Homeward Bound

Oh Canada, you were beautiful in the light of an October Sunday afternoon. The warm Autumn sun shone in a clear blue sky making it feel like late August/early September. And I am leaving today on a jet plane . . .

I was escorted to Pearson International Airport by friends (thanks Lyn & Ken!) where Terminal 1 gleamed new and impressive. The high rounded white ceiling reminded me of a cross of Quonset hut and a classic railroad station. Light and airy. I got in line to get my ticket and check my 2 bags and box. Too much weight, it would cost me. I tried to get the airline hostess to forgive some of the weight and in the end she overlooked about 5 kgs. At least it was something. I said good-bye to Ken & Lyn went into the international departure area.

Nice area to shop, eat and use the free wi-fi (way to go Pearson!). It allowed me a quick email and to check on the scores. The sunshine was shining brightly into the terminal. Well designed, convenient and well built. The scene was orderly, peaceful and spoke of good government . . .

The time came for us to board the Lufthansa flight to Frankfurt. The flight wasn’t full so many of us could spread out. As we lifted into the western sky, into the sun I could look down and see the city of Toronto. I could see the 401 below like a long ribbon. As the jet airliner slowly turned east we could see the skyline of the downtown core. The city was beautiful in the afternoon Autumn sun, the late-in-the-year angle gave it a warm glow. We rose ever higher flying over the northern shore of Lake Ontario. The many lakes to the north of the city were visible. As we flew eastward the night came on at a fast pace, the palette of sky colours turned from shades of brilliant yellow into mellow orange, into deep purple then into the blackness of night. On the ground the towns slowly became lit, clusters of lights popped on everywhere. Was that Montreal as I looked down? I couldn’t be sure but it was about where the pilot said it would be.

After that I stopped looking out the window. Dinner came and went. They had a vegetarian dish, lasagna, available and I gratefully chose it. Airline food isn’t all that bad these days, except for meat, an uneven proposition at best. Then many folks settled into watching their own personal viewing screens or trying to close their eyes for the overnight trip across the Atlantic. I did a little of both. I watched the beginning and end of The Simpsons Movie and dozed through the middle. I find it hard to sleep on flights. It’s like sleeping in hospitals, there is always someone or something waking you up. So I settled on a dozen catnaps.

We landed safely in Frankfurt at 6:30 a.m. local time, which was just past midnight by my internal clock. I knew the routine by now; wait patiently as passengers disembarked one by one, from the warmth of the cabin to the cool morning air go into the waiting shuttle bus, arrive at some distant terminal and try to find where my next departure gate is. I first looked around the duty-free area where all the shops were. From alcohol and tobacco to reading material and candies with perfumes and electronics crowding shelves as well.

Eventually I looked for the big “I” for information and was pointed in the right direction. Down long corridors I walked until I found the shuttle train that would take me out to the gate where I needed to be. When I got out there I realized that I was in a veritable dead end wing with nothing to do but sit. No stores to shop in, but that’s ok, no temptation either. It had restrooms and that was sufficient. As I waited I decided to see if there was free wi-fi at this international airport. I found several wi-fi sources, including one that said ‘free public wi-fi’ but all of them proved unavailable. One needed to pay or to have a password, I didn’t want to pay and I didn’t have access to a password. So I sat and read and waited.

The second leg of the flight (Frankfurt-Khartoum-Addis Ababa) went well. The plane was mostly full but not sold out. I was joined in the 2 window seats (Airbuses have a 2-5-2 arrangement, as opposed to the Boeing 3-3-3 seating, which I prefer, especially if I am stuck with a middle row seat) by a man who spoke English with a thick accent so neither of us talked during most of the trip. In the light of midday I saw parts of Europe below. In the mountainous terrain below I was gratified to see the Alps were snow covered, Switzerland was still as it should be. The snow line stopped suddenly and gave way to brown mountains, I guessed I was looking at the Italian Alps. Soon we were flying down the western coast of Italy with the Mediterranean below and the outline of land off in the distance. We flew over Sicily and back over the sea again and I lost interest.

