Karen's Story [PLEASE CLOSE THIS WINDOW TO CONTINUE] I was 38 years old, back in '93, but husband and I had decided a number of years earlier, that we did not want to raise our children in a violent and uncertain society. We stopped in at the Canadian High Commission in Pretoria, on a whim back in '89. The waiting room was so full, that the only sitting space was on a glass coffee table. Of course, when I stood up, it cracked! My offer to pay for the damage was met with gales of laughter (the table had cracked before my derriere was placed on it!), and we were given forms to fill in, which we did there and then. About 6 months, one interview, and a medical later, we had our papers in hand. However, after a LSD trip in November '89, we discovered that the depression had ended job possibilities for my husband, and anyway, I hated the place - too cold and miserable, I decided. We returned home, bought a house, and explained our predicament in a letter to Pretoria. They would not extend our visa past its due date, but promised to keep our file open for 2 years. Life carried on, until I arrived home one afternoon, to find that brown envelope in the mail. It stated that we had 6 months to decide whether to re- apply, or our file would be shut. This time it was easier. Things had hotted up in SA, and we were more certain that we should leave, no matter what. Our children were 7 and 9 . Our entire immigration was processed for the princely sum of R400, at the time. We sold our house at a much lower price than we had anticipated. Hani was shot the week it went onto the market. The next few months were a blur of emotions and frenzy, as we packed ourselves up, and moved into my parents' home with their beloved grandchildren. E- Day was November 18. 1993. I will write about that another time, but it was the toughest day of my life. As I walked away from my tearful parents, my country and my life, I knew nothing would ever be the same again... We arrived at Pearson Airport the evening of November 19. Real greenhorns, filled with anticipation and fear. Those early days, I will never forget, but they warrant a whole chapter of their own. I felt as if I had landed on another planet. Everything was just so strange, almost surreal. It was freezing cold, and I do remember that the day our container arrived, I was ecstatic. It felt as if my 'friends' had come to stay! As we unpacked the kitchen, the linen, the children's toys, all freezing cold, I finally realised the enormity of what we had undertaken. Thinking back, I realise that we survived because we had such good senses of humour. We were able to laugh at ourselves. How many times did we drive on the left hand side of the road, and narrowly escape an accident? Or the time I crawled on all fours to the shopping mall, as I had not yet mastered walking on frozen ice? Or the time my car slipped down the driveway of the townhouse and landed up in the middle of the road?! I could write a book and fill chapters with our early adventures. That's what you have to do - look at this whole immigration as one huge adventure of life. You will have plenty of ups and downs, but you will survive. Immigrants are tough folk. We never give up! We moved to our own home two years after arriving, and it was a turning point for me. I could put down roots, get involved in a community and start to feel I belonged a bit more. It is very tough not having close family, and to this day, I still grieve for the loss of all our relationships in South Africa, especially since my mother has been so ill for all but two of our years here, and can no longer even visit us, but now, seven years later, I feel at home. After being here for five years, we became Canadian citizens. It was a very defining moment for all of us, and after the ceremony, we went home with a new identity. No longer were we landed immigrants, we were, at last, real Canadians! Seven years later, I feel that we have all grown so much, in so many ways. I no longer question being here, as I did in the early days. I accept that this country is now my home, my reality. My children, now teenagers, are Canadians. My daughter has spent more of her life here than she did in South Africa. When I voted in the recent election, I never for one moment thought of myself as anything other than a Canadian citizen. I will never lose my South African accent or identity. I don't want to - it's part of who I am, but this is home to me now, and to all of you coming, or newly landed, it will soon be yours too. Thanks, Karen! Share your story with us: e-mail me, using "My Story" in the subject line. [PLEASE CLOSE THIS WINDOW TO CONTINUE] |
