I was actually excited at the prospect of starting school in Geneva for the first time. Wow, first day in sight. The adrenaline was rushing through my veins like electricity.

Our dad as always, went to work by his borrowed motorcycle. Looking at his miserable face, he wasn’t delighted to go to work unlike us, excited bees. Once my mum finished preparing us, we were on our way to a brand new adventure in the beautiful city . As ever, we were admiring our surroundings. The sweet smell of the fresh air invading our nostrils. Patiently waiting for the bus, we admired the tramway so much for some reason. Tramways in Lisbon are usually located in the city and not the suburbs. In Geneva, tramways are everywhere. On our way to our new school we went.

At first, when we arrived at school, all the children only spoke French, which was hard for us as we only spoke Portuguese or creole. French is a very hard language to learn let alone talk. Our parents spoke French fluently and obviously frequently gave us lessons. Once my mum dropped us off to our respective class, she ensured us she was around. Reassured, I went to my classroom. As I settled, I just couldn’t stop admiring the beauty of my teacher. She had short dark blond hair. Her emerald eyes pierced right through me. Her beauty spread through the whole classroom. I’ll learn a lesson for life: looks can sometimes be deceiving.

From the get go, I struggled in school and as a result didn’t fair well at all. It wasn’t the fact that I didn’t apply myself, I just did not understand French. The language was a barrier which I struggled to cross. I couldn’t manage completing simple tasks. Even when asked to use a pencil, I would take a colouring pencil instead, often a black one. Inevitably, I didn’t follow any instructions and was getting in trouble often. Soon my notoriety would be known throughout the whole school.
To return to my struggles in class, at the time, the teacher was the sole lessons provider, therefore we couldn’t ask for support and support staff in Geneva then (probably still even now) were non existent. It soon became clear that I wasn’t learning anything. The teacher spotted that and resorted to new measures. So instead of supporting me or finding ways to break things down to support me, her solution was to simply place me at the back of the class. The back of the class consisted of the play area. So from then on, while my classmates were learning, I was playing or reading for the whole day. At first, of course I found it fun and even looked forward to go to the classes as all I did was play. I also used to read books, well attempting anyway.

Suddenly, I realised what was happening right under my nose: all my classmates at the front were physically as well as mentally ahead of me, while I was left behind. I felt like an outsider, like the odd one out after a while. Unsurprisingly, I didn’t make friends in class. It resulted in my playtime being so boring. I was at fault sometimes as when other children approached me, I couldn’t communicate with them. I would kick and sometimes bite them simply because they couldn’t understand me. This frustration of mine was a time bomb waiting to explode further.

Clearly things were not going well. I was missing home, Lisbon and I just wanted to return to my source of comfort; my dad. My dad was the only person who understood me, accepted me the way I was and he was the only person who knew me inside out. My dad simply knew what I like and what I didn’t. He knew how to console me unlike my teacher, the nuns or my mum who were always nagging. My dad was my rock and in a way I was his distraction for when he came back downhearted from work. Despite the unconditional love from my dad and mum, I wasn’t making myself any favours either. However, my teacher was concerned of my progress and addressed the issues to my worried mum.

My behaviour started being poor and my progress too. My teacher suggested for me to redo the year. Not only was I slowly cast away completely from my classmates, but I would inherit my sister’s friends. My sister would have to redo a year also. The suggestion I believe was what the teacher thought would be best.

I had mixed feelings of course. On one hand, I’d have the same teacher so I’d be guaranteed my comfort blanket. On the other hand,

while my classmates will move up to the next year, I wouldn’t and will literally remain behind. This outsider stigma would always stay with me always. To put it simply I was a black sheep. Soon, I would identify that stigma to my favourite characters in books, films and animation. To sum up, my first excitement on starting a new school in Geneva ended in disaster. Sadly, I’d experience worse in schools as my defiance and bad behaviour would feed from the bad experiences I would be forced to received at the hand of those who were supposed to support me

Our first ever area we lived in Geneva, was called La Servette. It is not far from the train station therefore not far from central Geneva. We were nestled near the heart of Geneva. Our home at the time, was a shared accommodation as we lived at the top, pretty much the attic of the house. There was a bedroom, a bathroom and a living room. We had to share the kitchen with other lodgers. The best of all, we had access to a massive garden.

Whenever our parents had the time, especially during the weekends, we would host barbecues. My mum would invite either relatives and friends from Guinea-Bissau. My dad, who knew so much about the Guinean culture during his time there, couldn’t be more delighted. My dad could speak the language fluently. We all enjoyed the gatherings so much, and it was nice to spend time with people who shared the same cultures and values.

At the time, during the mid 80s, an avalanche of Portuguese people fled Portugal in search of a better life. However, people from Guinea-Bissau were not in Geneva as much as the Portuguese were. People from Guinea-Bissau went to Portugal or France. As explained previously, Switzerland is still a country difficult to settle and to live there.