The next time I looked I saw way below what looked like snowed covered desert, the Sahara looked white but I knew that could not be. But at 37,000 feet the endless tracks of sand in the afternoon sun looked like it had been hit with a snow storm. Eventually in the late afternoon we began our descent to Khartoum and the desert looked brown and dry as it should. What would it take to revive all that wasted space, I wondered. What if global warming suddenly started dumping lots of rain over the Sahara, the Sahel of Africa? Would the desert spring to life like a vision of Ezekiel?

We spent over an hour on the ground getting refueled. I said good-bye to my seatmate. We started talking at the end and I found out that he was from Italy, near Venice, and he was working for a company in Sudan, making rolled sheet metal. He had worked all over the world as a consultant, helping to start companies in some cases; Venezuela, Jordan, etc. But now he was just playing out the string, looking at the end goal of 3 more years until retirement. His wife and daughter were living in Italy and he visited every 3 months. And that’s the way it is, he shrugged. He liked his job, he liked the people he was working with now and the pay was ok. He probably could do better buy why start over somewhere else when things were working out here? After we said good-bye to each other I got up and stretched. About one-third to one-half the passengers left and no one came on board, there would be lots of room for the final, short leg of the journey.

The last 2 hours of flight was in the dark and uneventful. We were given cellophane wrapped sandwiches which were pretty good. The Germans can make good sandwiches at least (hearty ‘voll-korn’ bread is a good start). Soon the lights of Addis came into view, I was almost home. I tried to guess, by the directions of the street lights, what we were flying over but was never sure until we had almost landed. I figured out the Ring Road just as we were landing, the road I was going to take back to the MCC compound, back to where my little family waited silently for me . . .

The landing went well. I was grateful for a safe flight. As I get older I tend to think about all the things that could go wrong in flight and have to have an internal argument over and over about the general safety of air transportation. No need to voice those concerns, it only alarms one’s family and unnerves fellow passengers. So I quietly say a prayer of thanks and disembark.

Next stop was the customs’ line-up. The queue wasn’t too bad for 9 p.m. at night and I got through in 15 minutes. I stood around with the rest of the group waiting for luggage. As people got their luggage and the crowd dwindled, I became uneasy, did my 2 suitcases and box make it? Another worry about flying (albeit much less traumatic) is losing luggage, there are horror stories out there. But eventually the conveyor belt spewed out my stuff, to my relief. I had a safe trip, I had all my luggage, my ears were fine (a common malady for me when I fly is my ears hurt from the change in pressure upon landing as well as the inability to hear; ‘swimmer’s ear’ in the air). One last hurdle, standing in line to wait for our bags to be x-rayed on the way out of the airport (does this make sense? Checking luggage of passengers as they leave the airport? I leave that, dear reader, to you to decide). Apparently there was only one screener available, thus only one line and there were by now two flight loads of passengers trying to squeeze through all at once.

With no discernable line a bottleneck sooned formed. I acted like everyone else, I pushed my cart forward into the fray. If I didn’t, if I acted like a gentleman, I would never get through (not true, of course, but it felt like that to me, and to all the others as well, chaos can make good people take unfriendly actions). It was hard to see the value of this exercise, no one was questioned about the contents of their luggage. It seemed like a rote procedure that had to be done. So we all dutifully submitted, to protest was to invite delay. No standing on principal at 10 p.m. at night at Bole International Airport.

After making it through the line I turned on my cellphone and called Wanda. The girls were just going to bed. Amani couldn’t make it, she was too tired. But Wanda said she would tell Abby and Sophia. It was time to find the Toyota Landcruiser that had been parked in the parking lot, load up and go. I travelled for 3 weeks with the key so that I wouldn’t inconvenience anyone into waiting for me. It is a good system. There were the eager young men, ‘porters’ they called themselves, who insisted on helping me with my luggage in spite of my assurances that I could do it myself. Consequently they all got 1 Birr (about 10 cents) which they sullenly accepted, a Westerner should be tipping more in spite of the going rate (should I point out for their 5 minutes of work, if that, I am paying them the equivalent of 20 Birr/hour?) of 25-50 ‘cents’ for Ethiopians.

