Home Is Where The Heart Is.

It was called "The Albion Dream"

I bought my first house in Brantford Ontario at the age of 21.  My parents taught me to work hard and save my money so when I bought my first house it was my pride and joy.  It's a home modelled after the unique 'Brantford Cottage' and was built about 100 years ago during the economic industrial 'boom' in the city.  My cute little house needed some work though.

Over my life I have learned some 'handy-man' skills from my dad and my guy friends, so I put these skills to use.  I made Lowes and Home Depot my go-to stores.  While other women my age shopped for clothes and jewelry I was shopping for power tools, drywall, lumber, screws and sandpaper.  It was probably entertaining for the stores people to watch me haul out 40 bags of cement and massive packages of blow-in insulation.

I had a vision to use the house to bless people.  People who needed a home had one there, people who needed help or friendship or anything could come over knowing that they'd get it.  Looking back at everything, my house was a huge blessing in itself because SO many people helped to make it home.
Every person who came ended up blessing me more than I can imagine.  Let me tell you a list of the great people who entered through the doors: (in no particular order)

1 - Ko & Helene (aka Dad & Mom).  Mom came with me to the bank when I signed my first mortgage.  She also squeeled with delight along with me when I got the keys to my first house.  Dad installed a fake security camera so he felt better leaving me there.  Mom and dad helped with everything, starting with encouragement right down to grunt work.  My dad is the best handy-man in the world and was always there whenever I needed him.  My mom has impecable interior decorating skills and great advice.  Honestly I couldn't have done any of this without both of you.

2 - Gwen.  If tenant awards could be given out, she deserves first place.  Not only did she help with everything from chopping down trees, building patios, gardening, lifting heavy drywall, mudding, sanding, building kitchen cupboards to creating crazy chandeliers, her and I built a friendship that I cherish so deeply.  I am so thankful for my house, because it led us to eachother.  I love you!

3 - Stevie-steve.  My favourite brother.  In his Ford F-150, he proudly moved me out of mom and dads house and made sure everyone knew it by blowing his 'Dukes of Hazzard' horn while we sat atop piles of stuff in the truck bed.  He is so smart.  So much of the basement construction was thanks to him.  Even a broken arm didn't stop him from helping out.  He chopped down two trees.  He ate my food.  Yup, Steve... my favourite brother.

4 -Adrian.  He always offered help whenever I needed it.  He even came over when no-one was home, and rototilled the lawn.  He brought seed.  He barbecued.  He made campfires.

5 - Laura.  She got the Mustang stuck in her garage, forcing me to tough out my first night at the house alone.  I'm thankful for that, and eventually got used to the weird new sounds.  She came over to help with many random things including hauling cement buckets through the basement window.  She loved my tea cupboard.  She always visited or stopped by with a little surprise.

6 - Alisha.  My first interior decorator consultant.  She conviced me not to throw out some beautiful old fashioned mirriors (what was I thinking?).  She got me the cutest housewarming gifts.  She laughed along with me while I engineered home-made mouse traps and bravely threw the dead mouse (trap and all) into the snow.  She prayed for my house.

7 - Claire.  She carried drywall almost 5x her weight.  She dumped buckets of cement.  Mowed the lawn, shovelled snow.  We picked out Christmas trees two years in a row.  She was a great holiday decorator and Christmas parties were so much fun.  She helped to build Muskoka chairs.  She helped to save animals.

8 - Rachel. She lives up the hill and is one of the best neighbours in the world.  She always offered to help.  It's guaranteed to be fun when she comes over.  She helped to build some kitchen cupboards.  She helped paint.  She helped move things and clean things.  Rachel was always encouraging even though sometimes she though I was crazy.

9 - Renee.  My best friend.  Mi casa es su casa.  She was at home when she came.  We shared my bed for an entire summer.  She worked in the desert-like HOT attic, enduring nasty smells and performing a balancing act while scooping out old insulation.  She scrapped old wood and paint from my windows and fixed them right up.  She painted.  She spring-cleaned my entire house once.  Thats true best-friendship right there.

