Re-Sweded

There has been much to celebrate this week.

On Tuesday a large envelope arrived which looked ominous to me: it was from the Swedish immigration department. 

I lost my Swedish nationality automatically in 1983 when I married my English (now ex-) husband and took up British citizenship. I did not realize it at the time, but was soon made aware by a compatriot. What followed was a sorry tale of over thirty years of deception and  perjury as I continued to tell the Swedes that I only had my Swedish nationality, in order to be able to renew my passport...Now this is actually fairly uncharacteristic behaviour for me- I am otherwise boringly law abiding and truthful.

 Last year the passport had run out again. I prepared  once more to perform  the act which had become increasingly loathsome to me over the years: to sign the document  saying I had only one nationality. But this time, because of tightening immigration control, the official  at the little Swedish police station in Bollnas in Central Sweden were I made the application in person hesitated a moment before giving me the routine papers to sign. She was looking at the computer screen. 

'There is virtually no information about you' she said. The only thing we have on you is your date and place of birth and the following: 'Inger Ann-Sofi Sarin. Emigrated to Central Africa in 1976.' We are going to have to make some further investigations. Please would you fill in this form'.

 That was when I realized I had to come clean. Presumably it would be easy for them to find out that I also had a British citizenship. I did not sign this time. Instead I decided to go to the Swedish  Embassy in London to  hear what they had to say:  'I became a British citizen in 1983' I began to the passport official. 'And now you want to find out how you can get your Swedish citizenship back', she yawned. 'Here is the website, you can apply online, she said matter-of-factly and turned to the next in the queue.

So I went online and was presented with a multilingual 'Welcome to Sweden!' introduction where I was treated in exactly the same way as if I had been a refugee or any other migrant. 'Bloody Swedes! How dare they! My family have been Swedes since before the Vikings! There is not a drop of any other blood in my veins!' I huffed and puffed for a time until I calmed down and realized I had to eat some humble pie.  I had brought it on myself.   

Interestingly, since 2001 it is possible to hold multiple nationalities and still retain one's Swedish citizenship, so, if I were to retrieve it I would not have to give up my British nationality. I applied. and I heard nothing from them for  over a year. I had more or less given up and resigned myself to being 'just' British. Arriving back from Mali at Heathrow the last time I was received at the passport control by a very jolly passport official of apparently Asian ethnic origin. 'Welcome Home!' he said with a big smile as he handed me back the passport.  I felt  warm at heart and suddenly quite patriotic for Britain, this nice place that has welcomed me although the Swedes don't want me any more!

But  this week, there it was, the envelope from the Swedes.  What did it say?  I opened it with some trepidation- I would have been sad after all to lose the citizenship of my home country- but it was my certificate of Swedishness once more restored! I now jumped to my feet and sang the Swedish National Anthem all on my own. Dear  Eva had put a word in for me and written them a letter presumably suggesting that I was a worthwhile proposition to take back into the fold once more...maybe that is what did the trick?

Then the other night I had the opportunity to celebrate further with several Swedes and with my cousin Greger and his wife Eva- he was in London for a significant birthday and we had lovely dinner  on the Canal at Little Venice:

 

And meanwhile in Timbuktu the Al Wangari Library digitizing studio is now up and running, and here is Mariam Haidara, one of the new workers in the ELIT team, beginning to digitize the first volume of manuscripts: a religious poem which was copied in Timbuktu on March the 15th 1752.