Canadian Adventures: Camp Tamaracouta

For as long as i remember scouting was always part of my life. I used to be a girl guide in Lebanon for a while, then when we moved to Montreal, i got involved in the movement here as a cub assistant then a leader. My nickname was Akela and i volunteered for almost 10 years with different groups, then started to train others with Scouts Canada to become beaver or cub leaders. Most of what helps me to survive in life i have learned in scouting: cooking, taking care of myself, persisting in times of despair, adapting to changes, rescuing, healthy living, public speaking, being creative...and much more. It was also during my volunteer years in scouting that i met most of my best friends and my life partner. I remember how i used to spend days and evenings planning, organizing and preparing for the next camping, event or cuboree. I loved working with cubs (8-12 year olds). There was a time in my life, when i was a University student that my duties as a cub leader were above all. Most of my sundays were spent at the church basement singing, playing and discovering the world around with a group of 32-34 eager girl cubs.

Mima is gone, but not entirely

Finally back to Canada, with the entire family.  When we leave a place, we never really leave it completely; we just grab some parts of it and take it with us everywhere, then add some parts to it over time. We collect fragments of life through our journey across borders and lifestyles. Sometimes we let go of some parts, we hold on desperately to others. We rarely let go completely. So each return starts with a feeling of unease.

On the 4^th morning after my arrival to Montreal, Mima passed away. The nurse at the elderly home said it was a beautiful death. I am not sure what that meant. Sometimes people need to say those things to comfort the family. I guess she meant that she died peacefully in her sleep without bothering anyone. I am happy for her, since she was looking forward to this day, especially after the death of her husband, my grandfather over 15 years ago. She never managed to find a meaning to her life after that. She was one of those women who devoted all their life to their family. She opened her first bank account at 70, after my grandfather’s death, to receive her pension. I don’t remember her having any kind of hobby or interest in life other than what was going on in the kitchen and in the house. Dado (my grandfather) used to take her everywhere, entertain her and decide for her well-being. When he died, her life collapsed. She relied heavily on my mom afterwards, but it wasn’t the same. After 50 years with my grandfather she never thought that she’d one day be left alone to manage her own life. 

Mima

Mima was born in Malatia, in 1923, maybe 1925. She doesn’t remember when exactly. She was just a little girl when her mother ran away with her to Lebanon, escaping post-genocide trauma, persecution and fear.

Mima lived all her life in Beirut; she went to school there, grew up, got married to my grandfather and had three children. I used to spend a lot of time in her house where I ate delicious food, did whatever pleased me, listened to her songs and with my little bother teased her and made her run after us refusing to get cleaned up and go to bed early.

O Canada

22 years ago, i came to Canada, more specifically Montreal. Leaving war-torn Beirut behind them, my parents wanted to give us, my brothers and me, a safe haven.
This city means so much to me; back then, it meant rehabilitation, building confidence, healing and dreaming of a better life. I was a traumatized teenager when we first arrived to the Mirabel airport. The city looked so big, i was lost. Then, with it's peaceful surroundings, challenging educational opportunities and human approach, Montreal won my heart. I liked the place so much and interacting with different people from diverse backgrounds expanded my horizons. I appreciated the simple things that this country had to offer to an immigrant like me who all her life lived in a war-torn country with a dream of a better world. I remember the first time i visited the local public library in my area; spending hours touching the books all available for me for free, sitting endlessly in front of the archives, reading for hours and coming back twice sometime three times a week just to spend time there and devore hysterically almost every single book on my hands.