Lianie Towell began her day by slipping into her wedding dress and strapping a door to her back. An artist who has devoted her life to Guinean dance, Towell made a very public display of the burden she bears as the victim of immigration and marriage fraud.

See the coverage of Lainie's walk to Parliament in her wedding gown here.

You know, we can all say that it could never happen to us, but I've met more smart women who have been duped by skilled sociopathic liars than I care to mention.

Teens from former Yugoslavia face rape charges

"Whenever they say in the media "from the former Yugoslavia," they're not talking about Serbs.
If it's to do with Serbs, they say "Serbs," but in order to avoid "sullying" the Albanians, Bosnians, or whoever, they say "former Yugoslavia," thereby gaining two things -- they avoid identifying the true nationality of the culprits, saving face again, and they IMPLY that it was Serbs, without actually saying so, when it wasn't.
Note that no Serbs have to date been accused of any criminal acts in the U.S., but quite a few Bosnians and Albanians have -- not that you'd know that from the reports, but anyone from the Balkans can tell by the names.
And then to top it all, they put the perpetrators in the most sympathetic light possible, just like they did with the Bosnian boy who mowed down people in the shopping mall in Salt Lake City on Valentine's Day last year. You're supposed to feel sorry for the criminals, not the victims..."

(Thanks Anna)

So, there I was lined up at the bank in a certain neighbourhood, where there are lots of a certain nationality.

There was an elderly lady who was having trouble understanding the Teller, and the one Teller who was there that spoke her language was busy with another customer.
The elderly lady was getting frustrated because her Teller could only speak her language in a limited way.

There was a lady in line in front of me, who turned to me, shook her head, and said something to me in a language I can only assume was the language of the elderly lady.
I shrugged my shoulders, and didn't say anything.

When I got to the wicket, my Teller told me that the woman that spoke to me had been pissed off that there was only one person there who could speak the language.

Is it wrong of me to tell the Teller: "She's lucky anyone speaks her language in the bank...considering she's not banking in (the country of the language she spoke)"?

Listen, I'm all for multiculturalism, and making the effort to help those that don't speak the language...what I have a problem with is the expectation that everyone in that bank should speak it.

Back in the day, you had to make an effort to learn to speak English.
Apparently, you don't anymore.

Immigration: The Human Cost


Thanks Cynical-C

How important is bonding where children are concerned?

I've talked to many people who immigrated to Canada, but were left behind with family in their home countries, and brought over when their parents were "settled".

The Mister was left with family by his mother.
He was 18, and his sister was 9, when they were reunited with their mother, at that time... she brought them to Canada.
I was left behind with my grandparents, and brought to my parents who returned to Europe from Canada and were waiting in Germany, for me to be brought by an uncle so that we could make our way to Canada together.

My parents and my grandparents generation didn't believe in discussing things with children. Everything was on a need to know basis. This was a reoccurring theme in my life, and I am confident that it was like that because they felt they were protecting me.
Shielding us from the confusion of adult decisions, and changes.

When I was a little girl, I was told over and over that my mother was "chak leko, leko" (far, far away), and when she came for me, she would bring me a big doll.
Just like the doll that sat on my grandmothers high bed with her skirt all spread out around her.
The doll I was never allowed to play with or touch.
The doll that was as big as I was.

Yesterday, while the sister-in-law and I were just sitting around in the backyard passing time and talking, we were discussing this subject.
She doesn't remember reuniting with her mother either.

My mother tells the story, and says how she cried and cried trying to convince me that she was my mother.
Mama says that all I kept repeating was that she was not my mother, and that my mother was far, far away (chak leko leko).
Our time away from each other...is lost forever.

My bond was with my grandparents, and as much as I love my mother...I don't think we ever recovered from that separation.
Don't get what I'm saying wrong...I'm just saying that when people talk about the "parental bond", it's a real thing.
It's not something that you can hold in your hand, but it's something that is held in your head.

I'm just sayin'
No life changing decision comes without consequences and sacrifice.

Perhaps this is why I get so pissed off with illegal immigrants who feel that they can just jump the queue, and demand that they get amnesty...and get to stay without going through the legal channels to become citizens.
Right now, at this moment...here in this city, there is a mother who is working hard to bring her children here. Sending barrels home, with toys and clothes and photos so that her children don't forget what she looks like.
Saving money, filling out forms and going to immigration hearings in order to reunite with her children legally.

I'm not saying that it shouldn't be the other way around.
What I am saying is that it is what it is, and people should not be allowed to manipulate the system while others are following the rules.
Valuing the law, and abiding by it.
These are the citizens I think are worthy of citizenship.

Speed up the process in both respects.
Help families reunite sooner...before that time is lost to a parent and child forever.
Deport those that don't respect our laws sooner, and make them do it legally...or change immigration laws to favour families.

But don't allow the manipulation to continue.
It's a slap in the face to those of us who made the sacrifice.

Ever wonder what happens if you try to cross the US/Canada border with no ID?

Well, wonder no more!
The Mister and I have had the experience so that you don't have to!

When we ponied up in line at The Queenston-Lewiston Bridge border, with almost no gas in the car for good measure, The Mister reached for his wallet, only to find it AWOL.
"I can't believe this!" he exclaimed, as he proceeded to malign himself, remembering that it was tucked safely at home in his briefcase.
To which I responded, "It's no big deal! So we'll go back home. We don't NEED to go accross". He continued to drag himself through the mud, and I continued to tell him it was no big deal.
With no way to turn around, we just continued to the head of the que.
Mr. US Customsman asked for ID. I produced my Drivers License and The Mister proceeded to tell the "I left my wallet at home" story, and that we just wanted to turn back.
Mr. US Customsman asked each of us where we were born, and then asked for my Citizenship Card. I have a ready for framing, big ass document for a citizenship. Not a card, tucked way in a safe place at home.
With that, he put my Drivers License in one of those vacuum tubes, and stuck it in the hose where it was quickly sucked up, and gave us a pink slip directing us to the terminal with a cryptic, "With some luck, they'll let you back into Canada".

The Mister turned to me and said, "No big deal, eh. ('cause he's Canadian, eh) Bet you're pissed now!" as we were directed where to park.

When we got into the terminal with less than sufficient air conditioning due to the number of people filing in and out, many of which had suspect personal hygiene habits.
We quickly figured out that that there was no check in. We would have to wait to hear my name called.

What an interesting collection of people for a people watcher like myself to watch!
There was a young couple ahead of us, of which the girl half was dressed in a frilled jean skirt that barely covered her ass, a tight white top from which her breasts were desperately straining to escape, and a pair of 5 inch wooden hooker heels.
When they were called up, The Mister commented, "I hope for her sake, she brought her Strippers License with her..".
Shortly thereafter, one of the female Customs Officer came out snapping her rubber gloves on and telling them to follow her.
"THAT can't be good", says I.

Two hours later, my name was called, and we told our story to a friendly Customs Officer who after hearing asked, "How much of your and our time did you waste today?", and then he made a reference to the movie, "The Terminal" in which the main character is stuck in "no mans land" between countries with no proof of which country he belonged in.

Ha Ha

We had a short advice session from him on what we should carry next time, The Mister had his fingerprints and photo taken, and we were given complicated instructions on where to meet him once we retrieved our vehicle.
When we met him, he informed us that he would have to watch us drive over the bridge to the Canadian side, telling us "Hope you get through!" as he returned my Drivers License.
The Canadian Customs Officer (after hearing our story) dismissed us with a wave of her hand and a "see ya".

Relief

Thank goodness we weren't born in the Middle East is all I can say.