the Mahommet caricatures.
They murdered a police man on the pavement, we'll learn later he was muslim, and said "Let it go boss", before they shot him in his head. Twelve people have been murdered by the Djiadist terrorists.
Arriving at the office, I looked at my phone, and read all messages on Twitter. It was all about it. A sign had appeared by a few people. "Je suis Charlie" a sentence on a black background saying it all. I am free, I live in a democracy, I'm so sad, What happens today is against all our believes of tolerance and freedom of speech.
I called my elder son, living abroad as a student and in Paris for a few days. "You must post something on Facebook." He said : "I don't know, it's an extreme right newspaper, isn't it ?" I answered, thinking I missed one goal in the education I delivered to him :" No way. It's on the side of the freedom of speech and it's a journal of investigation and caricatures of all religions, politic leaders, society issues. With Cabu, Wolinski, I'm sure you saw some of their drawings… You must do something".
When I came home, he was in front of his computer, half naked as usual as too hot in the apartment for him, and he had changed his profile on Facebook with "Je suis Charlie". He apologized : "One of my friends said to me big bullshit, sorry about that, they were courageous and smart guys."
8th of January. Near Montrouge.
The day after, we could move from our office. A guy had killed a police woman in the street, her job being to help people to cross near a school. Just like that, in the morning traffic. The car was found just a few hundred meters behind our office.
I said to my big boss she should cancelled the ceremony of best wishes, as all people could go from a building to another. She was already aware. We were waiting. She did a minute of silence in the long open white hall. A long minute of seven minutes, there were no noises. Quite and sad.
9th of January.
The day after we were still waiting. The two terrorist brothers, Chérif and Said Kouachi had let an identity card in the car. The police was trying to find them in Normandy. They had hijacked a car.
The financial head arrived at the office saying that policemen with bullet proof gilets and heavy weapons (fusils à pompe) were looking at all cars going outside the périphérique around Paris. Some of them Porte d'Orléans.
In the afternoon, we suddenly learnt that the other terrorist, Amedy Coulibaly had hostages in a small hypermarket for casher food near Portes de Vincennes.
Between two meetings, I looked at my phone. it was incredible to see pictures of the GIGN outside the hypermarket ready to the assault. Journalist and people were trying to be in the know, like a wave of information never stopping, even if some of them putting the hostages at risk by their pictures.
I called my sister that was near the place. Her voice was fragile, as the noise of police cars, and the crowd had to be softened in her head.
My big boss did her speech about our successes and achievements. She had a very nice conclusion. She reminded all of us that she was the one to be responsible of our community at work, whatever the religion or no religion, whatever the gender, whatever the sex orientation, whatever the age. She said she was thinking to our muslim employees, and raised our awareness not to have any amalgam.
During the speech, some of my friends were looking at their phone, as the schools around the hostage place were closed with the teen-agers inside to avoid any problem outside.
One hour later, the assault was given, a few minutes, first in the office, in the suburb in Seine et Marne, were the two brothers were with a man held in hostage, and the shop in Paris. The two brothers were killed. The terrorist in the jewish shop was dead. Four people had been killed inside the shop when they had arrived. No other victims.
Paris was like having a big headache, being so tired after the three days. Exhausted.
My husband sent to me a texto : "In Mexico, I'm surrounded by a lot of Americans and other Europeans, they're under shock, and support us."
11 of January 2015.
You know what happened next. The "Je suis Charlie" message everywhere on the social media, people having it in front of them in the big capitals in Europe and in the US, demonstrations in cities on Saturday, and the picture of François Hollande and Angela Merkel for Germany, walking, hand in hand with the Ministers and Presidents of countries from Europe, Africa, and Moyen Orient.
The picture from Reuters, with all the people on the statue Place de la République, one with a huge pen, as a sign of freedom of speech, another one with the french flag, the flag that so often is used by old men mourning other soldiers of old wars or extreme parties misusing it for closing our frontiers.
