The first time I remember gunshots ringing near me, I was three years old. I was in a restaurant with my parents when some men unloaded their guns outside. Everyone threw themselves on the ground and took refuge under the tables.
I don’t remember being scared, but I remember the deafening sound of gunfire, the voices of angry men echoing outside, the proximity of my parents’ body who must have been afraid of being injured by a stray bullet.
It was in El Salvador, during the civil war. It is the only memory of the war that I keep from this country where I was born. The rest of my memories are of a humble earth and brick house, of a grandmother who pampered me, of a rooster who terrified me.
Anguish in the metropolis
The second time gunshots rang out near me was about two months ago in my neighborhood in Montreal. It was midnight and I had just fallen asleep again, my last one who had woken up crying, when I heard them. Six separate shots that broke the stillness of the night. As I picked up the phone to dial 911, my heart started pounding and my chin started to shake. My body recognized it before I knew it, I was scared.
The following days were agonizing. If we had to go out late at night, we always took our time to examine the surroundings and see if there were any shady people hanging around.
Although I have lived all my life in questionable neighborhoods, to say the least, I have never been afraid to drive around Montreal, whatever the hour. I have always felt safe in this city that saw me grow up. And now we close our curtains as soon as the sun goes down and we watch the outside of our house with cameras.
They stole our peace of mind
Our calm and quiet street which runs along a small park has now become a crime scene. A place to fear. All our neighbors have felt it, this change in the air, in our lifestyle as soon as night falls, because someone came to shoot another individual just in front of our house, right in front of there where our children sleep at night. And like that, they stole our peace of mind.
I don’t remember being afraid that day, many years ago, hiding with my parents under a table to take refuge from the men who were shooting at each other a few feet away from us. But I remember that fear that came over me the night I was robbed of my peace of mind in my own neighborhood, in my city that I no longer recognize.
Tania Lorena Rivera
Freelance writer for digital parenting magazines and stay-at-home mom, in Quebec for 36 years