I started working in an office, but they treated me terribly. They knew I was a refugee and needed the job, so they paid me poorly and made me work harder than everyone else. My mother had become very sick, and when I’d take her to the doctor, they would charge me more money because I was a refugee. I tried to fake an Egyptian accent, but it didn’t always work. People looked down on you and, being alone, you started to forget who you were.

I began using Google to research resettlement programs, and started writing to embassies asking what I could do to enter their countries. In 2008, I finally got my chance. On April 7—I will never forget that day—I found out Canada accepted me and my mother. I didn’t know anything about Canada except that it was cold, the second largest country in the world, and that Vancouver was a nice city and would soon host the Olympic Winter Games. I also knew about the CN Tower. “When you get there,” said the UN worker, “take a picture of yourself standing in front of it and mail it to me.”