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Category: Migrant Tales Literary

Migrant Tales Literary (26.5.2012): Before and After

Posted on May 26, 2012 by Migrant Tales

 

 

Migrant Tales Literary: Right or wrong side up

Posted on May 21, 2012 by Migrant Tales

William Blake wrote:

Expect poison from the standing water.

No standing water here

except for the forest standing…

right side up

or wrong side up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Migrant Tales Literary: Mother and daughter ???? ? ????

Posted on May 5, 2012 by Dana

   Mother and daughter ???? ? ????

By Dana

?? ? ??? ??? ?? ???? ??                                       ????? ??? ?? ?????? ??

Ur my night and day oh mother mine         My imagination, mind, thought and spirit

??? ??? ? ????? ??? ? ????                               ??? ?? ?????? ??? ?????

All intelligence, my attention, thought and mention           Prayer, my single request, heaven sent

????? ????? ?? ??? ????                                ????? ????? ?? ???? ? ????

U look at the photo inside the frame               U call me in my dream and inhabit my thoughts

 ?? ???? ??? ??? ??? ?????                            ?? ?? ????? ? ?? ??????? ??????

Ur the only good storyteller I know in the whole world       Ur in Iran and I am here in Helsinki

?????? ???? ???? ? ????????                                     ???? ??????? ??? ????

Dialysis made u skin and bones           I sent you long-distant blessings for your spirit

?? ????? ??? ?? ??????                                        ?? ????? ??? ?? ???????

Ur my dream and my wish              Ur my meaning of all my searches

 ????? ???? ?? ?? ???? ??                                            ??? ????? ?? ????? ??

Sing me a lullaby           Let the feathers inside the pillow feel our head

????? ??? ?? ??? ?? ??? ????                              ??? ? ??? ???? ? ? ?? ?? ??

I have no more than this tolerance housed in my spirit     Seven years we’ve been separated, from u my flower

????? ??? ??? ??? ? ?????                                       ??? ??????? ?? ?? ??????

There is no door and key to open this cage          Dana has been separated from witnessing the dawn of day

 ???? ?  ???? ???? ??? ????                                      ??? ?? ???? ???? ?? ????

Black clouds rumble over Dana              Her tears turn to sea

 ????????? ?? ??? ? ????                                ?? ???? ???? ??????? ? ????

She scrambles from day-to-day, from moment-to- moment       She knocks on every door weeping and tired

????? ????? ???? ?????                                           ????? ????? ??? ?????

The canary is not comfortable in the cage       Waiting patiently for spring to appear

????? ???? ? ?? ?? ?? ?????                                      ????? ???? ?? ??? ?? ??

Canary injured a piece of her here a piece there        Broke wings this bad cat

 ??????? ????? ??? ?????                                          ??? ???? ????? ???? ???? ?

There’s no guard outside the cage              Come mother and sing a song to cure my pain

Migrant Tales Literary – Finnish Immigration Service: Biting law ??? ?????

Posted on April 30, 2012 by Dana

 Finnish Immigration Service: Biting law   ??? ?????

By Dana

?? ??????? ???? ???? ?????                            ?? ??????? ???? ?? ?? ?????

U migration police the only pain                     U migration police r underhanded

?? ??????? ???? ???? ??????                     ?? ??????? ???? ??? ? ??????

U migration police are cruel, bring anguish       U migration police are ugly and a predator

?? ??????? ???? ????? ? ????                    ????? ?? ???? ??? ?? ????

U migration police instill darkness                 Illness, fever, yes u r yellow

????? ???? ? ?? ??? ?? ??????                      ??????? ??? ?? ?? ?? ?????

I gave u all money and answered the questions that u wanted       U sent me a NO, ur deceitful

??? ????? ??? ???? ?? ??? ???                         ????? ???? ?? ????? ?????

U made my heart bleed with your NO              U cheated , ur damn sick

??????? ????? ?? ?????                                   ????? ??? ??? ?? ??? ?????