10 - Malcolm.  Painted the amazing mural downstairs.  He's a very good artist.  He also made the most wonderful music in my house.

11 - Dallas.  He installed a sliding patio door leading to the back yard.

12 - Justin. He bought a house years before I did.  He was young too.  He's the second most skilled Jack of all trades (of course second to my dad)that I know.  By helping him at his house, I learned lots about taking care of a home and maintaining it.  When he was in the country I got to borrow lots of tools from him.  He helped with cementing the basement wall.  He also helped by giving tenant advice.

13 - Layne. She stayed at my house one summer for a little while (not long enough) and also endured a hot stinky attic cleaning.  When her and Jon married, I could spot her taking a walk past the house.  It is always pleasant to see Layne.  She also helped out with the "Big Backyard Clothing Exchange"

14 - Jamie. He taught me something so important.  How to cook.  He also fixed our ancient television more than once.

15 - Harry. He caught a mouse with his barehands.  Enough said.

16 - Alisa. She brought so much laughter.  She came to many parties and girls nights.  She helped with moving stuff.

17 - Kristina.  We worked out in the yard.  She drove me to dance lessons.  She looked after my house-affairs after I left on this track.  She is a great friend, sticking through it all.

18 - Denise. Epitome of who a good neighbour is.  She bbq'd my salmon when I didn't know what I was doing.  My first few days, she lent me her water sprinkler and hose.  We talked over the fence.  She lent me her car.  I dog-sat.  She was trusting and encouraging.  She made great food.  She discovered a mole under her bush, we were both too scared to chase it away until Steve, the neighbour came to the rescue.  She visited my work.  She invited me to family Christmas.  Like I said, the epitome of what a good neighbour should be.

19 - Theo. He and my brother helped to install french double doors to make a third bedroom in the upstairs.  He owns a great renovation company.

20 - Melissa.  I always remember that day we lugged that one tonne television into the living room.  She was so strong as I struggled to get the door open and then makes a run for it just before it almost dropped while yelling get out of my way!  She helped with the move and with so much.  She trimmed my way over grown bushes.  She is a great sister.  Together with her husband Andrew, Melissa cleaned the house and took away so much of the nastiness from the dirty tenants.  I am forever thankful.  I hope you find a good place to stay.

21 - Reuben. He engineered a brick patio with me.  We ran together almost every morning.  He tried to rectify my failed attempt at an icerink in the back yard.

22 - Tamarah. She came to help me settle in.  She helped to dig and create the first vegetable garden.  She came to play games.  She's always fun.

23 - Everyone. You know, all your names are written on the kitchen acrostic poem decoration.  

To everyone, thanks for the help and thanks for the memories!

My house was planned to be my main source of income to fund this photogenX track.  There were many trials with the tenants, and my house was left in bad condition.  It was so sad to hear that my pride and joy had been so mistreated by individuals.  With my funds running out, I appealed to Mike Holmes and his new TV show, "Holmes, making it right" to help me out with this situation.  With it being a pressing issue, time forced me to make a decision before Mike responded.

It has now come to a season where God has new things in store for me.  Shortly my dearly beloved house will go on the market.  It was sad to let it go, but I'm also so excited for what God has in my future, with nothing to tie me down.  A house is only temporary, but really it's eternity that counts.  I have learned that more than ever on this journey I am currently taking.  I am thankful that God blessed me with the opportunity to be a steward of this cute little home and all the memories made there.



















If you are interested in this cottage please contact my Remax representative: Denise Benoit



To all of those helping to prepare my house for sale, especially my lovely sister Leanne and my family and Renee.  You are amazing, and what you are doing is appreciated so much.  Thank you for helping me to continue with the work God has called me to!

Team Video

Here is a little team update video made by David Maracle.  Enjoy!  Also, thanks for your support.