I wonder how my mum did in the beginning? I would lose hope. Our faith as we are Catholics, played a huge part in our settlement in Geneva. In fact, Catholics in Portugal represent 96% of the population. We were raised Catholics since birth. Thankfully for that as it has helped us a great deal. Well, my mum attended a parish called La Sainte Trinité. Straight away, when we started attending church, we were part of the community of the parish.
The church helped us so much. In fact, the priest alone would remain in our lives until his passing. We met many families and nice people there. At the time, I wouldn’t consider ourselves as refugees, simply my mum didn’t have the right papers when she arrived and was simply working towards getting that sorted. So our beginning in Switzerland was not completely legal if that makes sense. Nevertheless, our parents were working hard and ensured our settling in was smooth. La Sainte Trinité, for us and other families in need, represented a refuge, a haven and a gathering beyond the church services. Even though my dad was not Catholic, the church helped him as well.

As the start of school was looming ever closer, unfortunately we didn’t have a school place yet nor the right papers to register. It was impossible for us to attend a public school (which was free). Worried, my mum asked the priest for advice. The priest in turn introduced my mum to nuns who fortunately for us ran a private Catholic school. The problem was private schools are very expensive, especially in Geneva. So how could my mum possibly afford to fund for it? As we were faced with the impossible, our faith played an important role in our admission to l’Externat Sainte Marie.

The nuns offered my mum work in the school, she would work with children in the nursery and we were registered to start in September almost the same year we arrived in Geneva. All the paper work was finalised for our admission in the school, the fee was waved in return for my mum’s employment. Prior of my mum accepting her new job offer, she worked tirelessly as a cleaner, often taking us along. I recalled many things I broke as I was still up to my mischiefs. Soon, she wouldn’t have to clean or babysit again and have a better way to make ends meet.

My mum prepared us for school, reminding us to behave, follow instructions and above all, to learn the culture and French. I must admit, French is not an easy language to learn. Before we started school, we couldn’t speak French fluently so school would help us, or so we thought. I was excited to start school and meet new friends and I was nervous at the same time as I couldn’t speak French properly at the time. I was only 5.
Unknown to me, I was on the road to Calvary as soon as my school life started in Switzerland. My school life in Geneva would have a devastating consequence psychologically.

Instead of exploring Geneva as planned the next day, I was rushed to hospital.
It all started when blisters aggressively covered soles of my feet. When I arrived at the hospital, the doctor was shocked at the sight of my feet. He
admitted to my mum he had never seen anything like it. He pressed my mum for an explanation.
My mum explained that I lived in Guinea-Bissau for a couple of years. The doctor confirmed my initial feeling about the unbearable scorching heat. My
body wasn’t used to it. Strange right? since I used to live in Portugal. However, the heat from Guinea-Bissau was much worse and unforgiving. After my
hospital treatment, I finally left and returned home. For a moment, looking at my feet, the painful memories of my time in Guinea-Bissau were marked for me to reminisce. As time went by, the scars vanished without a trace. The nightmares of my time in Guinea-Bissau also disappeared.

Finally, my new life and experiences in Switzerland can begin. Ah, Switzerland.

Even the name sounds so exquisite and appealing. Looking around, I was enchanted by the charming sights. My eyes were savouring so much beauty
and were hungry for more. The beautiful ever present mountains were constantly
following us everywhere I look. Even the sky couldn’t resist its charm. I enjoyed the view of the majestic mountains kissing the sky. The fresh air was so pure which filled my lungs. I was literally taking it all in.
My parents were always working, that’s the one thing I remembered about my parents’ lives in Switzerland. They both worked so hard and we didn’t spend that much time together as a family.
At the time, and still today, Switzerland is not an easy country to live let alone settle. The only way you can make it easier to live in Switzerland ironically, is by working constantly. Also, you need to have the right papers (permits ) to
live in Switzerland, even as an European. Switzerland is not part of the European union which makes it harder coming from Europe and work there at the time. Not sure if it has become easier now, but what I do know is before
even considering a life in Switzerland, you need to meet many requirements and apply for the right permits. To make matters worse, my mum didn’t have permits when she went to live there and was doing many cleaning jobs. My dad went from instructing builders what to do as an architect, to being a builder himself in Switzerland. He sure didn’t like it. His architect position simply wasn’t recognised in Switzerland. He had to start from scratch.

As children, we had to be looked after since our parents had to work so hard in order to build up our new life in Switzerland. My mum signed us up for a daily holiday camp where we’d go from morning to late afternoon. The camp was
slightly outside Geneva. So each day, our mum would drop us off at the coach station. Once inside the coach, we enjoyed the journey simply because we enjoyed looking at the forever reliable mountains smiling at us. Once we arrived at the camp, we enjoyed the activities despite the fact me and my sister didn’t speak French at the time (the official language in Geneva).  Nevertheless, each day we had so much fun whether it was exploring the nature, the mountains or fun games. We made friends along the way despite the fact we didn’t understand them and they didn’t understand us either. We were always looking forward to the next day for more fun. As you might predict, the fun I had wouldn’t last long.