U involved me [in your games], u monster                         Dont u know that there is a God?

??? ???? ?? ???? ? ????????                          ??? ?? ?? ????? ???????

 Ur stare impacts my flesh and bone                Stop the anguish, u have broken my family

?? ? ??? ??????? ?? ?????                              ?? ?????? ?? ??? ?? ?????

U have a family but i am your prisoner                 U r timid,  but  i am brave

?? ???? ????? ?? ???? ?? ???                    ?? ???? ???? ? ???? ??? ????

U r playing with my time, u snake                    U r a scorpion, ur poison bites into me

??? ????? ?? ????? ????                               ????? ??? ?? ?? ??? ????

Ur law is the law of darkness                          Ur thought has not even a particle of wisdom

??? ????? ???? ?? ??????                                 ??? ????? ?? ??? ? ????

Morality is the law of universe                          But ur law is ignorance and a puzzle

?? ?????? ???? ???? ?? ???? ??                         ??? ????? ?? ?? ??? ? ?? ????

Ur Finland may live forever                               But ur law is toxic and ill

Migrant Tales Literary: ????? Garibeh (stranger, wanderer)

Posted on April 27, 2012 by Dana

?????  Garibeh (stranger, wanderer)

By Dana

????? ????? ?? ?????                                      ??? ?????? ???? ????? ?????

Where r u my sky full of stars                          Where r u Ms. Sun, u sweet darling

??? ?? ???? ????? ????                                      ??? ?? ??????? ??????? ???????

  Where r u my beautiful cute mother        Where oh my kind, my hospitable heart

??? ?? ??? ????? ?????                                               ??? ????? ????? ?????

Where r u oh grape garden of my land             Where beautiful oranges fruiting in spring

 ??? ?? ??? ????? ???? ??                                 ??? ???? ?? ???? ?? ?? ??

Where fragrant Jasmine, my Narcissus flower         Where have u gone Dana, u and everyone

??? ???? ??? ??????? ??                                        ????? ??? ??? ???? ??? ???

Where u gone fatherland, homesickness         Broken this heart of mine, give me ointment, a way

?????? ??? ?????? ??? ???                               ?????? ??? ??? ??? ? ??? ???

Cannot find a door, only walls and stone       Cannot find a way, paths are liquid and tight

?????? ????? ?? ?????                                                ????? ?? ????? ????? ???

I can’t find a pal oh god, key, compassion       not even a baby door, ah

??????? ??? ??? ???? ??                                           ???????? ??? ????? ?? ??

No-one kisses our cheeks                               No-one wants our Dana

?? ????? ?? ???? ?? ?????                                   ?? ???? ???? ?? ??? ?????

No armful, hugs, no mercy, no life                No seal, no thanks, not even a look

 ?? ???? ????? ????? ?????                                        ?? ???? ????? ??? ?????

No color, no essence, gem nor sweet words         No baba,* mother, nor even a message

??? ??? ??? ??? ???? ?? ??? ???           ??? ??? ??? ??? ??? ? ?? ??? ???

Oh God it’s hard being in a strange place in another country  it’s all sores, hurt and malevolent

??? ???? ????? ?? ?? ????                                          ????? ???? ????? ?? ????

Come mother, call for me now                         Free me from this eternal sleep of death

 ??? ????? ?????? ?? ?????                                             ??? ????? ??? ?????? ????

Free ur Dana, awaken me

  ??? ???????? ????? ?? ??

Father, I’m here in Helsinki, find me.

*Baba means father in Persian.

An immigrant’s life in Finland:* Dana misses her family

Posted on April 21, 2012 by Dana

By Enrique Tessieri

I have never met in person an Iranian woman calls herself anonymously Dana. Even so, she comes to life little by little as an image in my mind  and when she writes about her greatest suffering in Finland: living without her parents. Things may get worse before they improve for Dana since Christian Democrat minister of the interior, Päivi Räsänen, announced plans last year to tighten further family reunification rules.

