When 2 Years Became 4

Initially, Lima was going to be a 2-year posting for my father. The Department of Foreign Affairs (our foreign ministry) determined levels of hardship, taking living conditions - threats of violence, availability of basic medical services, clean drinking water, or pretty much anything necessary to lead a normal life – into account to negotiate the length of a posting. Due to the aftermath of the MRTA crisis and Canada’s important role in Lima our stay was to be extended one more year. Surely, my mother’s cancer treatments were an additional factor in leading to this extension. It would have been brutal on my mother to undergo another international move, as she was not even recouping yet. She had already been discharged from hospital but she diligently pursued her radiation therapy to remove any additional cells that may not have been surgically eliminated during her stay at the Clinica Montesur. We all had to adapt to a new life, including Brian about 6,000 km away. 

No monkey business with David Bickford

            Grade 11 brought major changes to my life. Academically, I had entered the elite in my age group, undertaking International Baccalaureate coursework, a necessary step in assuring I would have a great shot at the university of my choice back home – not to mention a potential scholarship of any kind. The curriculum, as most of my peers will agree, was significantly more demanding than the regular American or Peruvian counterparts offered by our school. My favourite courses were IB - History of the Americas, a continent I have been passionate about from Tuktuyaktuk to Tierra del Fuego and ITGS – Information Technology in a Global Society, my introduction to the complex world of computers. The French Lycée system focussed on training the brain by using it, such as forbidding the use of calculators or computers, and making us memorize everything. Their motto is that if you don’t exercise this muscle, you lose it. Nevertheless, I enjoyed being able to create things on computers, eventually building a website for the High School Softball Team and my own websites that paid homage to my favourite bands. My learning curve even surprised me.

            This time had also been a great source of Canadian pride for myself as our Embassy had welcomed our elite security professionals from CSIS and the RCMP. They had come down South to make an educated assessment as to the safety of our SQs (the homes of DFAIT employees and their families abroad), beef up security in our Embassy in Miraflores and the Ambassador’s residence, and train local police that would act as an armed escort to our official vehicles everywhere we went. I knew that if they were involved, we were in good hands. After all, the RCMP attaché at the Embassy was first class, providing not only an excellent example of service as a decorated police officer, but as an outstanding member and contributor to our Canadian expat community. It seemed everyone that met him, liked him, including his counterparts throughout different neighbouring countries and law enforcement services.

            A major change to my regular routine however, was the addition of a few bodyguards. My father had to have one at all times, a friendly Peruvian police officer going by the name of Roberto Mendoza. He was always on top of his game and never acted unprofessionally on any occasion. I did joke around with him from time to time as a young teen and was quick to develop a good rapport with him. I was convinced should he be called upon to protect my father, he would not hesitate to react. My father, on a trip to Canada, brought him back an RCMP sweatshirt, which he treasured. I gifted my GI Joe collection to his son. The other bodyguard rode our school bus every single day. Not too many Canadian kids I know could say that. I don’t think any of us, as passengers, felt uncomfortable with this, as we knew it was for our own good. His name was Luis, a wiry fellow with a great sense of humour. I tended to talk about soccer, primarily the Peruvian national soccer team and their quest to qualify for the World Cup. He did not employ his revolver as a display item to show off to the kids or a vehicle of intimidation so we would behave in the school bus. On the contrary, he was a completely, no-nonsense, police officer. He carried himself with pride and purpose, even while protecting foreign kids, a job some seasoned professionals would have trouble complying. We had armed guards 24/7 at the house, and we enjoyed playing basketball together. With their heavy boots, nightsticks, radios and flak jackets, they were at a slight disadvantage.

Our dear Jean-Yves, Mr. Ambassador and David Bickford

            Perhaps the toughest lifestyle change to adapt to was travelling. Yes I did say travelling. Most people love the idea of travelling to new places and taking a break from the real world, but how long can you really escape from the realities of home? My parents had no choice on this one. Due to the increased risk for Canadian Embassy staff in Peru – for security reasons, when I went out with my friends after school, I had to be careful not to wear anything that identified me as a Canadian. That was tough - our government required families to evacuate should they be off from routine obligations for an extended period of time. This meant that holidays when I could spend quality time with my friends were now gone. Sure it is cool to travel and see the world, but it becomes tough when you know home is not safe and your friends are left behind to cope. Nevertheless, I did manage to make the most of the time I had in Lima afterwards to nurture my friendships on different terms. I had to accept reality and play by the rules to ensure my own safety. 

