Osman Aden, a Somali Bantu refugee, longs to hit the housing jackpot: discounted rent.
    The part-time dishwasher was making $7.25 an hour this summer. The only member of his family with a job, he found it nearly impossible to pay his landlord about $900 each month.
    After their arrival, his family joined other refugees and low-income Utahns on waiting lists for the federal housing subsidy known as Section 8. The vouchers allow people to typically pay no more than 30 percent of their income for rent.
    But the wait is normally two to three years. Meanwhile, refugees struggle.
    A December report on refugee needs found a family must earn $26,720 a year in Salt Lake County to rent a two-bedroom apartment, assuming they put about 30 percent of their income toward rent.
    New refugees typically earn minimum wage, making $12,168 in 2007 -- meaning nearly all their money goes toward rent and utilities.
    Edvin Remund, bishop of a downtown Salt Lake City ward of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, said skyrocketing rents are forcing some families to rely on outside help. "What may have been reasonable two years ago is now all up $100 a month," he said. "That's enough to put them over the brink."
    Advocates contend some landlords neglect refugees' housing, ignoring holes in walls or broken heaters. "These homes the agencies put them in are less than bad -- in most cases," Remund agrees.
    Refugees cause problems as well, by not understanding rules or basic housekeeping. A family that doesn't understand refrigeration and leaves food out draws cockroaches.
    The same issues can endanger a family's long-sought subsidized or public housing. Failing to keep a unit clean, breaking the law or causing damage -- such as irreparably overheating a stove -- can lead to fines or eviction.
    "We can't afford to replace a stove every month because they don't know how to use it," said Terry Feveryear, Salt Lake City Housing Authority director of housing operations.
    Throwing a rock through a window during a fight last year put Lella Nude's public housing at risk. Her related convictions could have meant losing her home -- consequences that stunned her.
    In Africa, "the police just come if you kill somebody," she said. "If you hit somebody and somebody bleeds, they wash the dust off."
    Housing and homeless prevention officials negotiated to let her stay.
    After their more than two-year wait, Aden and his family finally received a Section 8 voucher this summer -- but they had moved and didn't get the letter.
    As of September, they had been told their name would come up again soon.
    jlyon@sltrib.com