus and black people in the back," she continued. "If you don't, police can take you to jail."

"The water fountain, if you are black you cannot drink," added Amina Muya, who drew an African hut and two women grinding corn into meal.

"You have to go to another fountain that says black," said Bahati Muya, who filled her paper with brilliant flowers, mountains, a dark brown hand and a house.

Sturdivant points to the two figures grinding corn in Amina's drawing. One is filled in with brown pencil, the other with yellow.

"Which one is more beautiful?" she asks.

The girls all agree: the yellow one. Sturdivant shakes her head in dismay.

"They (the Somalis) called us black people, ugly people," Halima says. "They say your hairs are not hair, it would break a comb. When someone tells you you are ugly, then the next and the next one, you have to believe it."

"Internalized racism," Sturdivant says to Mohammed. "It's wherever you go."

She shows the girls her own hand, fingers tipped in shiny red polish.

"Don't you think that's pretty?" she asks. "All this started in Africa, you know, painting nails and lipsticks and eye shadow. Now when you go home, I want you to look in the mirror every day and say, 'I am beautiful.' "

The teens emit a collective groan, followed by giggles.

The girls have a rough road ahead of them, Mohammed said, set apart in school by the head scarves and loose-fitting clothing dictated by Muslim custom, not to mention by language, culture and education. Still, they are doing their best to absorb the shocks and move forward.

"Some girls are friendly and some are mean," said Sowdo of her classmates.

"It is hard, but we are moving to a better life," added Halima. "Martin Luther King made it better by his dream. He said there is a day when white people and black people will be together.

"Free at last," she said, and the others joined in. "Free at last."