After a few days of catching their breath they decided to go further south. They all knew people in Edmonton and when they called to ask if there might be a spare bed, again they were welcomed.
I was already back in Edmonton when they arrived, so I was the one who opened the door at the home of our mutual friends. Lynn was smiling, but it was clear that the past few days had taken their toll. I could have donated through the Red Cross, but it felt so good — and much more personal — to hand her a small envelope containing a gift card.
As events continued to unfold in Fort McMurray, Canadians quickly rose to the challenge. Across Alberta and parts of British Columbia people opened their hearts and homes. A woman I knew invited a displaced couple to move into her empty condo; others offered their basement suites, an empty bedroom, or a place to park an RV. Companies sent new clothes and shoes. In Manitoba and Ontario kids set up lemonade stands, while ad hoc sports meets popped up all across the country — all to raise money. People turned to the Internet to find help or information, or to offer anything from shelter to diapers. As the donations poured in, the Canadian Red Cross began handing out money cards to families, many of which had lost everything.
I volunteered at one of the centers where people with notes from the Red Cross dropped by to pick up some basics. Even when the shelves began running low people were thrilled with the simplest things — a pair of shoes in the right size, the last small can of shaving cream, a blanket or a pillow. It was truly an emotional time. That week an army of firefighters from South Africa landed in Fort Mac to join our own “Boots on the Ground” to help fight the Beast. They came because they felt they owed a debt of gratitude to Canada, which had supported them as they fought to end apartheid over twenty years before. This was their way of paying us back.
As people kept arriving the news was grim. Whole sections of the city had been destroyed. However, due to the relentless dedication of all those firefighters, other sections were saved. As the fire was brought under control, people slowly started to return — some to their homes, and others to whatever was provided for them.
The people of Fort McMurray came together to thank Canadians for doing what we are known for around the world — demonstrating kindness and compassion during what has been designated as the worst natural disaster in Canadian history. Everyone who helped made a difference. And despite the enormity of the disaster, not one person died in that fire.
~Paula L. Gillis
Edmonton, Alberta
Just in Time
Resettlement is an important part of how Canada can contribute to help those who have fled the violence in Syria. We join Canadians from across the country in welcoming Syrian refugees here.
~CARE Canada
“Almost every day I hear about another friend dying, and I am grateful to be alive,” said Khatchig. “I love to share the stories from my life.”
“Tell us then, how did you get here?” I asked. I was with my friend Lara at Tim Hortons that afternoon, and she had just introduced me to this twenty-something Armenian fellow from Syria. I was immediately curious about him. Although I was born in Lebanon, I am also Armenian and, if we had not moved to Canada when I was a child, all that has happened to him could so easily have happened to me.
“I was happy with my family in Syria,” he began. “Then one day our home was just not safe anymore. At work I saw a Muslim coworker beaten to within an inch of his life. Blood — so much blood was oozing from his woolen hat. They beat me too, but the attackers took out all of their rage on my co-worker. I thanked God I escaped further beating,” he said before finally taking a breath.
“So home was not safe, work was not safe, and then came the bombing at school. I was taking a final exam in my first year of university. Three walls of the room were made of floor-to-ceiling glass. I chose to sit away from the glass and so did two of my friends. At first the professor told us to ignore what sounded like a jet flying too close to our building. By the time we realized it was a bomb, the glass walls were shattered to pieces. More blood. I could only help the two friends — two girls — I was with. Being the guy I had to protect them from bomb fragments. I yelled at them to run, and we started running.” Khatchig recalled, almost like he was out of breath.
“What happened then?” asked Lara.
“All I remember is yelling at them to keep running. Finally we made it across the field to safety. I thanked God again that day. And I realized that my life in Syria was gone. I had no safe home to live, no safe place to work, and I could not go back to school.”
“And then you came here?” queried Lara.
“Not yet,” said Khatchig. “We had to leave immediately, so my family went to Lebanon. We were planning to stay there when my dad’s friend told us we should come to Canada. I don’t know how, but he managed to convince my dad. And when my dad says we go, we go!”
Both Lara and I nodded. This we know about. Our dads were the same.
“I’m the youngest of four,” Khatchig continued, “and my oldest sister was pregnant. We didn’t want to leave her, but she would not put her baby at risk. My dad didn’t want us to suffer any more. We thought Canada could give us a better future so, with my parents and two other sisters, we came to Canada. We were now refugees. We landed first in Montreal and then we were told there was room for us to go to Toronto.”
He paused. “When we arrived in Toronto we were taken to a hotel. We were there only one night when we learned about a place called Silas Hill, which is a transitional home for refugees run by The People’s Church. That’s where I eventually met Lara,” he said, smiling at her. “We were so happy at Silas Hill that both my dad and I stopped smoking for two weeks! It was so cold outside, and we could not smoke inside. Being still so new, we did not know where to find anything to buy. We were so thankful that these wonderful people were bringing our whole family food to eat. We could not ask for cigarettes, too.”
