Bedtime Story For Rebekit

once upon a time, in the '70s, my panafricanist parents combed out their afros, donned their dashikis, packed up their american son and boarded a plane (or two) to recently independent zambia. my mother was pregnant, with me, but my father was passionately adamant - exile was no excuse! he wanted african children, if not born in their home country, then as close to it as possible. my mother would rather have put her swollen feet up, but my father was fired up and was tired of being all talk. so off they went.

so, my sister and i were born in zambia but, despite my parents' passion about the continent, zambia, at least, was not so passionate about them. zambia blamed a lot of its problems on "immigrants" (sound familiar) and decided to tighten its citizenship laws. only children born of zambian parents could claim citizenship. well that would have been all fine if my parents had not been in exile. who was going to take me to zimbabwe-rhodesia and get me my citizenship? no hands up in our house.

but citizenship is not important. i didn't need it to play with my friends or go to school. it didn't keep my father from his geology work or my mother from her high school history teaching. plus they had these british passport things in their drawers and, well, it all didn't really matter - they were nation-building! heck, continent-building!

but then my father decided it was time to get more education, better serve his cause. so afros were combed out, old american winter coats were shaken out, american son was packed up but... there was a problem. what to do with the two stateless children? they didn't think it would be a problem, but was it ever. the zambian government was adamant - policy is policy; if we let you do it, there will be a line around the block of others. and the british couldn't understand - but the children must be zambian - that is where they were born. the parents were panicking a little, the semester would begin soon and they did not want to have to choose, and it seemed rather unfair that they might have to.

just as my mother was reluctantly folding up her winter coat and preparing to stay with the chidlren until something could be done, or until my father graduated (whichever came first), the brits came through with some emergency travel docs for the stateless children. so, off on a plane to chilly canada we all went - no child left behind! ha!

and we all lived happily ever after...ooh sorry. little sister and i were stateless for several more years. but finally my parents could go back home and, after getting a house, jobs, kids into schools, car, family doctor, dentist... after about ten years of being "a citizen of the world", i finally had the papers to prove it. the end.