The Ring Road was mostly empty although I needed to watch out for pedestrians. Dark and quiet, I drove uneventfully to home. It took a couple of honks to get the guards to come to the gate but when I pulled in I saw three figures in the porch light, two small girls waving flags and jumping around like cheerleaders. I parked and as I opened the door to the Landcruiser I was welcomed by Abby and Sophia. Warm smiles, big hugs and happy kisses, still jumping up and down and cheering, “Daddy, daddy, daddy!” And there was Wanda, smiling and waiting for me with a big hug and kiss and saying, “Welcome home. I’m so glad to see you. We’re all glad you are back home.”

The guards lugged all the baggage inside, I’m sure they wondered what the heck I had in them, what was I bringing back, the kitchen sink? Inside there was a big Canadian flag taped up across the opening to the hall, a big ‘Welcome Home Daddy” sign and dozens of little ‘welcome home’ hand-crafted messages around the house. Abby and Sophia were literally bouncing around for the next hour as we enjoyed the homecoming together. Of course they wondered what I brought for them. Too much to open tonight but, I said, there is some Swiss Lindt chocolate that you can have now. That was good enough (along with the promise of more gifts to come the next day). Dear Amani didn’t even wake up when I walked into the bedroom with her chattering sisters (the next day she told me she was aware that I was in the room; her mind told her to turn over and say hi but her body wouldn’t let her do it).

So, family and friends, I am back, safe and sound along with all the ‘loot’ I brought back. Soon after all the greetings had died down I asked Wanda if she knew the score of Game 7 of the ALCS and I could tell right away it wasn’t good news. I had tried to find out how the Tribe did in Frankfurt but it wasn’t possible. Another drubbing by Boston. How very disappointing. I suppose I should be thankful that I saw the Indians at all and that, hey, I wasn’t going to be able to watch them in the World Series anyways. Small consolation. What went wrong? I think a day off at home is one excuse. The no-show of our 2 aces is an even bigger reason. Will there be a next year? Hard to say with the comings and goings of players, but ’08 will be 60 years since the Tribe last won a WS, wouldn’t that be a wonderful coincidence? At any rate, I need to stop the ramblings of an early morning writing session (I couldn’t sleep and got up at 3:30 a.m., I’ll try not to do this again tomorrow). I have good memories of the past 3 weeks, thanks again to all who hosted me in their homes with billeting or for meals. I am happy to be back. Lots of work awaits ahead . . .

Our Home and Native Land . . .

It was the kind of day that you want everything to go exactly right, but from the start it wasn't happening. I woke up later than I usually do but I decided to carry on with my routine, only speed it up a bit. I went running. I showered and shaved and got dressed. I finished last minute preparation details and I went up for breakfast. Maybe I should have passed on the 2 pieces of toast and coffee because suddenly I could feel a bit of anxiety in my chest. I was behind.

No matter, I thought as I turned onto Niagara Street, I would use my superior driving skills and make up for lost time on the road. Oh no, road construction! Traffic backed up from Carlton and Niagara up to Laura Secord HS and we waited . . . I gritted my teeth and whispered sarcastically, "Serenity now, serenity now . . ." When I finally get past this, I thought, I'll really put the moves on. But as I crossed over the QEW and looked down on Niagara Falls bound traffic, all I could see was a traffic jam. I decided instantly not to try to go onto the QEW there but make my way to the next on ramp (no matter, the exit was closed for, wait for it, road construction). The problem was that all the other disappointed drivers who were detoured from entering the QEW there were now in a traffic jam on the service road. As I slowed to a stop, my heart began racing and wild, unhappy thoughts escaped my mind, some of them even passed my lips. It was 9:15. Citizenship & Immigration Canada's registered letter explicitly said we were to be at the Kate S. Durdan Elementary School at 9:30. Be prompt. That deadline was now dead. I was worried that I might not make 10 a.m.

