This article is just for me to remember what a friend of my Dad's used to call me when I was 10.
We had just migrated from Costa Rica to France. In Costa Rica my Dad was involved in a court case that wouldnt let the truth shine through. It had gone on for 7 years. A very complicated story that i might decide to talk about eventually. All i'll say now is that it envolved a lot of money and that the accusations against him stated that he was a thief and a liar. All his money went to lawyers who were corrupted by the other party and that made evidence disappear. They took his money, and when he couldnt afford the cost of the case, they started taking his properties, his boat, his truck. The only thing we had left was our home and the contents of it. Which we left when my father decided it was better we ran away before he was sentenced by the court or killed by his opponents. (i know it sounds really dramatic like that, but that's how it was, feel free to believe it or not).
I wont descride exactly how he fled to France, and how we stayed back for a month in San Jose before flying away as well as it would take pages, and pages to tell the whole story.
France was a complete new world to me. I had never travelled out of Costa Rica before that. I was 9. In my imagination all this was a fake. I thought maybe when we got on the plane, we actually boarded a fake one. And that we actually stayed in Costa Rica. And that they just changed the scenary and the climate in a little piece of land so that we would think we were in France but we were still in Costa Rica and someone would come up and take my Dad away. I was really scared for the 1st couple of months but then realized that no, we were safe. All i needed to worry about was school and being a nice daughter and a cool little sister.
We met a lot of people during our year stay over there. Amazingly nice people that cared a big deal about us after learning what we had been through. They saw the truth in my fathers eyes when he'd tell them his story complicated but oh so logic. The truth. Either it is or it isnt. The truth needs no proof. Either it is or it isnt.
But the one person that marked my mind and memory forever was this officer of the 'Police National de France', André. He was so tall, smoked too much and had the deepest voice I had ever heard. A biker who always wore leather pants and heavy boots. And a huge moustache that reminded me of a old style bicycle's handlebars. He lived in a farm. I loved going over there on weekends to see the horses, the chickens, the ducks, the swans. The property was huge, we could run and play hide and seek with my brother and André's daughter to our little heart's content!
André had something about him that fascinated me. He looked scary, but he was so kind to us. I felt safe. He was always honest . When he wanted to say something he'd just say it. Him and my Dad got along very well.
He always called me 'mon petit oiseau des îles'. My little bird of paradise. I loved how it sounded. It made me feel special to be called that by such an imposing person. It was like this tough cop, someone who doesnt show much tenderness for anyone liked me alot. And i felt important and very lucky for that.
Whenever i hear 'little bird of paradise' i think of him. And how special he made me feel when i just got in this strange country. I'd tell him about how kids made fun of my accent and the clothes I wore. And he'd tell me that they were jealous because I was such a special kid. He gave me confidence, and eventually I made a lot of friends.
He was the only one who saw the bird of paradise in me and helped me release it for others to see. I was 10 and during my teens and every time I changed school, i thought of his words. They were like chicken soup for my teenage soul, lol, i never needed to read that book!
