SAFE BUT NOT SOUND AFTER CROSSING BORDER TO CANADA
Taha El Taha arrived without his family — then found out he has cancer
Being born in Canada is like winning the jackpot: through no good deed of your own, you get the best opportunities for prosperity in a peaceful, healthy environment.
Toward the opposite end of the spectrum sits Taha El Taha.
A Palestinian born in Saudi Arabia — and therefore officially stateless — he was one of the 1,916 people to cross by foot into Quebec last December from the United States, along the now (in)famous Roxham Rd.
Like most of the other 19,000 migrants who arrived through this back door in 2017, he has since claimed refugee status and undergone the routine security checks and medical exams necessary to stay in Canada, at least for the time being.
Unlike the others, however, he discovered within days of his arrival that he has Stage 4 cancer.
In the lottery of life, he can’t even buy a ticket.
El Taha, an electrical engineer in Beirut where he lived with his wife and two young children, left Lebanon in October 2017 fearing for his life. Hezbollah, a militant organization that Canada considers a terrorist group, was pressuring him to work with them as an informant, he says. When he refused, they burned his house down. It was time for him to go.
The only way out was a visa to the U.S., ironically much easier to obtain than a visa to Canada. So El Taha headed to Philadelphia.
There he lived for a month, listening to the news about President Donald Trump’s on-again off-again travel ban for Muslims, and watching scores of Haitians and other migrants heading north along the now well-worn path to Canada.
He followed in their footsteps, taking the bus to Plattsburgh, N.Y., then a taxi to the border.
“I thought I was the only one on the bus. But 90 per cent were going to Canada,” he recalls. “I wanted to live like a human being. To be a good citizen and get a good job. Something like that. And if I had a chance, as a permanent resident, to bring my family.”
El Taha was detained for about five hours at the border, and went through a battery of tests and questions. On the immigration front, he was given a date for a hearing June 1, which has since been postponed indefinitely. Because of the huge influx of asylum seekers at the border, there is now a backlog of almost 50,000 claims waiting to be heard.
On the medical front, the response came swiftly. “I took the medical exam and they told me they ’d have results in a week,” says El Taha, 36, whose English vocabulary has grown to include words like “CT scan” and “sputum.”
“Then two days later I started to feel this pain in my chest.”
At the hospital, doctors and nurses initially feared he had tuberculosis and segregated him from the other patients. Tuberculosis would have made him inadmissible to Canada, as a risk to public health.
But a biopsy revealed he had advanced Stage 4 colorectal cancer that had spread to his thorax. The diagnosis of this particular cancer, which affects about one in five million, was a severe blow. He had a similar tumour removed from his abdomen two years ago and had been declared cancer-free, he said. Now it was back. And it was everywhere.
In a sparsely furnished apartment in St-Laurent, El Taha catches his breath before telling the rest of the story. Since January, he has undergone six sessions of chemotherapy, coming back to these two rooms to recuperate after each one.
The chemicals make him vomit, he feels nauseous and weak, he can have hiccups for days — even in his sleep — and as a final insult he can’t drink water, only juice or ginger ale. It takes him a week after each session to feel normal again.
His one friend in Canada calls on him every two or three days to see if he needs anything, and brings him groceries.
“The cold is the worst enemy for someone with cancer,” El Taha explains. “I lose five kilos every time (after chemotherapy). Then I force myself to eat and get the five kilos back.”
But his friend is not his family, and given the side effects, sometimes he feels better alone. What he really needs, he says, is for his family to be here in Montreal with him.
Rami Alsaqqa, a registered immigration consultant in Ottawa, has applied on his behalf for a temporary visitor’s visa for his wife and two children.
“We believe, and the doctors believe, that he can really benefit from the support of his family,” Alsaqqa said, producing copies of letters from MUHC oncologist Jamil Asselah and thoracic surgeon Lorenzo Ferri, urging the federal immigration department to grant their request.
“Mr. El Taha is living alone in Montreal with no family,” wrote Ferri, head of the thoracic surgery department at the MUHC. “We feel it would be greatly beneficial to him to have the support and comfort of his wife and children in the face of the unfortunate diagnosis and upcoming major surgery.”
But the request was refused overnight, Alsaqqa said. The applicants had not proven that they would leave Canada once the visitor’s visa expired, the refusal letter stated, or that they had sufficient funds to support themselves while in Canada.
Alsaqqa said this was to be expected.
“The immigration act is clear. The burden is on them to prove they are willing and able to leave the country and support themselves. But we also submitted a humanitarian appeal, and that was also rejected,” he said.
Now they are hoping Immigration Minister Ahmed Hussen will issue a special permit to allow El Taha’s family to visit before the surgery. His pre-operation appointment was scheduled for Wednesday. A spokesperson for Hussen’s office would not address El Taha’s particular circumstances or the possibility of a minister’s permit.
“We realize people are disappointed when their application (for a temporary resident visa) is refused,” wrote Shannon Ker. “Applications are considered on a case-by-case basis on the specific facts presented by the applicant,” she continued, before outlining the burden of proof that applies to all.
“The doctors say you are a strong man,” El Taha says. “I’m 36, not 70 …. I feel weak inside. But I have to fight and do something for my children.”
His daughter Tala, 3, doesn’t understand about cancer or her father’s absence.
“Her mother told her that one day daddy would send a visa,” El Taha says. “So now she says, ‘ When are you sending a pizza, Daddy?’ ”
Son Ahmad, 7, understands more. “He knows that cancer is a difficult illness, and it can lead to death,” El Taha says, choking back tears. “I say let me see my children just once for five minutes before the surgery. I don’t know what will happen afterwards.”
We feel it would be greatly beneficial to him to have the support and comfort of his wife and children.