With a burst of anxious anger I swerved out of line, through a parking lot onto a side road as a detour of a detour. A gentlemen in a truck with a large cigar was moving slowly in front of me. Obviously he had no pressing appointments for the morning. As he stopped to make a left turn and wait for the road to completely clear of all traffic I went around to the right and gunned the engine. Lineups of cars were straight ahead but I had decided to avoid all lines even if I had to detour a ways out of the way. I made it to Queenston Street and used an empty right turn traffic lane to by pass all the cars in line and cut into the straight ahead lane. I zoomed under the skyway bridge, testing the limits of machine and man, down the service road to Glendale Ave. where I finally got onto the QEW again. Instead of setting my cruise control around the speed limit (OK, I usually set it just a tick above the speed limit) I simply followed the traffic flow, 120 kph, which suited me this morning. I was already sweating profusely in my good clothes, looking at the time. 9:25 a.m. and still miles out. Not a good way to start my first day as a Canadian citizen, breaking a few laws enroute.

I pulled in and parked my car at 9:40, unarrested and unscathed, not too bad. Two smiling fresh-faced elementary school girls with Canadian flags in their hands opened the doors to the school when they saw me and welcomed me in. More children in red and white led me down corridors, upstairs and to the waiting room for new citizens. I was relieved to find the room a hive of activity as prospective Canadians were lined up to finish the last part of the paperwork. My worry was that I would walk into a lecture and all eyes in the quiet room would turn to me. But no, happy chaos. So I gave up my Permanent Resident card (a moment of sadness, remembering all the work it took to obtain that card) and presented other documents to prove I was who I said I was. Then I took a seat and waited. I struck up a conversation with a man would was from Nubia in Sudan. We were becoming Canadians today.

Finally all the paperwork was finished, everyone was present and last minute instructions were given by an official. We lined up to go downstairs to the school gym. The gym was full of children, some practicing as a choir, others just to observe the ceremony. There was a section for friends and family and in the front rows were my family (Wanda's parents, sister and niece) and friends from Grace and St. Catharines. I relaxed a bit as I saw friendly, familiar faces. It was really happening, everything was now on schedule, Canada was going to welcome me in a moment.

As I looked for my seat (assigned seating)I found that '1B' meant I shared the number 1 seat with another person in '1A'. She was an American also becoming Canadian on this day. As we talked, we realized in amazement that our stories were similar. I had almost given up hope on becoming a citizen looking at the hurdles ahead back in May, she had made a mistake on her application and had almost given up as well. We both had been planning to travel and live in Africa and thought that the requirements would preclude us from realistically getting that citizenship card. But the same person in the Niagara Falls C&I Canada office had encouraged both of us to carry on, fill out the forms, etc. This official would never admit it, but her quiet advocacy surely made it possible for both of us to be there that morning. So here we sat, side by side as American citizens becoming Canadian citizens with the help of a 'guardian angel'. And we were both leaving on Sunday from Pearson International, both of us eventually ending up in Africa.

The ceremony was called to order by an RCMP officer, a Mountie that looked like he had walked right out of a recruitment poster. Judge Robert Morrow presided and other dignitaries took their seats. Judge Morrow made a speech which was gracious in nature. He did talk about what a wonderful land Canada is (no surprise there) but he also welcomed us and said that immigrants are the backbone of modern Canada. My new friend and I, sitting next to each other, remarked how different this likely sounded from an American ceremony. Instead of, "you're lucky to be here in this great land of the good ol' US of A", it was "we're lucky to have you coming to us here in Canada". No talk about bearing arms for the motherland, but talk about how peace, order and good government are the hallmarks of Canada. So we all stood up and offered, affirmed, our allegiance to Queen Elizabeth and her heirs and successors, to obey Canadian laws and to fulfill our duties as Canadian citizens.

It was a bittersweet moment for me. I was happy to become a Canadian citizen. I was gratified to see friends and family there that morning. But I was sad that Wanda and Amani, Abby and Sophia weren't there. Neither was anyone from my family. But what more can be said? It just wasn't possible financially or logistically. A moment of reflection slowed me down but soon surrounded by family and friends I moved on. I got my picture with the Mountie and Judge Morrow, photos with C&I workers, with my new American/Canadian friend, with friends and family. We went back up to the library and had a reception. Our group was one of the last ones to leave, must be that Mennonite trait of lingering after a service . . .

