The Voices of Survivors

Listen ...

... to a survivor from Sri Lanka

I was a victim of torture back in my country and the scars are still visible on my face for the world to see. There are numerous others who don't have visible scars although they were also tortured. The torturers are experts in torturing without leaving any visible marks or scars.

I have twenty-six sutures on my face alone. I am not detailing the wounds as it would be too much of a pain for the readers. Everytime I shave, I cut my face because the skin on my face is not even, because of the sutures. And everytime I bleed, I am reminded of the torture I went through. Time has healed my physical wounds but I am still unable to overcome the mental agony.

I have nightmares even now. The sound of light planes, helicopters, a slight banging of some door, or even a dog bark will waken me with a start. These are the noises we hear when the armed forces approach the neighbourhood to arrest, torture, kill or rape our people.

I was able to reach Canada and had been accepted as a Convention Refugee. I thank God and the Canadian government for that. I was able to come to Canada because I had the resources. There are thousands of others who are still in Sri Lanka and unable to get out as they do not have the ability to meet the exorbitant expenses involved. When I think of these unfortunate people, I lose my appetite, my sleep and even the desire to live.

I am thankful to CCVT, which came to my aid during the other agony of Immigration procedures. I am working as a volunteer for this organization to repay my debt to them.

Listen ...

... to Sudha Coomarasamy

YOU DIE BUT ONCE

At first it was our lands,
then it was our menfolk,
that were maimed and slaughtered
to alienate and eliminate a culture
to hunt down and humiliate our ethnicity.
When they tortured my beloved,
before my open eyes and tethered hands,
a part of me died.
When they burnt my father alive,
and ordered my mother to gather his ashes,
another part of me died.
When the army hounded my brother,
and left his butchered body at our doorstep,
another part of me died.
When they bulletted my little son
his heartrending cry froze me to death.
When my frozen gaze registered
my twelve year old daughter
being bled to death by manly brutality,
I felt my heart miss several beats,
reminding me that somewhere in me was life.
Gasping I grasped at that last breath,
gathered it close and clung to it.
I crawled and hid and stole-
that gem, that gift, that grenade.
With all my might I threw
aiming at those men turned monsters.
The light that lit the sky
lightened my burden a little
for thank God I felt no more,
I had died my last death at last.

Listen ...

... to a young woman from Somalia

Leaving home was both easy and a hard decision. It was easy because I had no other choice. My father had been executed because of his political opinions. My brother was active in a Trade Union, and the secret police took him away one night. My husband was detained for no reason and I am not sure if he is dead or alive.

I am not really interested in politics myself, but I knew it might be my turn next, just because I was a member of the same family. So, I had to leave. But it was also a difficult decision to leave by myself. In my country the family is everything. We live together, eat together and work together. It is strange here in Canada. When you ask a young person what they want to do, they will nearly always say, 'I have to get away from my family and find some freedom.' People just don't talk like that back home - especially not women.

I manage to keep busy during the day. There is the usual work to do; washing, cleaning, cooking and looking after my children and I go to ESL classes.

But at the end of the day, when the children are in bed, that is when it becomes so difficult. Everything goes around in my head; the way my father died, my brother in prison, my husband's fate unknown, my application to become a refugee, etc. I try not to think about it. I watch TV or read a book. But inside you always feel hurt and confused. The only thing that keeps me going is the children. They are mixing quite well. The older one goes to a local school and she is picking up the language quite well - much faster than me.

It's funny, because if we have to go to the shops, she has to ask for what I want. Fancy having to depend on an eight year old for something as simple as shopping.

Sometimes I feel bad about leaving. Why should I have escaped when my father is dead, my brother in prison and the whereabouts of my husband unknown? Perhaps some other members of my family have been arrested or killed by now. It is difficult to find out. But no, I don't regret it. I made the right decision. I knew I couldn't live safely in my own country and more, and bring up my children in that atmosphere of terror. The future? My biggest dream is to be united with my husband and brother in Canada, and my other dream is that I will get asylum here.

Listen ...

... to a CCVT volunteer

The two of them sat in front of me and he said: "We just arrived in Canada." He continued talking about their needs, problems with everything from OHIP to Welfare. He also mentioned that they had very little clothing. The woman with the scarf on her head sat quietly and at moments, she seemed far away, lost in distant places or perhaps, still mentally involved in recent past experiences. There was something unusual in her face or her eyes that seemed blinded, fixed rigidly on one undefined point. I tried to get some response from her regarding the intake form questions but her companion answered everything for her. I thought she couldn't speak English and when I inquired if this was the case, her companion again replied for her explaining: "No, she does not speak English, but ...." He hesitated for a moment, seeking her approval with a glance, and then continued: "Her husband and children were killed in Massawa, Ethiopia." "Oh!" I replied, slowly, shocked. "Yes. They were killed in her presence."

At that moment I thought of the tremendous responsibility we have as counselors, assisting recently-arrived people who have endured so many ordeals and experienced so much trauma. I thought also that she read in my eyes a message of compassion and, as if being touched by this, she lowered her head and putting her two hands on her face, quietly sobbed.