A complicated tale of money, violence, crime, racism, lies, traffickers, a story of misery, tragedy, heartbreak and death: Immigrants on the Italian- French border.
French. He was very proud of his flashy red sport garb from Guinea where he was a “footballer” and also a sports reporter.
There are similarities to the dreadful situation on the Mexican-US border. Thousands and thousands risking their lives to escape conflict, persecution, famine, death. The journeys are dangerous, often plagued with violence, theft, and hunger. They only want a chance at life, to have food and shelter, to work, to live in peace. They deserve that chance. Will they get it?
I live in France just 20 auto minutes from the French-Italian border. I recently started volunteering with a French organization, Relier, offering assistance to the homeless immigrants in Ventimiglia, the Italian border town. The majority are young, black males from dozens of different African countries . Most want to enter France, perhaps proceed to other European countries. In this part of France, they are not welcome.
It is a complex topic. I plan to write a more extensive article/blog soon. I need more time and research. Watch this space.
Another topic I am very involved with is Alzheimer. For four plus years I have watched this cruel disease slowly destroy my husband. I will write more on that too, with a focus on the dedicated caregivers devoted to the lost and confused.
Bob Update
I had hoped to post a blog on one of the above sooner, but since that has not been possible, and it’s been so long since I have posted, I wanted to give a preview of what’s on my agenda. And, an update on husband Bob since my last post: Christmas without the Merry.
The helpers I mentioned in that post, Kyle and Paola, were fabulous, although Paola quit after three days. Apparently, it was too much for her. I could not have survived without Kyle. He managed Bob with perfection and helped me keep my sanity. It was not easy for either of us. The accident (fall and broken pelvis in several places) greatly accelerated the Alzheimer. Bob was confined to a hospital bed in the living room. He was difficult, especially at night when he was very agitated and slept little.
After three weeks, Kyle and I, both exhausted, came to the same conclusion. We could not continue. Fortunately, I found a place for Bob in a near-by EHPAD, a type of French medicalized senior citizen home. He is in the Alzheimer unit with 14 others. The staff are patient, caring. The food is good, very French with four-course meals and a gouter (snack) in the afternoon. The ambience is pleasant– bright, clean and spacious. He has never asked to leave, to come home. I don’t think he remembers our apartment nor realizes where he is and why. That is sad, but probably a blessing. I visit daily.
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