The rest of the day was relaxed and happy. The Janzens invited the Roths and Kindlers back to their house and we enjoyed food and fellowship. I showed them my 'loot', what I'm taking back to Addis and we all agreed I needed to buy a UHaul box, a third piece of baggage, to take it all back. Then we said good-bye as they headed back to Tavistock/Stratford. I checked a couple more things off my list as well. I stopped in at 1 Woodcroft and was invited to see the work done by the new owners of our old house. They have done amazing work already and it's only just begun. I finally stopped in at our old neighbours house and ended up having supper and watching the Tribe-Bosox game with them. And that was the only damper on the day, the Cleveland Indians didn't win one for me on my special day. So I get to see them one more time (Saturday) before I leave.

Many people were interested in how the citizenship ceremony day would go. Thank you for your interest. Soon I'll be back to describing life in Addis again. I look forward to it.

Oh Canada

"Ok, Mr. Amstutz, I have the results of your citizenship exam. You scored a perfect 20 out of 20. Congratulations." And there it was, just that simple. I felt a small lump in my throat. "Thank you, ma'am."

I had thought about this day for a long time. Since we crossed the border back in 2001, becoming a Canadian citizen had been a distant goal. But there was the matter of establishing Permanent Resident status, which took much time and money. In 2005 I finally had the card in my hands. However, I couldn't apply for Canadian citizenship until March of 2007, until the residency requirements were fulfilled. So I began the next steps, knowing that we had committed ourselves to going with MCC overseas to Ethiopia. Could I still follow through on the process to citizenship?

Just prior to leaving in June we were told that there were still 3 important steps to becoming a citizen; take the citizenship exam, interview with an immigration judge and citizenship ceremony. All three had to be done on Canadian soil and all were usually months apart (embassies don't count as Canadian soil in these cases). I despaired. How could I possibly come back to Canada on 3 separate occasions? It would be too much money, too much time, too many complications. I might as well just throw in the towel. I was ready to quit.

Wanda wasn't ready to quit. We had come this far and she wanted to try even if the odds seemed long. She enlisted the help of her sister, Debra, who agreed to be my power-of-attorney and to help with providing the paperwork for the government. So I went back to talk to a Citizenship & Immigration Canada official on my last day in Canada in June. She wouldn't promise me anything (we don't play favorites) but she agreed to speak to the right persons about my file. She also gave me helpful hints about what to do next. She said that there may be an outside chance, a real long shot, that the 3 steps might align themselves in short chronological order so that one or two trips would only be necesssary. That wasn't very encouraging, nevertheless, I tried following her instructions to the letter and left the rest in my sister-in-law's hands.

In early August I got news from C&I Canada via Debra; the date was going to be set, did I have a preference? Wow, they were going to give me a choice? October would be much better than August or September, MCC-wise in Ethiopia, so I asked for the unexpected. And the answer I got exceeded all expectations . . .

C&I Canada sent a letter saying I had to show up for a citizenship exam on Oct. 4. The judge interview had been waived and there was to be a citizenship ceremony on the 18th. I could hardly believe my luck, I could do it all in one trip! I could sense the hand of providence and also the sympathetic assistance of an official as well.

So here I was, in Niagara Falls, nearing the end of a long journey that defied expectations. I had expected to take the exam with a roomful of people, I was the only one in the room taking the exam that morning. I had expected that the exam would be long and complicated with various objective and subjective questions, but it was 20 multiple choice questions. That was it. I expected that I wouldn't know the results for at least a couple days, if not a week. But the test was graded right away. 20 out of 20, I was more relieved than excited.

So the citizenship ceremony will be on Thursday, October 18. For those of you, family and friends, who can make it you are welcome to come. But I am quite sure that, as much as I will enjoy that day, I will be thinking about my little family way back in Addis; Amani, Abby and Sophia and my dear wife Wanda. Not to sound too much like a Oscar winner but, "I wish to thank my wife, without whose love and support I would not be standing here . . ."