“We were only the second family to live at Silas Hill,” explained Khatchig. “We quickly felt like it was our home. When new bedroom furniture arrived for the house we assembled it, and it felt good to contribute and give back. I still go back there to help.”
“People from Silas Hill helped us find a place to live. There are a lot of Armenians in our neighbourhood, and they made us feel at home too. Church people showed us how to use the subway, and others from the Armenian community showed us where to shop for things we needed. And I was able to get a job within one month.”
Shaking his head, he continued. “I still don’t believe all of this has happened, but the most incredible part of it all is what happened with my father. Just two months after we arrived, Dad began complaining of having pain all over his body. But being my dad, he would not go to a doctor.”
Lara and I nodded again. Same dads.
“So our pharmacist called a doctor. The doctor saw my dad and forced him to get cardiac testing for his heart. It turned out that three out of four of his arteries were 100% blocked. 100%! We all became very scared. My dad needed surgery, and he was very frightened. No one in my family had ever had surgery.” Still shaken, Khatchig continued.
“Preparing for the worst, Dad called my sister over Skype to say goodbye. She felt so helpless so far away in Syria. We are right here with him in Toronto, and we felt helpless. We could do nothing except agree to this surgery. Even now I can see my dad on the stretcher saying goodbye to me. When they wheeled him away I wanted to cry, but I could not let my mom and sisters see this.
“We waited so long for the news. It seemed like forever. No matter what I have been through so far, the worst time was that wait. And then, almost as if out of thin air, the doctor appeared and told us the surgery had been successful!” Khatchig stops, his eyes damp, and we breathe a sigh of relief with him.
“Dad was in the hospital for five days before being sent home to recover. And you know what? There is no way he would have survived in Syria or Lebanon. No way. And not only did he survive, but because we ca
me as refugees we did not have to pay for anything. I don’t know how all that happened, but it did. We thank God, for this — and we thank God for Canada — every day!”
Both Lara and I nodded — we thank God for Canada, too. With a spring in his step as he swung open the door of Tim Hortons to head to work, he said, “Canada kept my dad alive. Getseh Kanadan! Long live Canada!”
~A. A. Adourian
Toronto, Ontario
Our Syrian Family
This is not a federal project, this is not even a government project, this is a national project that will involve all Canadians.
~John McCallum, Minister of Immigration
Before the world was shocked by the image of three-year-old Alan Kurdi, whose body washed up on a beach in Turkey after his family attempted to flee war-torn Syria; before Justin Trudeau promised during his campaign that his new government would welcome 25,000 Syrian refugees into Canada by the new year; and before Prime Minister Justin Trudeau greeted the first planeload of refugees at Pearson International Airport in Toronto, our church had already put the wheels in motion to sponsor a Syrian refugee family.
Our church is in the Presbytery of Pickering Ontario, part of The Presbyterian Church in Canada. An Arabic-speaking community within this presbytery had reached out to the mission committee asking if they would consider sponsoring a refugee family. A number of families in the community had Syrian family and friends who were living in refugee camps in Lebanon.
We would need to raise $27,600 to sponsor one family of five. The churches in our presbytery began to strategize fundraising initiatives. One small congregation raised their goal in a matter of weeks and decided to raise more; a large congregation quickly raised over $100,000 in cash and pledges. Other churches also raised significant amounts and, when it was all tallied, we had enough to sponsor five families, not just one!
The congregations were divided into small groups, and each group was assigned one family. Our congregation in Uxbridge, along with four others, was responsible for one family of five people. We had no idea when they would arrive, but planning began immediately. We needed to find them a place to live and furnish it with donations.
Each of the five congregations was assigned a room in the apartment to furnish. We got the kitchen. A list of the items needed was posted in our church hall. Not only did we get everything we needed but everything was brand-new! A local newspaper and a cable TV station did features on our sponsorship program, and this prompted more calls and offers of support from the local community.
Our family arrived first — on December 31, 2015. We had found them an apartment in Scarborough so they would be close to the Arabic-speaking community. A few weeks later my husband and I went to visit. We were probably all a bit nervous, but our anxieties quickly dissipated. They were such gracious hosts, and so thankful for all they had received. We, on the other hand, were very humbled by the whole experience, and by their very openness and graciousness. As we were about to leave, the mother hesitantly inquired if it would be possible to get an old table or some kind of storage unit for the kitchen, somewhere to keep the food for a family of five. When we looked at the kitchen I could see how inadequate it was, and immediately promised we would work something out.
I called some other church members and we began looking. But nothing really showed up, so one member suggested we ask his friend who was a cabinetmaker to build what was needed. On a snowy morning that friend came with us as we drove to Scarborough to take exact measurements for the cupboard. Once again, we were the beneficiaries of this family’s warm hospitality. It turned out the father and our friend had been in the same line of work so, in spite of some language issues, they were able to communicate while he measured the space for the cabinet.
