stories

There was a woman who had lost her husband. It was at the time of the war with Iran. Nothing was clear about his fate. She just didn't know what had happened and she lived in
terrible grief. Her life could not move forward. Her son was 25 years old and he couldn't get married because everything in their lives was on hold. So as well as the grief and the stasis there was the pressure of new life. After the invasion a mass grave was opened up and many of the people from the neighbourhood believed that their loved ones were in this mass grave.
Everybody knew that for this woman it was somehow a source of hope but she never dared go along as others did to find out whether her husband had been found there. This hope just increased her pain. Then a miracle happened. One of her neighbours arrived one day at her front door with some mortal remains. They were her husband's. This is what the neighbours said. A lot of people who knew the woman agreed. Everybody, even the woman, agreed not

I was reminded by a story my father told me last year. He was at a conference up in Normandy at the Cerisy-la-Salle Centre when one day he and some of the others were was taken to Caen, in northern France to visit a monastery. My father and his friends started talking with a Quebecois man who- when he realised my father had lived in Canada said ?there is something that you should see?. There was a small cemetery close to the church, hidden by a wall. They were the graves of Canadian soldiers- kids mainly- who had surrendered to the SS in the early days of the landing-- they were all shot and buried there. My dad realised that this particular regiment came from Winnipeg ? where I grew up-- it is a small city; the names were recognisable. At that moment, as well, an Italian man cried. He said ?my people are Italian and I have no connection to Canada but this is such a beautiful place

To cope in prison you must prevent yourself from being eaten up by anger and hatred, you have to find an internal balance with those feeling and cultivate restraint. When I was being badly treated I told myself that I would never hurt the children of those who beat me.

My captors used to use the morning roll call as a way of demonstrating that some of our fellow prisoners had disappeared. One day I was blindfolded and taken to place in the mountains. I was given a sense that death was imminent. At the height of these feelings I thought about my recently deceased brother. This sense of contact with my dead brother seemed to come to my rescue. At this moment it seemed as if a decision was taken not to kill me.

I spent 6 years in a Serbian prison and still feel a nagging uncertainty that one day I will be asked to serve the remaining year. I was badly treated and now hold an influential and respected position in the local community. When we speak about recovery I am reminded of when I found a snake in my house. I carefully donned gloves and cautiously approached the snake, taking it behind its head and carrying it out of the house and depositing it in a nearby field. I was relieved to get the creature out of my house but I am not absolutely certain that it will not come back in. It is true that ther

I fought for Algeria's independence, we all did. Even the children and the animals. I did not have a clear image of what Algeria would be like after the war. But I never expected the civil war of the terrorist period. I never expected to hear the sound of guns again. I have been more shocked by the terrorist period, with Algerians killing Algerians, than by the war of independence. I have forgotten the war, I remember the terrorists.

Comment by Mme Djamila Selahdja in Bordj Bou Arreridj, Algeria

In September of 1959 there was a strike and a period of terrible violence in Algeria. I was living with my husband, son and mother in law and one night we also had 10 Muhajedin hiding in the house. We were betrayed. Before the French reached us, a woman called Zemina, a Muhajedin and my friend, found out about the betrayal and came to our house to warn us. She brought with her 10 burkas. The Muhajedin dressed up as women, hid their guns beneath their burkas, and attempted to escape through the network of underground tunnels. Unfortunatly 9 were killed, but 1 escaped.

In the name of that, which endowed the soul with thought:

For many years has the heart not seen the face of the desired;
vintner, bring that chalice whose essence is of reflection.

Perhaps the continuity that appears interrupted is linked again and torments
of life find a sweet end.

Your work, with regards to establishing communication among people without
the use of words is commendable and beautiful.

It's effect on me was that, I came to the realisation that it is possible to
establish human connection [interaction, discourse] with anyone, from any
creed and country, or from any race.