I’ll always remember both the day I left my home, Kuwait, and the day I came to my new home, Canada. I’ll also never forget what happened to me during the 20 years in between.
In August 1990, I was 10 and living in Kuwait, a small country in the Middle East. My father and mother were both from nearby Iraq. Things were pretty normal—we had a nice house, good friends, and a happy life. Then, Iraq announced it would take over Kuwait. My parents and I didn’t agree with what was happening, but our neighbours suddenly thought of us as enemies. When we heard about other Iraqis living nearby having their houses taken away, we knew we had to leave.
My mom and I went back to Iraq to be with dad’s relatives, while he left for the United States. His plan was to move to America, start a new life, and then bring us to join him. But it didn’t work out that way, and I didn’t hear from him for a long time.
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