Written By: Keera Ratnam
Drawing By: Abi Ratnam
Leaving your home country and coming to a new place is difficult. As immigrants we come to a foreign land hoping to live a better life, a life of opportunity and a chance to rebuild a better future. We come in hopes to create a family, and strengthen our culture. But it is not always that easy. Many of us are born in here, born in this land of opportunity and do not understand what it feels to be an immigrant. Many of us migrated when we were too young to remember our past. And many of us do not know of who we really are and how our families have came to this land, how our ancestors lived and what was the reason for us to leave our own land. Because many of us don’t realize what we have lost or forgotten about our identity and heritage and the true struggle that many of our people have gone through just to say who we are.
As an Eelam Tamil, the reason to leave and migrate was for protection. This was not just for life and survival but also for the protection and growth of an identity and race. When speaking the mother tongue was prohibited, the laws that were enforced restricted the growth of language causing the importance of identity became a concern. Many have left in search for new land, to start off fresh hoping to create a home in which they can allow their heritage to survive. Many fought long and hard, hoping for a new light to touch them, and bless them with a new state of peace. However, the struggle for identity was not that easy. Those who migrated had difficulty adapting to the new world, new life and preserving their culture. Those who stayed back lost their children, family and what they had reserved for many years. The many who migrated built new homes, new life but forgot to teach their children about their past and most importantly about the history of their ancestors.
In 2009, the standing of our people back home came to a collapse as the government and military turned its target to the Tamil civilians. The fight for rights and freedoms, turned in to a fight for survival. There was no place to hide, no one to trust and no place to go. The only solution was to flee the country. Flee to somewhere where the children wont get hurt, a place where there is food, and place where it is safe. I was one of the few that decided to leave. I lived in my country since birth, and so have my ancestors. I met my significant other in these very grounds and wedded him a year ago. I now have no choice but to leave. I had to, at least for my child that I bear with in me.
“Gowri”, said my husband. “Its time to leave.” We were boarding the MV SUN SEA, a cargo ship that carried almost 500 Eelam tamils. We were told that we would land somewhere safe, somewhere near by. Rubbing my stomach on top of my georgette saree, I looked down and closed my eyes and prayed. I whispered “ I pray to you God, I pray that on this trip as I pass the deeps waters, you will protect my child and let it live.” As tears rushed down my eyes, I felt the comfort of my husband. He wrapped his arms around me as I buried my head in his chest. At this moment, I began to cry harder. Pulling my face up, he looked down at me and wiped my tears. Kissing my forehead, he said, “Everything will be alright, I am here, we are in this together.”
Within two hours the ship was set to sail. It was crowded with teenagers, the elderly and families of four. There were about eight females who I noticed were pregnant. Everyone had there own sacks of clothes, not much but something to change into. Some had small pouches that had their ID cards, and a few photos of their loved ones. But almost everyone had one thing in common, the look of fear and doubt. They had the fear that they will not make it alive past the srilanka shores, and the doubt of how long this journey will take. I too was one of those people with the same doubt. After glancing around hoping to catch a familiar face I sat down beside my husband. It was too crowded to walk around, and I was too tired to try. Leaning back, I rested my head on his shoulders and fell asleep.
A month went by, and there was no sign of land. We were told that the boat would not land in India, it was not safe, not at this time. As the days went by, we grew hungry. Several of the children were weak and the elderly were gradually getting ill. Our throats were dry, no matter how much water we drank, and our faces were pale. We looked as if we were the walking dead, clinging on to the little life that was left in our bodies. What we have dreamed this trip to be was just a myth. We were traveling with Satan himself on our backs.
Weeks went by, and then two months. My stomach expanded and I could feel my child kicking inside. During my pregnancy, I was only happy the first 5 and a half months, and after that I boarded the ship. That’s when happiness turned into worries and the struggle to survive became my ultimate goal. As my child grew inside me, I grew hungry, the pain increased and I felt more homesick. The days that we were given food, my husband would feed me, and starve himself. He would save some of the biscuits and water for me, so that I eat well throughout the day. I was fortunate to have him there, alive and well, looking after me.
On my 8th month of pregnancy, we experienced heavy storms, winds and nasty waves. When it rained we huddled together in crowds, telling the little children to sit in our laps as we tried to keep warm. The young females who were on their periods, would sit in the corners. During this time, they would shiver. The grandmothers and grandfathers would take their sarees and extra sarams and tell the girls to wrap themselves with it. When it rained we would get soaked, and when a storm hit, we held on to each other with all our might. Each night we would pray. Despite who we were, whether or not we were related we promised each other that till we land on shore, we would hold on to each other.
There were several nights that I couldn’t sleep. I would watch over the children as they curled up in a circle holding onto their friends hands. Even though I was far away from home, away from the resting place of my parents, I found family. My family was my people, we did not care about each others castes, occupation, status and whether or not we were all the same religion. All we cared about was that we were Thamil. We understood each other by looking into each others eyes. We all went through the same struggle and wanted one thing for ourselves and for our children. We wanted freedom. The freedom that will allow us to preach our language freely and let our heritage grow. In this boat there was the elderly, the roots to my heritage, parents who were the foundation to a family and the children and youth who were the sprouts of tomorrow all locked up on one cargo ship struggling to be free.
After almost 3 months of travelling, we finally landed on the Vancouver shores. August 12th 2010, we landed on the coast of Vancouver, resting from our trip and awaiting to be accepted into a new place. Although we arrived to shore, we were still kept in the ship for investigations. The children and elderly were slowly taken out one by one. I was now hitting the peak of my Pregnancy. I was starting my 9th month and was ready to give birth within a few weeks.
September 23rd, a night that I would never forget. I was still in the ship, we were offered blankets and food, and were constantly checked on. That night I felt different. With chills up my spine I felt sick. I felt what seemed to be pain, but relief. On the morning of September 24th 2010, with little space with a little help from my family, I gave birth to a beautiful girl, my princess whom I carried for 9 months, across the deep waters to Canada. She was my daughter. With the help from my new my family that I made along this trip, I was able to deliver her and have her blessed by my people. They had named her Thamil. After all the struggles we all went through to come to this land, Thamil was the only thing that united us. Her name was symbolic, and she was the light to our struggle. Her name represented the very same Thamil that struggled to fight as an identity in my home country, the very same Thamil that classified the ethnic group whose lives were lost in mulivaikkal in the horrific massacre. Thamil was her name, forever beautiful and sweet. . It represented who she is, where she’s from and what her heritage was. She was a child who grew in the thorns of barbed wire and blossomed beautifully as delicate lotus in the shores of Vancouver. Wrapped in nothing less then the rags of her people, and surrounded by their love. She will grow and one day share her story, her birth and the reasons why she was born where she was. This will be apart of our history, and one day be a reason to search for our roots. Identity, heritage and language all play a role in bringing out a nation, group of people and a culture. It is what our ancestors fought for, and is apart of who we are.
The story above is true, based on the perspective of Gowri and how she had her child. She is now in Toronto living among us, happily with her family. Her courage and strength that she has displayed through out her struggles back home and on her trip, should encourage us to realize that we as the international tamil community should take our identity seriously. Not just as a way to identify ourselves, but also to teach our children why we have migrated, what we have lost, and most importantly why our language and heritage is so important.
Tags: Speak Out