Jerusalem, the Holy City

We have been in Jerusalem for a week and a half, enjoying the sights and learning biblical history through Caleb Thomason.

Here's what I read about in the news this morning.

The U.S. closed down 22 of their embassies across the Middle East and North Africa this week due to "credible threats" from al Qaeda...

Welcome to the Middle East PhotogenX!!!

Our time here has been a little challenging with riots, flash bombs, aggressive people, bed bugs and people who cheat with money.  On the contrary we've also experienced great food, comfy cafe's, good teaching, fantastic sights, bonding time at the laundry mat and met a whole variety of lovely people.

Short Biography of an Iraqi Refugee

Azaldeen Seff

A Short Biography of an Iraqi Refugee

“Since I have seen what this world is like, I have no dreams.  Do you know the feeling when you wish to cry and you can’t?  It’s so hard.  I wish to cry.”

His hands covered his face, his eyes were moist with tears, and his voice strained to gain composure as we sat together in a living room in Amman, Jordan.  

Azaldeen had been waiting for 45 minutes in the hot sun during Ramadan for us to pick him up.  We were late and he was hot, thirsty and unable to drink anything, but he had jumped into the car with a smile on his face, thankful for the ride.

The first time we met was at a roof-top cafe on Rainbow Street.  People were enjoying a variety of food and drink, smoking the traditional shisha after the sun went down.   Our group was settled in the corner comfortably sipping tea and filling the cool evening air with conversation and laughter.  He and two friends arrived half an hour later, and he was introduced to us as “Deen.”  His broad smile made his face beam with happiness, and his animated hand gestures and body language spoke of his zest for life.  His lean, but sturdy stature stood tall next to his friends as he pulled up a chair from a nearby table.  He had close cropped, brown hair and a square, defined jaw bone.  A two inch scar ran down from his eyebrow past the corner of his right eye.  Clad in stylish jeans, a deep army green t-shirt and sneakers, he quickly made himself comfortable among our group of foreigners.  It wasn’t his demeanor or sense of humor or his ability to put a smile on everyone’s face that piqued my curiosity; it was when his friend spoke the words, “He is a refugee, and his family members have been killed by war.  His story is sad and unbelievable.”

Through the bustle of new friends getting acquainted and old friends sharing stories, I listened, dumbfounded, as Deen opened up his heart.

He began in Iraq, a place of beauty, happiness and friendly community. 

He told me about how the war started and described how the marines came in to invade his country.  He told me of how, at the age of thirteen, his childhood sweetheart died running from a bomb explosion inside a Hummer.  A marine killed her with a gunshot to the head.  Deen said that the marines would shoot everyone around the bomb area, women, children, anyone.

Deen recalled events that had occurred a decade ago with as much pain in his eyes as if they had happened yesterday.  He described scenes and scenarios of his childhood being torn apart and he spoke of death as a common thing.  He told the story of his home being destroyed and how he, along with his family fled to Syria.  The somber tone of his story would randomly be broken with a small joke, or a fleeting burst of laughter, but then he would look at me and say, 

“Do you know what I mean?  Could you imagine that?”

He was picturing the Iraq of his childhood with his eyes closed.  A slight smile formed on his lips as he remembered the “old Iraq” and how it used to be during his carefree childhood.  Iraq was the first country in the Middle East to get “home services” where each household had three hoses, one for water, one for petrol, and one for natural gas.  The search for “black gold” led many Iraqis to dig up the ground to find their fortune, but Deen’s mother was a well educated architect and interior decorator, and his father was an engineer.  Deen described Iraq as a place that looked like Dubai right now.  It was a beautiful and modern country.

Rather than play with his friends as a child, Deen spent a lot of time thinking.  He was considerate of other people, and if they had a problem or worry, he would take it upon himself to help them out.  Like any other kids, he had big dreams about his future.  

Deen lived with his parents and siblings in a neighbourhood called Sadamhood.  The people were happy and friendly.  He laughed as he recalled celebrating the ‘Water Holiday’ where people threw water at whoever they encountered.  People would drive-by and open their windows up so the kids could throw water inside.