It’s quite incredible that a country that suffered a devastating war and had to resettle 410,000 Karelian refugees after the Continuation War (1941-44) lacks compassion for refugees who are traumatized by war and need their parents as well as their closest relatives by their sides. Finns who emigrated to the United States in the nineteenth century did the same thing. After they got settled, they brought their relatives and even their friends and neighbors.

Where does this lack of compassion come from? Is it because our authorities don’t more Africans to move to Finland? Take for example a minor who flees war-torn Somalia and gets political asylum. Everything is fine except for one very vital detail: the right to live with his or her parents.

Dana isn’t too old nor is she too young. She feels great emptiness and despair because she hasn’t seen her parents for seven years. Dana isn’t too happy with the social welfare system, which, according to her, eats away your self-esteem and opens you up to abuse.

I asked her if she could write something that would reveal her feelings and life in Finland. I got the following poem  by email from her that I edited in English. A lot of things have happened to Dana. She was once arrested and put in a police cell apparently for protesting against her detention at the social welfare office on Dagmaninkatu 6 in Helsinki:

R U racist or fascist? Ur guilty and a terrorist.

R U brave or a coward? Don’t you have any life why are you so cranky?

Leave my legs, hands alone…shame on u for being so ruthless and rabid

In this cold, hard and dark jail…oh God my heart is broken, pity me!

Why did I believe the words of my demons?? Why have I ended up here in a corner of my cell?

Why aren’t there any human here?? Why did my hope die in my spirit??

Come on ironic robot police and open this door…my race and yours are one, the same, awaken now…

My social workers fooled me and U in an instant…Stop the anguish and awaken for a second

Why can’t I find any doors here??? Why have I fallen here tired and all alone???

Why is the law against me and us??? Why is the color of my skin the crime, the sin? Who said these things???

Come and open ur two eyes at this moment…Don’t beat on my wings and feathers because I’m so tired

Katu, this Dagmarinkatu is pure agony, torture…Number 6 is an open sore, pain and a mirage in a sea of hopelessness.

??????? ?? ???????         ?? ???? ????????

????? ?? ?? ????        ????? ???? ?? ????? ?? ???

 ??? ?? ??? ? ????        ??? ?? ???? ???

 ?? ??? ????? ??? ? ??? ? ?????       ??? ???? ???? ??? ?? ??

 ??? ????  ????? ??? ??????       ??? ???????? ?? ??? ??????

  ??? ????? ????? ??? ?????? ?     ??? ???? ?? ?? ???? ?? ????

  ??? ???? ???? ???? ??? ??? ?????      ???? ?? ? ?????? ??? ??? ?? ????

  ??????? ??? ?? ?? ?? ?? ?? ???? ?? ??     ??? ?? ?? ??? ????? ?? ?? ??

 ??? ???? ??? ???? ?? ?????        ??? ?????? ?? ?? ???? ????

 ??? ????? ??? ?? ?? ? ??        ??? ???? ??? ??? ? ??? ?? ???? ??????

 ??? ???? ?? ?????? ?? ????    ??? ?? ??? ? ??? ?? ???? ?? ??

 ???? ??? ???????? ???? ???? ???     ????? ???? ? ??? ? ??? ??? ? ???? ???

Dana says that loneliness is the most difficult matters to adapt to in Finland.

Dana writes:

“I came to Finland in April 2008 from Turkey. I’m originally from Iran. I had to leave the country because there is no religious freedom. I was forced to flee the country to Turkey. I met some representatives from the United Nations who said I could go and live in Finland as a refugee.

It was spring when I arrived at Vaasa in an apartment where there was hardly any furniture, only a bed, table, chairs a pot, spoon, fork and knife, no TV; there were no curtains and they gave me 250 euros. The social worker said that money was for food and stuff I wanted to buy.

Feeling like the loneliest person on Earth in a foreign country, I wondered where I had ended up. I couldn’t believe it. I was totally and completely alone. I thought I could make friends but this wasn’t easy. People didn’t want to talk to me when I approached them. I asked my social worker if I could bring my family. I told her I could not stand living alone this way.