Suddenly proud of being French, asserting their values and believes. As Charb said : " Je préfère mourir debout que vivre à genoux."
There were no incidents in demonstrations. People were packed. Sometime far from the Place de la République, all subways stations being closed around. People couldn't move and stayed for hours. Always polite when someone by mistake did hurt their foot, or was to close of their child. A peaceful and respectful crowd, having the feeling of living a historic day, and participating to it.
There were demonstrations against "Charlie" in Pakistan, Kaboul in Afghanistan, Turkey, Niger, Senegal. Arguing blasphem, irrespect of their god.
The book of my father in law about secularism and religions has raised in sales on internet in January.
So, what's next, and what will be build on this tragic moment ? It's our responsability.
Europe and France are in deep crisis. Economic, but also cultural crisis. Like having lost the energy and hope in a bright future.
I'm surprised to see my children having chosen to study abroad to find their future.
I move to San Francisco in a few months. Our choice with my husband. An area more open to new ideas, moving fast, where everything is possible, and no people at fifty will tell you they expect their retirement…
We'll come back one day and for the best.
Paris. 31 janvier 2014
The Trench Coat
I perfectly remember when I purchased it. It was a rainy day. A Saturday morning. I was thinking I should take care of myself as I had just turned fourty and I would deserve to have a Burberry one.
The woman took my card in a soft way, smiled at me, and I looked at the price thinking it was the kind of clothes we purchase for life, hopefully, timeless…
Then when I was looking for my car keys to come back to the parking near Saint Sulpice, my phone rang.
I was written unknown number, but even if an awkward position with my arms, as the big bag in one hand and my keys in the other, I chose to answer.
The voice said : "Is it Mrs Deliège on the phone ?" I took time to answer, I looked at the statue and the water, the beautiful church, the miror of the sky and clouds on the asphalt and I slowly answered : "Yes, who's on the phone, please ?"
The female voice answered : "It's the hospital. Doctor Zyman wants to talk to you, we have the results for your daughter." She talked to me as if I was an old and fragile woman.
Then I don't remember exactly what happened. I was crying on the banc when a young woman with a walk-man came to me asking : "Are you OK ?"
My daughter had a cancer, and you don't want a child to have a cancer. She was eight years old, the period where you want your mother to help you to have nice hair with girly accessories and you smile at your face in the mirror.
I was devastated. She was courageous. One Week, chimiotherapy, one being so sick, one recovering. We had to be in hospital with her. One day, my mother, the other my sister, the third one me and my husband. The family was a huge help for me. Anything else disappeared.
I didn't say anything at work except to my boss. She understood my reluctancy to make it known, I couldnt' stand with the look and sad smiles of people when they knew. They had always the same way to ask if it was not to tough, if she was recovering, if they could do something for me. And no one could.
I think that year
I understood what was to be alive and alone. When you're sick, you're by yourself. No one even your beloved can do anything. They have no power, they know it, and it makes them crasy. When it's your child, it's worst, you feel guilty, when you're not with him, guilty not to be a good wife as obsessed with the little face of your daughter without any hair now, guilty not to take enough time for your other child, your son, as you are absolutely exhausted.
At work, you look permanently at your phone. You're in meetings, but a part of you is not here. What is all that about ? Money, making customer have a good experience, having a better performance on our site ? What the fuck ! I'm someone taking a lot of attention to what I say. People describe me as someone that is always patient and taking attention to people, listening before I express myself. During that period, I was not very patient, I had the feeling that all the people at work were stealing my time, therefore my life, and precious moments I should spend with my daughter. Perhaps she would be gone in one year, or one month, or one week, or just now. I could sleep at night. My doctor ordered me to slow down, and during one week, I didn't go to the hospital. I felt better and at the same time, I felt so bad.
The smell, the smell of the hospital, did you notice ? A mix of detergents, sugar or fruits, and illness, bodies. The noise in the elevator. Always the same. People asking. Nurses chatting about a boy