Baby book: Documenting undocumented motherhood
You have a BIG family, Angelou, and two homes. One family is in Namibia, and the other is in Canada.
I was born in Namibia, Africa, in 1983. This is where your grandma and your grandpa still live. This is where your brother, Junior, lives. You have never been to this place – but it is in you.
Like many of my sisters, I felt that I would have a better future if I moved overseas to work as a nanny through Canada’s Temporary Foreign Worker Program. I discovered that with my university education and experience working with children, I could easily get a job in Canada, where there is a great need for nannies. People told me I could make money and send it home to my own family in Namibia.
And so I chose to leave Namibia 10 years ago. Although it was sad, I felt I was being so strong for the ones I loved. The hardest part about leaving was saying goodbye to your brother, Junior. But, I had hopes to see him soon. I was told that if I worked hard in Canada, I could get my citizenship, and sponsor him to join me.
Canada’s Temporary Foreign Worker Program (TFWP) allows employers in Canada to hire foreign nationals, like me. I was hired specifically through the Live-in Caregiver Program to work in Canadian homes: tending to children, grandparents, and those in need of extra help. I was informed that after two years of work, I could apply for permanent residency. Some people call this a “pathway” to Canadian citizenship. But this path is not very smooth.
I arrived legally in Canada to work as a nanny, and my new job in Canada was great, at first. The children I took care of I called “my children,” and they called me “Queen Latifah.” But then I got sick….
I began seeing double. My legs became very weak. I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis (MS). Doctors are still uncertain what causes MS, though they do say that stress is a factor.
The woman I was working for fired me. She told me she was afraid I would not be able to look after her children. I tried to explain that people with MS can live very full lives and can still work – but I lost my job. And I lost my temporary work permit and my right to exist in this country.
I wanted to move back to Namibia, but there is no treatment for MS in my home country. I felt trapped. I decided I had to stay in Canada, and work under the table.
One day I received a letter from the Canadian government: a deportation order saying I must go back to Namibia. But I could not go back. And so I stayed here, undocumented, living in between worlds.
Living in Canada, I met your father. I felt refuge in his love.
I became pregnant with you and this was such a happy day.
Sadly, though, I had to flee from this relationship. It was not safe for me to be with him.
Sometimes our family tree feels broken.
But remember:
Ours is a tree with deep roots, back in Namibia and in the communities that support us here in Canada.
We have moved a lot, little one. In my first trimester (when you were first growing) we lived in a women’s shelter. This is a safe place for women fleeing abuse. Once I left your father, this was the only safe space for us to live.
I didn’t mind being pregnant here, but I didn’t want to bring you to the shelter after you were born. I was afraid that social workers might take you away from me.
Many baby books include photos of a little one growing inside a mother: an ultrasound. I have just one ultrasound that I carefully saved.
I wish I had more of these ultrasounds, showing all the stages of you growing in my belly. But when I discovered I was pregnant with you, I did not have my Canadian citizenship.
For many people, going to the doctor brings comfort. For me, it brought fear. If I went to the doctor I could be detained for living in Canada without papers. I had no health care and doctors’ appointments were more than I could afford. And so instead of getting pictures taken of you inside my womb, I imagined you in there, growing strong.
I remember when I was pregnant, I craved maguni fruit. This is a fruit that grows in Namibia.
The yellow fruits decorate tree branches like balloons for a party.
In Canada, there is no maguni fruit hanging from long, skinny branches. Instead, there are colourful bulbs of lights strung from pine trees that light up the cold nights. There are snowflakes, magically disappearing on my hand.
One night in the winter, when I was waiting for you, I made a wish on each flake that you would be healthy.
I wanted to go to prenatal classes, which help parents-to-be learn about healthy eating and other practices. But these are very expensive and I had no health coverage.
My friend Phyllis was my prenatal support. She is a kind elderly woman who helped me find a maternity clinic where I would be safe to deliver you, a place where midwives would not ask about my legal status. This is what we call a sanctuary space. At this clinic, they would help me deliver you for a small fee. As long as my birth was “normal,” I could have you there.
Phyllis told me, “stay calm for your baby’s health.” But I worried a lot. My citizenship worries me. Many days I wish I could go back to Namibia. Sometimes I feel like I have disappeared.
But then I would feel you kick – I feel alive!
On March 27, 2014, I was walking in the woods by the lake. Suddenly, I felt my water break. I called my friend Phyllis. She yelled, “You are in labour!”
