“It is not by choice that we leave his country, his mother tongue, his friends, his grandparents, his happy life. I did not choose to lose all my bearings at once and forever. June 1994, Oran, Algeria. My father is the victim of an attack on the street as he returns to foot, as every day, from the hospital where he works. He wipes five gunfire, one of which will reach him and will mark him forever physically and morally. Me, I am 12 years old, I am playing outside with a cousin when I see my uncle arriving at the house in speed, then leaving with a suitcase and sheets.
In the evening, my mother told my little sister and me that dad was injured. Nawel is barely 4 years old. In forty-eight hours, it accelerates. Dad must leave for France in an emergency. The specialized service of the Cochin hospital will be able to treat him; We are told that here, in Algeria, we cannot do it with maximum security. He will come back once restored, and everything will be normal again. Family and friends are organizing to pay for the health transfer, taking care of the visa and social security request.
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