She didn’t leave with much hope. The social worker said that if I wanted to bring my parents to Finland I would have to pay their plane ticket and support them financially here. The social worker said I’d have to personally pay the application fees for my parents. My mother is very sick suffering kidney complications. The social worker made me feel hopeless because it sounded like bringing my parents here would be an enormous and expensive task.

But I need my parents by my side. It’s so difficult for me to live so faraway from them all alone.

Dana believes that all people have a right to live a peaceful life in a country where they aren’t persecuted

Almost immediately after I moved to Vaasa I enrolled in a Finnish-language course. At school, it didn’t take long to figure out that I was in the wrong place. My classmates were from Africa, Bosnia, Russia, Guatemala, Ghana, China and other countries. None, however, were from Iran.

I learned to speak Finnish pretty fast. I worked hard and did my homework diligently. But then things started to go sour at the school. All of the students in my class had a relative studying there like a mother, brother, sister or at least a friend from the same country. There were no Iranians at the school. I was all alone.

The African complained to the teacher about the racism she were facing in Vaasa. All I could do is think of my parents and how to bring them to Finland. I wasn’t interested in supporting her so she turned against me for that reason. I guess it was because I was all alone and tried to be a model student. I was better than anyone at school and learned Finnish faster than any of them.

I had a different perspective back then. I didn’t want any problems with people like the Finns and with the school staff. To make a long story short, I was called in by the principal and teacher and expelled from the school. The reason? Because I could not get along with my classmates.

I was shocked. I complained to the social worker who then called one of the teachers. The principle apparently kicked me out of the school to appease my classmates. Once the principle and teacher insulted me in front of the class in the presence of all the students. It was clear that I could not stay any longer  at the school.

Immigrants turn against each other. They do that in order to show the Finns that they are better than another immigrant.

I was only a few months at that school in Vaasa. I stuck around for a year and a half and started to go to Unicef. There were some foreigners there and the Finnish they taught was very elementary. It was too easy. The hardest part, however, was being alone. Nobody was there for me to help and support me.

A friend got me an apprentice job at a home for old people. I worked there for three months for practically nothing. It was hard and physically strenuous work. There were students working there as well. When I asked them how much they made, I discovered they made a lot more than I did. Imagine, I worked eight-hour shifts five days a week and got 180 euros per month! It’s not fair! People should not be allowed to work for free, like a slave.

What kind of foreigners am I? I like to see myself as a brave person who can spot racism and is sensitive enough to even scent it when a person looks at me. To understand my suffering is to understand the meaning of time. It’s time that I am losing, precious years of my life, of being without my parents and not even having a job in Finland.

Racists in Finland are the ones who are responsible for wasting my precious time, my golden time.

I tried everything but there wasn’t any hope. I thought it would be a good idea to move to Germany where I had relatives. I did go there with the intention of never returning to Finland but I couldn’t stay there. Germany wouldn’t give me a residence permit. So I returned to Vaasa and then after a short while moved to Helsinki.

*Migrant Tales publishes on and off life histories of immigrants living in Finland. The aim of these short life stories is to get a glimpse of the joys and challenges they face in their new home country. If you want to share your story with us, please get in touch by email, [email protected].

Migrant Tales Literary: Yearning never waits

Posted on April 7, 2012 by Migrant Tales

By Enrique Tessieri

I made one of the greatest discoveries of my life in 1998 at the Finnish Seamen’s Church of Buenos Aires, Argentina. Even if such pleasant interior landscapes no longer witness my silence and stance, they are now distant memories that have turned into spacious imaginary cities of the mind where each building has a tale to tell, whispering.

Even if I had visited the Finnish Seamen’s Church on many occasions,  the days I spent there as a tenant brought me back to the beginning of a long journey I began around two decades ago when I moved back to Finland.

William Blake (1757-1827) once said that improvements make straight roads but that it  was the crooked ones without improvement that are roads of genius. Is yearning and following your heart’s desire a crooked road that can lead you to wonderful places never imagined?

