Mother's needs (part 1)

It's a big change moving to Calgary, Canada from Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. I'm sure it was an even bigger change for my daughter who had been born and raised in Ethiopia. I, on the other hand, was born and raised in Moscow, where I met my husband, a fellow university professor in the literature department. As the USSR pursued it's goal of global communism, it meddled in multiple countries around the world. One of those countries was Ethiopia, where the Soviets were trying to establish a "national democratic" regime, namely a single party regime led by a "workers party". To that end the Soviets contributed massive amounts of military aid. And to counterbalance, they also provided a token of civilian aid. That's how my husband and I ended in Ethiopia. Soon after getting married we gladly signed up to go abroad and help spread the worker's revolution. In the early 70's we left to teach literature at the University at Addis Ababa. That idealism soon turned to cynicism, as we lived a sheltered and privileged life among other Soviet diplomats and high ranking military officers. There was no shortages of luxuries in the Soviet diplomatic compound where we lived, specially compared to the harsh African reality. And in that environment my daughter was born and grew up. My husband and I settled on the comfort of our situation. Besides teaching a token number of classes to justify our tenure, my husband and I focused on our passion: literature. My husband focused on politics, writing articles about communism, while I focused on Russian language romance novels. We both achieved moderate success. My husband's articles being published in major Russian language newspapers around the Soviet sphere of influence. My novels became moderate hits in Russia, feeding the fantasies of the "new woman". Literature, and our new born baby Tatiana, filled our life during the late 70's and most of the 80's. Then in the late 80's the winds of change came and upended the Soviet society. I had stayed mostly isolated of the political climate until one day when Vasily, one of the embassy attaches, and close friend of my husband knocked on my front door, accompanied by Tatiana. Tatiana looked nervous, so I imagined she had gotten in trouble at school. I couldn't have been more wrong.

After sending Tatiana to her room, Vasily spoke with very cold words.

"Natasha, I need you to trust me. For the great appreciation I have always had for your husband and your family since I came to Ethiopia almost a decade ago, I need you to trust me. Your husband had been killed, he was shot during a lecture. Our intelligence agents think it was politically motivated because of your husband's writings. They also think you and your daughter are in imminent danger. Here or anywhere in what's left of the Soviet Union. I cannot help you in any official capacity because the recent changes have left the embassy in disarray. However, there's someone from the Portuguese embassy that has agreed to help you. Yours and your daughter's diplomatic passport have been cancelled, but Joao has agreed to get your temporary asylum papers to board a flight tonight to Lisboa. We must meet him in the airport within an hour. In 30 minutes, someone from the Soviet intelligence section will come to take you into protective custody. I wouldn't trust any of them. I know it's a hard decision. You must trust me."

With barely more than our clothes on my back and a few family photographs, we began the longest journey of our lives.

Portugal denied our application for permanent asylum, due to their diplomatic relations with the troubled Soviet Union, but they did help meditate with other neutral countries. Finally two weeks later we arrived at the Alberta airport, permanent asylum papers in hand. It was late May.

There was one positive twist, as the status of Lenin and Stalin crumbled to the floor. As capitalism rose from the ashes of the Soviet Empire, normal people still longed for the comfort of cheap entertainment to escape their mundane lives. And resourceful entrepreneurs were up to fill that void. Soon after reaching Canada, one such individual contacted me through Portuguese embassy. I had a publisher for my books.

School started early September, and Tatiana had been enrolled as a senior in high school. Luckily Tatiana had learned English (along with Russian) in the school for diplomats back in Addis Ababa. We had barely acquired a small house in a quiet suburban neighborhood, so we were still settling in. 

Tatiana had a hard time adapting, the cultures were very different, and while language wasn't a barrier, the capitalistic lifestyle was very different. The first few days she tried to fit in, but in a matter of a week she retreated to just focus academics and on finishing her schooling. I supported her, and tried to shield her as much as possible from the harsh changes she had just experienced. 

Soon enough the last days off summer passed, and the first day of fall rolled around.

"Mother, where are all my shoes? This is the only pair I could find." Tatiana held her snow boots, which we had purchased soon after arriving in Canada.

"Yes, I have just put away all of your summer shoes. You now only have your winter boots to wear. Your mother just wants to make sure you are warm. You're not used to colder climate."

... part 2