When you have given birth to four children who all died in childbirth and when you share the household with your husband’s old mother who keeps insulting you whenever she opens her mouth, or when you need to hide your crop in fear of the regime who steals everything from you, or when your husband is shot dead in front of your eyes and you are deported to Siberia, you have then entered the world of Zouleihka. It’s the early days of the Soviet campaign of dekulakization in the beginning of 1930’s USSR, when millions of peasants lost their farmlands and were executed or deported. This is where the story of Zuleikha’s begins in Kazan, in a convoy of deportees onward across the Ural Mountains and further east. What a promising start!
I took a Y-DNA test and found out about my ancestry. My haplogroup is represented in Western Siberia and Finland but I was surprised to see red dots also in Turkey and in the Caucasus. The dots on the map represent the earliest known forefathers of other people who took the test and with whom I share snippets of DNA. Perhaps it’s time to plan a haplo tour to Kazan? Or follow a trail down to the Black Sea and to the medieval slave markets of Feodosia? In those days it was common to snatch people and either bargain for their release or sell them as slaves. That happened also on the shores of the Baltic.
I researched my grandmother’s lineage and was able to connect with the Geni family tree. Her side of the family stayed in the same region in Ostrobothnia for several centuries and their family names were tied to farms and places. With Geni, suddenly I have over one thousand ancestors all the way back to my 16th great grandfathers, who were born around 1450.
I remember my great grandmother very well. At the time she was already very old and would just sit quietly and wrap herself in that secret historicity of hers. Her grandfather had been a sniper who died in mysterious circumstances in St. Petersburg after 1889. Who was he? Why was he there? I am now very keen on finding out more about single stories among those one thousand relatives.
In the coming year, be prepared, my dear reader, to more stories about my ancestry and about writing in general, as I am in the middle of writing a novel. I might also babble something about fictional autobiography, the genre that intrigued me already in the 90’s when I was working on my master’s degree in Marseille. Now it’s timely again, with all the potential of my going back in time and finding myself in the footsteps of my unknown father and his forefathers somewhere in the Crimea or Siberia. Add to that some of the more usual glimpses of my life between the Senegal river and the Atlantic Ocean and voilà: welcome a brand-new year 2022.
For a very short time Johanna was my best friend. She was a Jewish girl, we were between seven and eight years old at the time when I did not really understand what Jewish even meant. Her family lived very close and they had a piano. Her grandmother could play it and sing, I was fascinated by her voice and her long silver grey hair.
We would sing songs whenever we met. Johanna taught me one of those self-boasting provincial songs from her family’s province and my classmates laughed at me mockingly, when I suggested we sing that song together during our music class.
When it was time to pick up a song for the exam to get a grade, I chose “I Saw Miss Helen In The Bath” by M. A. Numminen. My teacher, who was from the Karelian region, laughed very loudly until she was in tears, and I got a good mark.
Then suddenly Johanna and her family moved out of town and I lost trace of her for good. I wonder where she is now and what songs she might be singing.
تُرجم شعرنا الملحمي الوطني إلى العديد من اللغات ، وكذلك العربية. أتذكر من المدرسة ، حيث قرأنا أجزاء من كاليفالا، أنني لم أفهم دائمًا كل شيء بسبب لغتها القديمة. نشأت القصص من الفولكلور الشفهي والأساطير التي جمعها إلياس لونروت في الجزء الشرقي في فنلندا. تم نشره لأول مرة في عام 1835
مبروك للمترجم العربي سحبان احمد مروة! تلقيت نسخة من هذا الكتاب في عام 2007 واستغرق الأمر سنوات عديدة قبل أن أكون مستعدًا لدخول عالم
كاليفالا باللغة العربية
هذه مقدمة صغيرة لبعض الشخصيات من الكتاب
رب السماء و الرعد
بطل الرسمي مع قوة سحرية
يعزف آلة موسيقية تقليدية ويستخدمه كسلاح
يذهب إلى بطن العملاق لاستعادة الأغاني لبناء القوارب
البحث عن الزوجة العنصر الرئيسي
بنى زوجة وماكينة النقود “سامبو” من ذهب
رجل وسيم وقح ومتهور
شاب يتحدى بطل الرسمي فاينمينين في مسابقة غنائية ويخسر
يعد أخته بالمقايضة لإنقاذ حياته
عذراء الشمال، أم شامانية. تسبب الكثير من الانزعاج لأهالي كاليفالا
يبيعه إلمرينين كعبد
كولرفو هو شاب مضطرب يقتل زوجة إلمارين وينتحر
عذراءكاليفالا الشابة التي تحمل عندما تأكل اللينغونبيري
فيناموينن يحكم على ابن مارجاتا بالإعدام لأنه ولد خارج إطار الزواج
ابن مارياتا سيتوج ملكا للكاليفالا وفيناموينن يغضب. يترك كاليفالا ويترك أغنيته و آلته موسيقية كإرث
These are snapshots from a morning walk in the Molenbeek cemetary from last June. It is rather humbling to see photographs of deceased persons, particularly on a grave stone and from one hundred years back. They always make me wonder who they were in their living life, what their dreams were made of, or did they get the chance to laugh and share feelings of belonging, together with their fellow human beings? For many of them the World Wars cut in when they were still young, and then this. Is someone still remembering them now, what would they say?