 

I was lost in the joyous and almost fairy tale-like way that Deen described his life in Iraq.  But a snap of his fingers resounded when he told of how quickly everything changed.

“It wasn’t just about my future or anything, it was my childhood that got destroyed, it was my house, my family, I lost the best thing I had, the one who showed me the world.   Yes, I was a kid, but she was the one, and she’s dead.  She’s dead.”  

Noraldeen, his older brother, was on his way to work when a Hummer pulled up, blocking his path along the street.  Marines came out of the vehicle and said nasty things then smashed their M16s into his face.  After this encounter, there were attempts to kidnap him because of his skills as an engineer.  His brother then moved to Kuwait.

The people of Iraq including Deen and his family loved and believed in their leader Saddam Hussein.  In their eyes, Iraq was the best country in the Middle East.  He was ‘The Big Father’ who took care of his people.  Saddam had one rule:  Do whatever you want but stay away from the government family.  When the United States came to “free Iraq” the general attitude of the country was,

 “No, we have Saddam Hussein.” 

Deen’s family moved outside of Baghdad to Salah-al-Deen in a village called Dhuluiya for fear of Baghdad being captured by the American troops.  They stayed there for ten months.  As Deen’s family would watch the news, he felt like he was watching what hell looked like.  He saw everything that he knew being destroyed.  From the rooftop of his house, they could see missiles flying through the air and fires all around them in the distance.

Deen waved his hands through the air, following the path of the missiles flying over his head.  He described the situation like something we would watch in the movies, but for him it was real life.  He even slapped his own face to see if he was dreaming, and if this was really real.

When they saw these things, his family ran downstairs and turned out all the lights, not knowing what else to do.  In the safety of his house, fifteen members of his family began reading the Koran. They read the story of Surat Al Qaria and Surat Al Fatiha describing the end of the world.  Deen felt safer when the Koran was read because through it he felt a special connection to God.

“If we lived we would be together, and if we died, we would be together.”

Days of war dragged on.  Deen befriended a marine, Chris Kalvin, who was from Alabama.  Kalvin left an impression on Deen that has influenced him to this day.  During the war, Deen visited and played football with the marines everyday.  Some friends and neighbours became disgruntled about Deen’s friendship with the Americans, but at a young age, Deen was able to see and explain that these soldiers were just people following orders.  His mind had switched from a hatred of the marines, who had destroyed his country, to an understanding of war through his friendship with Chris Kalvin.  The dark, army-green shirt Deen had worn the first time we met in the cafe had been a gift from Kalvin.

Still, despite his positive friendship with the Americans, danger lurked around every corner.  Deen lived in a constant state of life-threatening tension.  Day after day as his family would leave their house, they said a special Muslim prayer called the Shahada.  This prayer is usually said by someone who is about to die.  Translated it states: “I bear witness that there is no god but Allah, and I testify that Mohammad is the messenger of god.”  They said this prayer because they never knew if something would happen to them, or if they would make it home alive.  Despite the constant fear for their lives, the family decided to stay in Iraq until Deen had finished his schooling.  One day as he was going to school, a militia called Mahdi Army from the Iranian Shia closed up the school and stated that whoever got an education or tried to learn would get himself killed.

  On that very day, Deen’s dad picked him up from school and he and his family fled Iraq.

Syria was a new and foreign land, and although it was tough to leave everything he knew, Deen made a decision to start a new life, with a new hope for the future.  He got a job at UNICEF and was able to help other people who were refugees, just like himself.  The opportunity to teach basketball and dancing made him purposeful and busy.  His talent in drawing and photography developed as he settled into his new life and grew to love the land and the people.  To Deen, Syria was a land of opportunity, laden with green, lush nature, street-side cafes and restaurants and the most delicious, fresh food.

