A poem is about to emerge but I need to sleep first for at least a couple of hours before arriving into the Montreal’s bus station, as I wrote this on my tablet. Good night, now!
This is a short draft; therefore some paragraphs are numbered, for the reason that every number has a longer scripted chapter in the making, as soon as another dawn rise, I will widen my words at a different tone in time.
Sometimes things are not better left unsaid, because the slander accumulates and spreads with more misunderstanding. The long and boring trip on the bus is greeted with memories as I try to look out of the window, it is dark outside and all I see is the fading reflection of my weary face.
Come to the gentle night with simple words, hence I hope everyone will be able to read and finally comprehend. Take the words I have to say; once and for all these words are here to stay. Misinformation about me is running ramped, and this is going to hurt everyone I really love, especially the young brood that have been lied to and misinformed for many years.
I – Here is the story said; in true time and formed set out. You have to know we have never been refugees, but studied migrants, mistakenly set in Canada with assets, education, and financial warranty from a peaceful culture. As soon as arrived we paid taxes on top of our devalued currency and willingly done so as soon as deposits were made at the Bank – it was considered as an income even before we pledged to the Royal Queen to become Canadian citizens, in 1982 as officially landed immigrants. At the time we paid Taxes on the money we’ve transferred from Europe to Canada, the first year it was a small percentage fee, more than double on the second year, and even more the following years.
II – When I moved out of the mad Mediterranean world it was purely because I needed a stable life with a good education for a bright toddler, well situated in my neighbouring region outside Montreal – where several bi-lingual private schools were available.
III – We moved here as immigrants not as refugees. There is a big difference. We had to wait for three years for the process to be completed, and twice. The first time when we finally got it – my husband and I – put it on ‘hold’ for later because we thought we were better off living in Europe (we had a small ‘Pied-a-Terre’ and lots of fun party friends) because my husband worked for a construction company and they proposed a transferred position, anywhere between France or any UK related countries where they had several chain studio offices. The job was a given if he was willing to later on move to Algeria for three years as a huge mega-project was about to be developed. I got testimonial pictures of that time which will only be seen by family members and people I know. As always flying my own kite might be more amusing than becoming a mockery, and there might be several falling jaws on the ground due to perplexity.
to be continued below
IV – When I found out that schools in Algeria were as bad as those in Egypt, Lebanon, Libya and Tunis (countries I have been to) with strong religious indoctrination, whether it was a private or public school – I refused to live there for more than a year… since it wasn’t possible to rewrite the contract for that short period. We went back to the Canadian Embassy right on to point one — to re-apply for immigration to Canada again, and wait for three years to get a response.
V – At the Mediterranean gulf there were no wars, but several local revolutions that lasted a day or two, which did not affect us, because we lived in a foreign BP British compound adjacent with other European Companies and foreign giant buildings in the middle of a desert, parallel to a modern civilisation. However on many occasions where I lived which was in front of a Roman Catholic Church (transgressed into an Islamic library and a girl’s orphanage held by nuns) after the revolution – local Arab youth (16 to 20 years) rebelled and have turned the city into a shocking rebel’s zone for 48 hours, not more.
As soon as caught; they were hanged in front of the building where we happened to live, at the ex-Church Square. At one time, I spontaneously narrated a poem out loud while I was filming the whole thing. I did that with a small super-8 camera right out of the living room balcony. It was Easter Friday for the Catholic Community, so in my poem I lamented about La Pieta (Michelangelo’s mother Mary in pain), as Arab mothers all dressed in black whimpered and silently crying in front of the hanging bodies on poles that looked like three crucifixes. The mothers and their children were painfully looking at their young sons being hanged for setting fire on huge truck tires. Two of them were hanged by their feet to dry out in the scorching sun and slowly die in agony for two days. The sighting was devastating and shocking to us because we have never seen this kind of torture before.
Fathers and male family members were purposely all absent. It was a traditional tribal custom that only mothers and children could attend. The city was in total silence as the scenery was as harsh to absorb as a gloomy Italian movie produced by Zeffirelli, but live at the plaza seen from our balcony. I could have approached the mothers to console them – shedding as many tears as they did.
VI – Many months later we decided to leave, life became unbearable. The hanging scenery never left our minds. We never knew what was going to happen next, but there were no wars as seen now in 2015/16. No suicide vests, no Christians being slaughtered. (Remind me about the gendercide another day though, which is another story whereas I worked with the Italian Nuns to safe a few newborn babies.)
For my part I have always wanted to move to Canada but my husband wanted to live in Australia or France – he has a lot of family members in both countries that moved during the late 60s as wealthy Christians and Jews businesses were sequestered by the Egyptian government, leaving opulent families without income. On many occasions he was invited to join his older relatives and move out of the crazy desert world, but, I managed to convince him for settling into the French Canadian region, and nowhere else. After having travelled far too much, I knew I would feel at home in Quebec.
VII – When we moved, the same construction company my husband was associated with, – kept in touch with him and he actually moved the same mega-project his company planed for North Africa – all developed right here in Quebec… thus the project that was set to be drafted for Algerian government’s embellishment for a new city. The project was comfortably moved and done by Quebec management and this was a huge income for a Quebec company. Without him this project would have never been made. They hired young Quebec Architects that just graduated at the McGill and Montreal University… and up to this day he gets high regards from internship Architects, since he gave them a chance to develop their skills, he did that willingly on pro-bono basis as well.
-to be continued another day