Canadian languishes in embassy in Sudan

Quote: Canadian languishes in embassy in Sudan Sudaneseonline.com Email this article Printer friendly page Canadian languishes in embassy in Sudan HEBA ALY From Tuesday's Globe and Mail July 1, 2008 at 12:50 AM EDT undefined undefinedKHARTOUM undefined undefined — Abousfian Abdelrazik takes the picture frame into his hands. His eyes open wide. “Kouteyba,” he says, gently, longingly, as he looks at the picture of the son he hasn't seen in five years. “He's a big boy now.” He puts the frame aside; then he picks it up again. “He's a big boy now,” he repeats, shaking his head. Abousfian Abdelrazik has been granted 'temporary safe haven' in the Canadian embassy in Khartoum. (Passport Photo) Mr. Abdelrazik has not seen his son since the boy was less than a year old. While Kouteyba was growing up in Montreal, his father was marooned in Sudan, fingered by Canada of terrorist links – imprisoned, according to Canadian government documents, “at our request” – in foul Sudanese jails, and then, when eventually released, denied a passport to return to his home in Canada. The Harper government still accuses Mr. Abdelrazik of links to al-Qaeda, although he has never been charged with any crime either in Canada or Sudan. So he will spend Canada Day alone in the shuttered Canadian embassy, surrounded by high walls and guards in this dusty Sudanese capital. After The Globe and Mail reported his plight in April, Mr. Abdelrazik, a Canadian citizen, sought refuge in the embassy. The Harper government gave him “temporary safe haven” but continues to refuse him a passport (the old one expired while he was in detention) or to fly him home. His name appears on a no-fly list and a UN list of people with possible ties to al-Qaeda, but he denies any involvement. Now he spends his days on a couch in the embassy lobby from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m., surrounded by glossy Canadian travel brochures and the portrait of Prime Minister Stephen Harper next to a Canadian flag. Outside office hours, he has occasional access to a swimming pool, the exercise room and satellite TV in the embassy compound. He wanted to show a visitor where he sleeps, but worried that leaving the lobby during embassy office hours would get him in trouble. Behind the glass window, staff gossip, giggle and attend to business as if he was not there. Until recently, they were not allowed to speak to him, not even to say, “good morning.” In the midst of a conversation, he looks to his visitor and says: “Stop, stop!” He looks toward the window nervously. The second secretary of the embassy has entered the front office. Mr. Abdelrazik worries about how he will react if he sees a journalist taking notes. The man leaves. To pass the time, Mr. Abdelrazik talks to visitors and reads the newspaper, but mostly he thinks about his children in Canada. “Every night, I stay awake until 2 or 3 in the morning, because I think about this situation. I think about my children. “He missed a lot,” he says of his son, as he stares at his picture. “He didn't enjoy a father in his life. It's only a word for him: father. It's not a fact in front of him.” One of his children lost her mother to cancer in 2001 and is now being cared for by her half-sister. “My stepdaughter and daughter live alone,” Mr. Abdelrazik says, his eyebrows furrowed. “They go through pain. Both need someone to support them.” He says the bouts of depression he experienced while in prison have returned. Sometimes, he bangs his head against the wall or feels like ripping his shirt off. “I have madness without any reason,” he said. “Sometimes, I have the urge to fight, but then I avoid people.” Instead, he says he uses a bag of sand to punch away his anger. But when he speaks, he is calm, friendly, easy to talk to. He wears khakis and a collared, button-up shirt. His mustache is neatly trimmed and his grey hair recently shaved. His composure never falters. After years of this frustration, “I've learned to control myself when I am angry,” he explains. He says he is angry with both Sudan and Canada for their roles in his fate. But his main message to the outside world is one of caution, not anger. “I want the Canadian government and security agencies …” He stops to think. “English is hard for me sometimes.” He switches to Arabic, back to English. “In my country [Sudan], there is racism. Look what happened in Sudan: All the people fighting. It destroyed the country,” he said. For years, Sudan has faced civil war and rebellions, including in Darfur, as various ethnic groups have accused the government of marginalization. “The same thing is going to happen in Canada. It will cause a kind of destruction of society. The Canadian government has a racist mind. It is because I am black and Muslim,” he says, trying to find an explanation for why the government won't bring him home. “They are stomping on the values that the country is based on: human rights, innocence until proven guilty. Today it's me. It's possible tomorrow it is someone else, and the day after, someone else,” he said. Still, he says, he hasn't given up hope that his situation will one day be resolved. “I am a strong believer. I am a practising Muslim. I do my prayer. I consider this my destiny.” But not knowing when his problems will end is difficult, he says. “I am 46. I have finished two quarters of my life. I have hope to do good things in life, to spend time with my children, to give them a very good education, to support them, to do something for my life, too.” But for the moment, all he can do is sit on the couch and wait. Special to The Globe and Mail © Copyright by SudaneseOnline.com