The former Finnish Seamen’s Church is today a cultural center in dire need of money and repair. 

Even if my great grandparents, Dante and Jacob only appear occasionally in talk, I can say with total confidence that the yearning and restlessness  I feel today is because of them…

…or possibly it’s because I was born in an enormous migrant transit lounge called The Americas.

Like many others, my family has been on the move for generations: from my father’s side, my great grandfather Dante was from Italy, my grandfather Nemo was born in Brazil, my father and I were born in Argentina, and my three children were  born in Finland.

Yearning is a powerful force. It is the fuel that turns on our hope; it is so powerful that it rarely dies in a lifetime but lives on for generations.

The world is becoming a very small place as time takes us by the hand to the future. It’s pretty certain that my children and grandchildren will be much luckier than I. They will have the ability to visit and leave cultures and lifestyles at will and be – if they wish – from many places simultaneously. They will travel without the baggage of hatred and prejudice constantly overlooking them.

As long as smaller cultures and not devoured by larger ones, life in the new millennium will resemble vast cities like New York or London, where everyone is from somewhere but few from there.

If we all learned to let go and allow yearning to take us by the hand, maybe the first lesson we’d learn is that we are nothing than temporary migrants on Earth searching for that hill where the grass is greener on the other side.

(1999)

Migrant Tales Literary: Poem – Beyond Recognition

Posted on March 23, 2012 by Mark

BEYOND RECOGNITION

Part I

Jella played with the sand, spade
digging earnestly at the dry earth.
Jaref thrust out a hand, grabbing
thief-like, as older brothers do.

Jella cried. First in despair, but
then in the corner of the yard,
there under the peeling gable,
standing troubled, forlorn,
like a totem of the oppressed.

Jaref knew himself declared,
a bully in the sight of the world.
Conscience prodded, but
he just stared – stubborn, defiant,
squatted in the shallow sand pit,
a small distance from the house.

And though he might deny it,
her pain dug at his callow heart.

The screaming rocket hit the upper floor.
Noise erupted, huge and flat
like a tolling bell,
clasping at Jaref, stealing him instantly
towards a soundless universe.
He watched, mute, as the gable wall fell,
smothering his sister in dust
and unearthliness.

Part II

The newspaper mentioned five dead.
In hidden rooms, crumpled maps
on wooden tables showed
pencilled roads towards retaliation.

Part III

Jaref knew nothing save an absence. An age
of gnawing deafness to the world.
The youth veered towards maturity
while hope and beauty lay feigned,
swathed in a stained white shawl,
sleeping in a dusty grave.

Pain wrapped in numbness,
a weight pushing on all sides.
Only one sure relief,
a raffish friend, seeking to console –

Revenge!

A force majeure mission,
for love brutalised beyond recognition.

Part IV

Jaref strapped on the belt.
His friends looked on solemn.
A remote trigger.
He walked away resolved
to find his place,
to stand among the unknown faces
as a totem of the oppressed
at the margins of the broken spaces.

Part V

Aschil, soon to be twenty and married,
busied herself among the stalls. A proud
father wafted like a shawl at her side,
offering the easy advice of one not
given to fussing over craft or colours.

He was there to serve, in a declaration
of his daughter’s worthiness.
His role merely to proffer his wage,
though he beamed with priceless joy
for his daughter’s coming of age.

Part VI

She peered inside the shadowed interior
beneath a gently billowing canopy,
at wares strung on bright yellow strings,
lights and lanterns of myriad crystal bounty,
all winking blithe in the morning sun.
A light, she reflected – a good omen.

As Aschil turned, the tented wall lit up.
Time becalmed. And piece by piece,
the thronged scene split asunder,
as flying shards of fevered metal roared at
the crowds with furious thunder.

Canvas and flesh yielded without rebuff.
Aschil fell, eyes staring at the final terror.
She let go her last breath, crushed.

A love brutalised forever.