Once outside we asked him for his thoughts. “Well, originally I was opposed to our church getting involved in this,” he said. “But after meeting these lovely people, I am happy to do anything for them. You just have to ask.”
For me, this was a very emotional moment. I realized then we only had to introduce this family to our congregation, and even those who had been less supportive would realize that this was a family like any other family. They were not just a statistic, but real people who had been dealt a horrific hand based on where they were born.
And the help kept coming. A pantry was donated and the cabinetmaker made some minor repairs to it. Another person made his truck available to move the new furniture into the apartment. The cabinet cost a bit more than we intended, but additional funds were quickly donated. When we delivered and installed the cabinet and pantry, the mother had tears in her eyes.
In May of 2016 our congregation hosted a Mother’s Day breakfast and we invited our Syrian family to join us. My husband and I picked them up early and brought them north to Uxbridge. It was so heart-warming to see how the people responded and made them feel welcome. Later the family came to our house for lunch, and it was good to just sit and enjoy conversation. That day we learned what if feels like to leave your family, your home, and your country. A few things were said about the war in Syria, but they didn’t really want to talk about it, and we respected that.
By Christmas it was hard to believe that our family had been here a year already. They are all doing well, and already think of themselves as Canadians. There have been many emotions throughout this journey, but I am so glad to have been part of this amazing experience. I am also terribly proud to be a Canadian. When others reacted only with fear, Canada opened its doors in this humanitarian crisis. We have welcomed refugees in previous crises, and I believe Canadians will continue to respond positively in the future. Our wonderful country is so much greater because we have stretched out our arms — and made our new residents welcome.
~Anne Phillips
Uxbridge, Ontario
Plane People
You never really know your friends from your enemies until the ice breaks.
~Inuit Proverb
We were flying high above the North Atlantic on September 11, 2001 en route from Frankfurt, Germany to Atlanta, Georgia. Our captain, Michael Sweeney, announced that we had a slight mechanical problem and would be putting down in Gander, Newfoundland to take a look. He also told us we would have to dump 30,000 pounds of fuel since we were too heavy to land at Gander.
My friend Jo Hopkins, who was sitting beside me, said, “Well, I guess that means we’ll miss our connection in Atlanta.” Jo was travelling home to Florida and I to Ohio. Little did we know that it would be many days before we would make our connections.
Once we landed, Captain Sweeney apologized for the “ruse” and told us the real reason we’d had to land; planes had hit the Twin Towers in New York City, the Pentagon in Washington, D.C., and something had happened in Pennsylvania, too. We had to remain on board the plane, and throughout the time we sat there Captain Sweeney monitored the BBC and kept us apprised of whatever information he was able to glean.
Ultimately, we learned there were many planes destined for American airspace that had been diverted to Gander, and thousands of passengers sat waiting in addition to the 218 of us on board Delta Flight 15. Finally, after twenty-eight and a half hours, we saw long lines of yellow school buses approaching. Emotions ran high as we disembarked and boarded the buses that took us to the terminal where we cleared customs and security. Once we were cleared we re-boarded the buses and were transported to many small towns and villages surrounding Gander. Much later I learned that bus drivers had actually been on strike, but had walked off picket lines to help the “The Plane People,” as we were called.
Four planeloads of passengers were taken to the tiny town of Lewisporte. There we were greeted with open arms by warm, wonderful, funny people who truly cared what had happened in the United States. Throughout the hours we sat waiting, I had not allowed myself to give in to fear or panic. I just knew we’d be okay.
As we entered Lewisporte, we saw flags flying at half-staff everywhere — the Canadian flag, the Newfoundland flag, and
my own Stars and Stripes! That’s when I started crying. I thought to myself, these people are truly remarkable. The second thing that brought me to my knees was when I stepped off the school bus and saw where I had been assigned — the Lewisporte Lions Centre.
Many years ago when I began school, the only way I could see was to hold things close to the tip of my nose. The school nurse sent a note home indicating that I needed an eye exam and glasses, but our large family simply had no money for that. So, the nurse arranged with a local Lions Club to pay for that exam and glasses. For nearly sixty years I had been eternally grateful to those anonymous Lions. Now, there I was — standing in front of the Lewisporte Lions Centre. I couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down my face as I blurted out to Jo, “The Lions are still taking care of me!”
Although Captain Sweeney had told us details of the terrorist attacks, it was more than thirty hours later that what he described became real, as we stood silently watching the horror on tiny TV screens wherever we had been assigned. Housed in churches, schools and service clubs, we slept in pews, on school gymnasium mats and in chairs. We were fed wonderful food, and local students played with and read to the “plane children.” Fishermen took many passengers on their boats, while others invited us to their homes for showers and a quiet place to unwind.
For security reasons we were not permitted to take our checked bags off the plane. That was a serious problem — especially for many passengers who had packed their prescription medications in their checked luggage. No problem — Mayor Bill Hooper and his wife Thelma took those passengers to the local doctor who checked them out and wrote new prescriptions for the local pharmacists to fill. All this was done at no charge! It was amazing!