Chambre des communes du Canada; personnalité de l`année 1996

En 1996, j`ai été nommé PERSONNALITÉ DE L'ANNÉE DE DRUMMONDVILLE ex-aequo avec Jean Guilbeault - voici un texte qui a été annoncé aux chambres des communes du Canada en 1997.

Mme Pauline Picard (Drummond, Bloc Québécois): Monsieur le Président, le titre très convoité de personnalité de l'année, décerné par la Chambre de commerce de Drummond, lors du 14e Gala des affaires, a été mérité par deux jeunes Drummondvillois.

Marie-France Bourgeois, première Québécoise et première Canadienne à obtenir un diplôme du collège de Long Island en développement international, oeuvre maintenant en Afrique pour le compte des Nations Unies au sein du Programme alimentaire mondial (WFP in english). Cette jeune femme de 33 ans est mandatée par l'ONU pour coordonner les distributions de vivres à 670 000 réfugiés hutus en Tanzanie. Dans un contexte politique fort troublé, elle doit, pour soulager la misère de ces peuples, agir avec efficacité et diplomatie.

Je veux aussi féliciter Jean Guilbeault, également désigné personnalité de l'année. Il est le premier Drummondvillois à faire partie de l'équipe sélecte des pilotes des Snowbirds.

À ces deux jeunes qui nous font honneur, je souhaite une fructueuse carrière qui les conduira au bout de leur rêve.

A blind witness to heavy fighting in Kinshasa - March 2007

Dear all,

I (we) have gone through “sheer hell” these past few days. We knew something was in the making. As I was driving to work on Thursday morning, I saw the UN Mission (MONUC) soldiers had reinforced their troops around Bemba’s house (he is the former vice president who also happens to have lost the first democratic elections last year). Bemba is also the man behind last August's fighting and the continued recurrence of violence last fall. Luckily for me, I had to go to the Chinese Embassy to get my visa for the big trip of my life. On my way back to the office, I realised that Bemba’s troops (we recognise them with their red bandannas) and the Government troops were positioning themselves to start fighting. It was eerie. People were fleeing, by foot and by the hundreds. I thought: "I am dreaming all of this!". I asked my driver to hurry home.

The heavy gun and mortar fire broke out just after I arrived home and it went on for a seven hours marathon. As the UN Secretary General mentioned: the civilian population was "seriously threatened by fighting in the heart of the city". Well, it just happens that the heart of the city is where both my office and my little bungalow are located. Charming isn’t?

There are many stories to be told; children stranded in schools, colleagues stranded in our building, and several friends and acquaintances stranded at their offices. All of us cut off from the world for a solid two days. Some did not have food but most had enough water. Since I am known to be a little squirrel, as I always leave food in my office, my colleagues could help themselves in my pantry!

I spent Thursday afternoon on the floor of my bathroom, as I felt my kitchen floor was not secure enough this time, as it has a big window. The sounds were unbearable, I tried to read, to write, to pray, to listen music… I just sat there, motionless. It sounded as if a constant fire works exploded but with an intensity difficult to describe to someone who has never heard such sounds. When grenades exploded near by, my little bungalow shook like a palm leave. I feared bullets landing inside my house, as it has been the case for several people.

I was in constant touch with friends and the MONUC soldiers. My cleaning lady was with me and she was very scared. I had to calm her down. This helped me to stay composed and alert. She and some 15 staff working in my compound stayed overnight. Luckily, I had enough rice to feed everyone…

Just as last August, I was the blind witness to a war. This one was worse, though. In fact, some told me that the fighting was the worse Kinshasa had known in 20 years! Casualties are heavy this time, some 700 persons were killed: 500 were soldiers and the rest are civilians. One young woman was sipping a drink at the bar of a hotel, another was killed watching TV and a colonel and his kids were shot dead when he was trying to bring them home from school prior to the start of the fighting! Homeless women were found dead with their babies on the street, as they were trying to flee for a secure shelter.

A friend of mine described how the streets were full of corpses by Thursday night. By dawn the next day and just prior to the start of the battle on the 2nd day (it started at 5h00 in the morning by the explosion of the oil reserves), the victim corpses were quickly dumped in the Congo river… That’s why official statistics only mention 160 losses!!!

There were many acts of bravery. Kids from a primary school had to be evacuated, as they were in the eye of the storm. Imagine little kids being transported in armored vehicles. They were repatriated at the French Embassy and were good as gold… For OCHA, our main casualty is a house converted into an office: it was damaged as shelling fell against the wall. Many windows were shattered and received bullets. I also found many bullets in my garden at home.

My neighbor received “lost bullets” in his living room and my other neighbor’s bedroom was cribbed with bullets. My UNICEF friend was evacuated by courageous Uruguachos during the battle as the building received some mortars shells. Luckily, they did not explode. If they had, both UNICEF and the Spanish Embassy staff would have been killed.