Part VII

The newspaper mentioned 43 dead.
In hidden rooms, crumpled maps
on wooden tables showed
pencilled roads towards retaliation.

– Mark

Migrant Tales wants to hear your story

Posted on February 6, 2012 by Migrant Tales

By Enrique Tessieri

Thanks to you, Migrant Tales has achieved one of its most important aims: “To be a voice for those whose views and situation are understood poorly and heard faintly by the media, politicians and public.” In order to continue to be heard, we need more voices on Migrant Tales. 

We aim to publish stories in English, Finnish and any other language.

Do you have a real-life story to tell? Do you want to do it anonymously or with your real name? Then Migrant Tales is the blog where your voice will be heard by many.

Migrant Tales wants to continue as well to publish more scoops like we did with the tragic death of a Somali in Oulu.   If you know of a story and want to alert us, please write to us: [email protected].

We are interested as well in publishing poetry, short stories about life in Finland on our very own online “little magazine,” Migrant Tales Literary.

Thank you for your support.

Migrant Tales Literary: The expatriate and the meaning of the four seasons of Finland

Posted on December 18, 2011 by Migrant Tales

By Enrique Tessieri

Three matters happen to some of us when we move to a foreign country: We learn to live with separation and yearning. Some of us grasp as well that in each farewell we die a little as the French poet, Edmond  Haraucourt, once wrote.

In distant lands we learn to hear those lachrymose tunes emanating from the woods and that in each season the concert is different but the same.

Winter: Assurance

The forest under sub-zero temperatures has many personalities. Contrary to humans, and since trees and plants cannot move like humans, they must travel with their imagination and with the help of the seasons.

Do they feel separation, yearning and change as we do? The answer may lie in the many flakes of snow that descend on our faces, each having a different weight thawing into water.

Is the acceptance of winter to my silence and stance an assurance that Finland has never forgotten me, even if I live today in faraway lands?

A group of Finnish settlers in Misiones, Argentina, in the 1920s.

Spring: Separation

In foreign lands I have heard spring water trickling and budding leaves thousands of kilometers from the source in Finland. In foreign lands, I’ve paid closer attention to the three springs: early spring; mid-spring; and late-spring. I especially miss mid-spring, or those days that begin to announce faintly summer’s approach.

Such days overflow with sunlight, with nights still infatuated with pitch-darkness.  Nature’s susurrations are everywhere. Under the sweet scent of birches, spruces and firs, lichen releases a soft crackling sound that sounds like an enormous just-opened bottle of lightly carbonated mineral water.

The separation of late-spring and early-summer ends with a furious knockout punch to the former.

Summer: Longing

There are two types of longing that some experienced: faint and strong. They are no different from the sub-seasons you’ll find in spring and in summer. Summer is so short in these latitudes that you can almost count the days with your fingers.

Days continue to get longer in early-summer until they reach their zenith in midsummer. Summer eventually learns to balance itself over the landscape in harmony and is at a perfect distance from its predecessor and successor, spring and autumn.

I occasionally take afternoon naps on summer. Rain makes me drowsy. If you listen closely, each raindrop that splashes on the roof has a different sound. It is like a lullaby that puts me to sleep.

Around mid-July, the sun barely winks or hints of dark night. Now twilight and darkness appear on tiptoes and with great care begin rearranging the landscapes for autumn.

Summer can be a tragedy for some. 

Autumn: Farewell

When autumn leaves and colors begin to abound, it is a time for some of us to bid Finland farewell and return to our homes in foreign lands. If you still haven’t left, darkness is now so thick that one feels as if he were floating in the abyss like in early and mid-spring.

The real reason why some of us return to Finland in summer is because we fear that our former childhood landscapes may forsake us. Every time we return to our former homes and say farewell we are modestly reaffirming that we are and continue to be Finns irrespective of our new religious, ethnic and linguistic backgrounds.

Even if some would want to banish us for good from this land, its useless because everyone knows that you cannot intimidate your deepest feelings and memories.

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