Deen took a deep breath as he told us about fresh the air in Syria.  He claimed that there was never a single moment when he got bored.  Everyone was happy.  Deen was full of expression as he talked of the people walking down the street.  Jokingly, he held his hand up in the air and said, “This is how you have to walk down the street, ‘Hi, hi!’ and wave to everyone, and not put your hand down.  I developed good shoulder muscles.”  He laughed.

Deen explained how the lives of his family members went in different directions.  His sister was married and came to live in Jordan, one brother stayed in Iraq, Noraldeen was in Kuwait, and Deen lived in Syria with his other older brother and their parents.  They had a beautiful apartment with big trees in their front and back yards.

He told a story, one that he said will be in his memory forever.  At UNICEF, Deen worked with families, adults and children, but in particular, he loved the kids.  As he was playing with the kids, one child came up to Deen and, without words, planted a kiss on his cheek.  Deen described this as one of the most genuine and beautiful displays of affection and love he has experienced.  

Just as everything was going well, and life was happy once again, an uprising wrought havoc upon the nation of Syria.  In 2011 anti-government protests inspired by the Arab Spring in Tunisia, Egypt and Libya took to the streets.  In attempts to snuff out the protests, security forces used tanks, gunfire, and made mass arrests.  The Baath government was slowly collapsing in their central authority.  To Deen and his family, the circumstances were all too familiar.  Their life in Syria, which had taken 7 years to build, was being ripped apart by war once more.  At age 22, Deen and his family escaped from Damascus to Jordan.

For Deen, this was even more difficult to bear than the first time he had had to flee from his home.  He was older, and understood more about life.  He had new dreams in Syria.  He had friendships and a great job.  But now, it was all falling apart.  His whole life, and all of his dreams were shattered.

I asked Deen what the difference between Syria and Jordan was.  He said to me:

“Compared to Syria, this is like a grave.  Since I came here, I am useless, I am like a dead guy.”  

Sadly, Deen’s negative opinion of Jordan doesn’t stem from the hurt he suffered in Iraq and then Syria, but from the mistreatment he suffers from the people around him because of his nationality.  He tried desperately to feel at home and to start over.  He wanted to finally be in a place where he and his family could feel safe and at peace.  He wanted to live in a place where his dreams and goals could be reached.  But here in Jordan, Deen’s dreams have been smothered by politics and racial injustice.

“Everyday I look though the newspaper to find a job.  I try and try, but the men meet me and they say, ‘Wait, what nationality are you again?’  ‘...Iraqi.’  Then they’d say, ‘Mmm, I’m sorry.’   Why?!  ...Why?”

Deen was rejected over and over.  He even faced opposition from local Jordanians when he graciously took our group to some historical ruins.  They claimed that he was not able to show us around, that he knew nothing about the ruins because he was from Iraq.  We were all up for a day of fun, but the heated struggle he went through at the ruins sent another dart into Deen’s already broken heart.

Alzaldeen Seff, a young man with a kind heart, compelling personality, many talents and an eminent future, has overcome war and destruction and is now facing an equally distressing hardship.  He is not welcomed in the place he calls home.  What can a man dream if his dreams are stolen away? What can a man accomplish if he is forbidden the opportunity?  What can a man do when no one is there to help?  Deen is only one among millions of refuges in Jordan.  There are many others who are in worse conditions and suffering in refugee camps.  The refugees who do not have “wasta” (connections) or a lot of money are not given an equal opportunity to succeed.

 What can a man dream if his dreams are stolen away? What can a man accomplish if he is forbidden the opportunity?  What can a man do when no one is there to help?

Deen told me that meeting my team has been his happiest moment since coming to Jordan a year ago.  I wanted desperately to help him become happy again and to have that ‘fire’ for life reignited in his heart but there are no words that could bandage a broken heart and crushed spirit.

  I had been the listening ear and a shoulder to cry on that he desperately needed and left Jordan with hopes that in writing Deen’s story, it would inspire someone in better circumstances to 'help a brother up'.