On Saturday, by lunch time, after 48 hours, just like all of us in Kinshasa, I finally ventured outside. Shops were full of people sharing stories and buying food. We were all happy to be alive and have escaped "hell on earth". Yesterday, the boys and I after our polo game ordered wine and made a toast to life!!! We were all in the same mood; celebrating LIFE over and over again... How great it felt!!!

Yes, I do thank God that I am alive and well and that I will soon be getting the hell out of here, as my old friend Tom ordered me to do! Enough of this life!!! I am off to motherhood in a peaceful environment…

Yours,
Marie-France

The pilgrim`s soul and feet ; on their way to the Black Madona in Czestochowa

The year 1984; the date - 15th August - Assumption.

The Background; after one year of "group traveling" in Up With People (1982-1983), I decided to embark on a unplanned 3-month long voyage to Europe in a "non accompanied" mood and without a GPS. People I spent time with were either UWP friends who hosted me and/or people I would connect with during the course of my journey.

Poland was far from my plans, but... plans are made to be "unmade". Thus, through a friend of mine in Belgium (thanks Nicolas), I set out for the most remarkable episode of my European journey of my 1984 summer; the Czestochowa Pilgrimage. Here is the tale of my arrival to the "Jasna Gora" (Brigth Mount in English) Pauline monastery to admire the famous "Black Madonna" painting (with her "two scars")...

4h30 am - the wake up call or bell is already ringing. I have to get up so we can enter Czestochowa as the sun rises. As a romantic, I had liked the idea but right now, my body does not agree with romanticism anymore. It is cold and I have nothing warm to drink prior to set on for the last few km left to walk. I am going to see if my French friends would have some Nutella to give me!!!

5h15 am- we all gather with our respective groups and start to proceed. As I am walking, I am remembering that for days, when blisters on my feet gave me excrutiating pain and my empty stomach reminded me it existed by growling noises (I was not prepared for the walk nor were my Polish friends - thanks to a French group, they fed me on regular basis), I kept walking and dreaming of the moment I would be standing of this famous Black Madonna and in a few hours my wait will be recompensated...

6h00 am - when we finally enter the sleepy city, I am surprised to people lined up on the side of the road. They are handing little goodies to us, the young and tired pilgrims that we are... I am so touched by their gesture and tears want to come to my eyes.. but I stupidly refrain.

When I first heard about the painting back in Belgium, I was intrigued, how a "black" painting could be so revered in a country such as Poland. I had to participate. Imagine, walking with thousands young polish during the height of the "Solidarnosc" era in Poland? For the adventurer that I am, I could not pass this opportunity. I would enter the communist side for the first time...

During the walk, I remember vividly the USSR helicopters hovering above our heads as we are praying and chanting in Polish. Why so did I ask to one of the priest Voytek I had become "friends" with. Because many of us have returned from prison recently... said he in a soft voice... I remember the Polish wedding we attended were the bride and the groom exchanged the salt and the light. A tradition I liked and which was retained as the Canadian 2002 World Youth Day theme: "You are the Light of the World you are the Salt of the Earth".

I also remember sleeping in farms on humongous hay balls and swimming in lakes with thousands of youngster just like me and singing under the stars late into the night... They were so intense about their faith I was pleased. Also, they gave me proofs that Poland would not remain into communist hands for much longer. Of course, when I share this view to my north american friends upon my return, I was laughed at, but at the end, it prooved to be true in the late 80s.

This pilgrimage was a bit of my Woodstock version "à la polonaise"...

As far as history is concerned, this beautiful pilgrimage tradition dates back to 1382 when Prince Ladislaus Ii of Opole invited Pauline monks from Hungary to Poland. He gave them the "Jasna Góra Hill" and the miraculous picture of "Our Lady".

According to the legend, this "Black Madonna icon" was painted by St. Luke on a cypress table top from the house of the Holy Family. My Polish friends told me that the presence of the Black Madonna has saved the church from being destroyed in a fire, but not before the flames darkened the flesh tone pigments.

The legend concerning her two scars on her right cheek is that a robber drew his sword upon the image and inflicted two deep strikes. When he tried to inflict a 3rd strike, he fell to the ground and squirmed in agony until his death. Despite past attempts to repair these scars, they have always reappeared!!! Mysterious isn`t?

Going on pilgrimage is an important part the Catholic faith and I had never thought much about it. Compostelle has become "à la mode" in the past few years but I had never heard of the Czestochowa. I am glad that life events brought me there, or was it "events" really?

My experience has strengthened my belief in God and did renews my soul. Similar feelings I felt in Poland were renewed while I attended the World Youth Day in 2002 in Toronto, Canada (I was part of the organizing committee based at the Canadian Embassy to the Holy See for one beautiful year) and when John Paul II died... I spent these spiritual days around the Vatican talking to pilgrims queuing to pay their final respect to the Pope and attending his solemn funerals. More on this later..

I have become one of the 5 million who visit Jasna Gora yearly. When 15th August turns around, you find me praying in Polish... I do not know if it has the same impact on them that it has had on me, if so, I may say that the world is now a better place...

Adventure mum