You wanted to come out early (by a whole month!). You were ready for life. But the doctors at the safe clinic could not deliver you, Angelou. They said, “You must go somewhere else.”
My friend Phyllis called many clinics in the city and nearby cities. All of them said, “We cannot help.” No one would take us in.
Finally, we found a hospital. They said they do not ask about legal status. The hospital said they would help but that it would cost a lot of money. The hospital was three hours away and they offered to arrange an ambulance, but that would be another charge. I could not afford this, so Phyllis’ husband, Geoff, drove us in his car.
I gave birth in the hospital, and everything went very well. I hardly felt any pain! I left the hospital with you in my arms.
I also left with a big debt (collectors keep calling me, still) because I did not have health coverage.
Price for birth without health coverage: $47,000
Some people will call my birth to you, in a country that is not my own, “birth tourism.” All I can say is that to be in a foreign place, without access to medical care and in fear of deportation, is no tour.
Your family in Namibia was not with us to celebrate. I would have loved for your brother and your grandma to be here. But we grew another family. We did not have a big party, but we had a loving community with us.
My MS sisters visited us. Neighbours visited and cuddled with beautiful you. People sent us special things: cards, a blanket, and cloth diapers with little foxes on them … all for you!
I know that nursery is an important place for you to meet new friends and learn new things. But I have not had the resources for this. But we make do. I worry, sometimes, about bringing you to school as you grow. Even though you are a Canadian citizen, I am not.
I fear one day we might be separated.
Like most parents, I love to watch my baby learn to crawl and walk and babble. I love to see you discover new things: the bathtub, the telephone.
But mostly I love to watch your kindness grow. You are gentle with all those you encounter, Angelou. Your smile warms people’s hearts. I like to believe that you have learned these lessons not always through having everything but through knowing what it means, sometimes, to be without.
I am so proud of you. You have greatness in you.
In your first year of life, you have experienced so much.
I hope this book reminds you of the power of our love, and that it is unbreakable. Wherever I am, I care for you.
I hope it shows you that there is a community of people (neighbours, doctors, midwives) who have full hearts and are willing to support. Their acts of kindness and courage are the definition of sanctuary.
More than anything, I hope this book reminds you to always care and lovingly fight for others in precarious situations – for this is how you were brought into the world.
About the authors
Queenie wrote this book. At the time of writing, she was undocumented. She has recently gained permanent residency, with the volunteer help of immigration lawyer Peter Golden and Dr. James L. Scott. Now that Queenie has the right to remain in Canada, she wishes to speak out. She shares her story to build solidarities with those facing similar struggles.
To create this book, Queenie and Jen Bagelman, a lecturer at Newcastle University, scrapbooked together: sorting photos, notes, and other ephemera from Queenie’s journey. Through this process, they shaped the narrative featured here. Geraldine Pratt, a professor at the University of British Columbia, helped situate this story within the wider political landscape of the Live-in Caregiver Program. Carly Bagelman, a lecturer at Liverpool Hope University, and Yujia Xu, an Exeter University grad student, created the illustrations. The authors want to acknowledge the traditional coast and strait Salish territories where we, as settlers, made this book.
Status for all
Most baby books are intended for one child, to document their personal journey. While this book is for Angelou, it is also for wider communities. This book is for:
- Migrant women. If you are a migrant woman with precarious status, we hope this book reminds you that you are not alone. If you want more information about how you can get support in Canada, please visit No One is Illegal. If you wish to share your story, please reach out to the authors by emailing [email protected]
- The public. This book seeks to deepen empathy toward and solidarity with precarious migrants. By highlighting how everyday people can make real change, we hope this book strengthens practices of sanctuary. Maybe this book encourages you to learn more and to campaign for migrant justice with groups like No One is Illegal.
- Governments. This book is for governments and policymakers to consider the traumatic lived realities of the Temporary Foreign Worker Program. Even though the TFWP was overhauled in 2015, the federal government refused to implement the number-one demand of migrant justice organizations: grant migrant workers permanent residency on arrival. Queenie’s story compels the government to make structural change. This book begs the question: if migrants are good enough to work in Canada and contribute to its economy, are they not good enough to be granted rights and basic human dignity?
“This book is a must-read, weaving in the intimate daily realities of domestic work, forced family separation, disability justice, and Black mothering.”
—Harsha Walia, author of Border and Rule and Undoing Border Imperialism
Update, March 23, 2021: This article originally included Queenie’s first and last name; her last name has since been removed in order to protect her privacy.