Long ago, far away T
he Vancouver International Storytelling Festival this year features the Middle Eastern community. For three days, colourful folktales from this culture will unfold among Persian carpets, hypnotic music and aromatic teas. Stories in English, Persian and Arabic will be told by immigrants, and by both emerging and seasoned storytellers. The Vancouver Society of Storytelling is creating a stronger community around the ancient and innovative artform of storytelling. This year’s festival explores the vibrant cultures that make up Vancouver today and the stories that have been brought here by newcomers from many lands. Stories for young and old will fill the Vancouver Museum, November 19 - 21, with additional events elsewhere on Saturday and Sunday evenings. Umeeda Switlo, this year’s new festival director, attended the National Storytelling Conference to study the artform. In doing so she realized that she too had a story to tell.
4 .
.
NOVEMBER 2004
by Umeeda Switlo Long ago, far away but it could have been just yesterday, a CIA agent saved my life. You wonder how that could be? Well here is my story. I was watching television in Uganda with my family. It was the news and we alwayscametogethertolistenandwatch. We had been through a revolution, independence and so there we were always cautious, always on alert. This time on TV someone pushed the news anchor aside and sat in his place. I was young so I may not remember the exact words but this is what I heard “This
is Idi Amin Dada… because of recent discoveries you Indians have 90 days to leave this country.” We had seen him give back our businesses after Milton Obote took majority shares away. We liked him then. I was giggling when I saw this but my parents wereonthephonealreadychattingloudly - something was really wrong. My mom was going to Canada that day. She wanted to live there, a place of stability, a place where her kids could get a good education. Now she would have to wait. It was chaos. Ninety days to leave. What would happen to our homes, cars, bank accounts, properties and businesses? We soon found out day by day with new Idi Amin announcements. The government was freezing bank accounts and stopping the purchase of anything but one way tickets out of Uganda. The most humiliating of all was counting us at gunpoint like cattle, grabbing our passports, separating family members. I was terrified. My family had befriended an American. I babysat his children who went to my mother’s nursery school. He was concerned about the army raping Indian girls and knew that there were three girls in the family. He said he would help us. He asked for our passports and told us that my sister and I would be in the US soon. What? The US ? Why and how could a history professor do that? He came back in a few days with an acceptance letter from the University of West Virginia, a US student visa for my sister Muneera and an acceptance letter and student visa for Medford High School for me. This was unheard off. How did he work this miracle? We were refugees. Why did the US agree to a student visa when we didn’t have a home to return to. Those of you who have been refugees know what I mean. If he bribed someone we might have a bad price to pay.We asked and he candidly said, “I have connections. Don’t worry.” We had only days to leave, first my sister.We never thought we would be seeing the US. When it was my turn, I had to fit everything into one suitcase. I was 13 and had never been away from home before. Wehadmovedtoanapartmentbecause our home was opposite a new concentration camp. The dead or dying prisoners were often tied to the fence and mutilated. There was always gunfire and my family moved to a safer place. This last night in Kampala I looked out the window after hearing gunfire and saw a man in the apartment opposite get hit and fall forwards down to the street. I didn’t wake anyone up. I stared and then hid. I was packed and I was leaving. The next day we went to the airport and my parents handed me bangles, a necklace, earrings and rings. This was amazing jewelry, 24 carat gold. I had never been allowed to wear this stuff and here my mother was, always the realist. “This is for you, take it and keep it safe for when we meet again.” At this point the army guys were everywhere and I had to go into the secure area continued on page 11
