PREFACE

l ongueu I l, Quebec, f ebruary 10, 2021

Dear Nathalie,

Just as you have often asked me to, I have written this book to tell your story, but also to denounce the Canadian government’s complete lack of political will to set things in motion so that you and your family can come home. Your situation is unjust, and I need to tell people about it, for you and the children. I would also like, with this narrative, to make you part of the war I have been waging for nearly fifteen years to get you out of there. After visiting you in Saudi Arabia on several occasions, I have seen how quickly one can become disconnected from the rest of the world. Through your suffering and the difficulties you have been experiencing, you might sometimes have trouble realizing the scope of what I am doing for you on the other side of the world. But know that even when you can’t see me, I am working ceaselessly for you and the children. I am fighting this battle with all my love, the love of a mother lion, the love of a grandmother. Over these past few years, I have regularly thought about my own mother. I know she would have done the same for me if ever I had found myself in such a tragic situation. Sometimes, when I got discouraged, I would find strength in thinking of her and her own strength. Like me, she would not just have stopped at the people who tried to discourage her, telling her that she was making too much of a fuss or that her daughter ought to sort her own problems out. One thing is certain: she would not have abandoned me. Our love for our children and grandchildren knows no bounds.

When I watch you fighting to stay close to your children in spite of your difficulties, your impulsivity, and your fragility, I also see a determined woman who perseveres, ready to do anything to give her children a better life. These values are the values of my mother, whom you never knew, and they are mine as well, and they have come down to you. In the 1970s, my mother dreamed of visiting Pakistan; you dreamed of being an international journalist. If she were still alive today, you would assuredly have some great conversations.

If the last few years have been difficult for me, I know they have also been hard for you. I often hear disappointment, frustration, and anger in your voice.

Even though I help you the best I can, I often feel powerless, even today. I, too, sometimes feel I am held hostage by this situation. For several years, my whole life has been centred around fighting for you, and, sadly, I sometimes feel that I have not been there for the rest of my family or even been able to take care of myself. Today, I live a more balanced life while continuing to amplify your voice beyond the country that holds you prisoner. I admire you and I am so proud of you for staying on your feet despite everything, for standing up for your values, your convictions, and your children. For example, in November 2019, the last time I visited, I saw you making up a food parcel for some Yemenis. You completely impressed me. Despite your own hardship, you thought to spare what you could from the food donations you yourself receive to give them to people who are even hungrier than you. Wow!

I can’t wait for you to come back home so that you can bloom, take care of yourself, and rebuild yourself. I am sure that when you have recovered from all this, you will be able to serve as an example for young women who are, like you, vulnerable and perhaps a little naive. You will be able to tell them your story in your own words and give them hope that a better future is possible.

To my boy and my other girl,

I know that you have followed your sister’s struggle, but that at certain points you have chosen to distance yourselves. I fully respect this decision. This is why you are not always named in this book, even though I thought a lot about you while I was writing it. I want to tell you that if you had been through the same thing as Nathalie, I would have fought the same way for you. With the same passion and the same love. There is not a single day of my life when I don’t think of both of you.

Like every mother who has a sick child and devotes more time to him or her than to her other children, I know that I have not been present enough for you. I don’t doubt that this has been difficult for you. I also know that Nathalie’s story, now in the public domain, has partially tarnished your own private lives. In one way, you had no choice but to be subjected to my struggle. I am thinking particularly of those times when people asked you questions about Nathalie without ever being interested in what you yourselves were going through.

I ask your forgiveness for what we have put you through. You have likely felt invisible sometimes, but you have never been invisible to me. This note cannot make up for lost time, but nevertheless I hope that it will bring you some consolation, and, especially, convince you both how much I love you and how proud I am of you. You are capable of battling to build yourselves. On your own paths you have found great victories, but also failures that you have been able to handle with courage, each in your own way. I am proud of all three of you.

I love you.

To all my grandchildren,

I think of you often, and particularly of the times when I have been unable to be near you. Apart from Samir, who is now a great strapping lad of eighteen, I was not able to rock you when you were babies, or take you in my arms to console you or tickle you, watch you take your first steps and grow up, or be there for your first day of school.

I wish that you will one day be able to read this book and know a little more about the person I am and the one I have been during these fifteen years of struggle, despite everything you might have heard about me. This book allows me to pull back the veil a little on my own lived experience, my motivations, and above all my priorities and values in life.

This book is the inheritance I pass on to you, which will, I hope, better allow you to understand all the love I have for you.

I love you.