Remembering The Old 97

No matter what relationship you have with your parents and siblings, these relatives are really the few that can genuinely understand what you are – or will be – going through. A strong nuclear family is of the outmost importance. Outsiders label the expat experience as a sabbatical where you will be rocking out under the hot sun on a sandy beach wearing a funny hat. They don’t usually associate this displacement with becoming a target for terrorists – as was the case in the aftermath of the Japanese residence – or random attacks – when Mario Lambert and I left an amusement park in Peru shortly after a group blew up it up – and having to go on with a regular life. Your parents and siblings know these stories are not exaggerations or some desperate cry for attention. They soldiered on through the same struggles that you had. It is not that the rest of your family or friends do not care to understand, but your mind, identity and even culture has been morphed into something quite different from that of your fellow compatriots in a positive way as you have sacrificed stability and a sense of daily continuity.

Roosevelt Softball Team:
bet you can't spot the heavy metal horns!

In 1997, my nuclear family was rocked by even more than gun blasts and body bags marking the end of a siege. My older brother, Brian, was now headed off to university to pursue higher education in Medicine, bringing an abrupt end to our comfortable routine and camaraderie. He was excited to leave the roost and overjoyed with his upcoming emancipation. I was delighted and celebrated this new step alongside him yet realized it was going to be difficult to live in the same house after his departure. No more Sepultura banging through the massive home-made speakers he built with his friend Paul. The Cowboys From Hell were packing their suitcases to the head bangers ball in London, Ontario. Our lazy day basketball “21”s were to be substituted for a solo shoot around the driveway. The pitching staff in our school’s ball club was going to struggle to replace him and his lefty swing attempting to beat the green monster on right field. Family trips were now going to be booked for 3. Little did I know the days of living under the same roof had come to an end. There was no tomorrow.

To make matters even worse, as a 10 year anniversary present for my mother kicking cancer out of our house, she was once more diagnosed with the same type of cancer shortly before Brian would leave home base. Dad and Maman called us into their room one evening to have a serious chat and my father used that infamous cliché phrase: “It is nothing serious.” In every past instance when I heard that sentence mentioned, it was always a big deal. Mom told me several years later, she had decided to spend quality time with her mother that summer as she thought it could be her last chance. Mom was admitted on August 15^th, 1997 to the Clinica Montesur in Monterrico, Lima for surgery and she was to remain there for a good 5 days or so until she would be discharged. Brian stayed a few nights at her bedside during her stay and my requests to stand guard had been denied due to my school obligations. Everyone suggested – in my best interest of course - that it was best for me to continue my usual routine. I wasn’t a fan of people deciding for me. All I had on my mind was whether or not I was going to have a mother tomorrow or lose her to this cancer that did not want to leave our family alone. She was the glue that kept us all together.

School provided no distraction from the situation whatsoever. My mother had taken on the role of the school’s French teacher many moons ago and now… she was absent. This was highly uncharacteristic of her career in Roosevelt. Of course the staff knew why, but students began to ask questions and, as most kids and teens manage to, they got answers. Soon, my peers and others came up to express their sympathy, support and hoped things would get better soon. I preferred at the time that people pretended everything was normal. All is well. The icing on the cake was someone who came up to me and said: “My brother died of cancer so if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.” Gulp! Not a very smooth reassuring comment but I understood that the intentions were most noble. I felt as if I was treading like the Titanic in the academic seas as I prepared for the most important years of high school - the ones that universities really look at. However, I fought for my place, my grades and my permanence in the International Baccalaureate programme and tried to focus on what I could influence. I had to make it. Come September, Brian was gone. It was not a way of escaping his duties, on the contrary. It must have been difficult for him to leave knowing our mother had to undergo multiple sessions of radiotherapy. They had always been very close.

Maman (in red) and the FDR High School staff

We all have challenges to overcome and we often fail to consider how privileged we are in contrast to others. Many of us tend to dwell on the fact we were dealt the wrong card from the deck of life and resent God, life and others in a better situation than ourselves. I was somewhat guilty in the beginning of this crisis, feeling I did not have the proper support. An outsider could coldly say to you in a similar setting, “Toughen up” or “That’s life” – usually the last thing we want to hear – although this may be the best prescription. Everyone has their own coping mechanisms. Even in this darkest hour when faced with what looked like the end of my world as I knew it, I realized that you – the universal you - can always count on the kindness of others. Strangers can become friends, friends can become brothers and you may find redemption in a friendship you considered lost. It is up to you to deal with this pain and you owe it to yourself to carry on. Tomorrow, people you love may or may not be there, but the show must go on – of course while keeping those who are gone forever in your heat and thoughts. My mother fought and survived cancer once again and I never forget the support from strangers, friends and family that went out to the four of us. All of you are never forgotten in our household for your unconditional gesture of friendship in a time of need. I have always said, you always find out who your friends really are in times of hardship.