I received an email from Mikolaj in Poland regarding their father Abdulrahman Al-Boloushi who left a child behind in Poland in 1982. I think the email was written in Polish and translated to English.
I live in Poland, looking for his father Abdul Rahman al Boloushi age of about 55 years, in 1982 he left the documents to Kuwait and voice zaginoł after him, I have to address before 30 years, no one hce help me find my father I wanted to meet him and talk to it if somebody can pomódz is asked to contacton my email @, mikolaj.orlinski @ wp.
his photo from before the 30 years that made ??in Polish taxi, ask for help….
Niniejsza wiadomość może zawierać informacje poufne i/lub objęte ochroną. Jeżeli nie jest Pan/Pani zamierzonym adresatem tej wiadomości, prosimy o niewykorzystywanie treści e-maila do jakichkolwiek celów, niezwłoczne powiadomienie wysyłającego pocztą zwrotną o fakcie otrzymania korespondencji oraz usunięcie wiadomości wraz z załącznikami bez zachowywania jej kopii.
My mother met Rahman in Poland in Polish COAST Sopot in 1981, then I was born in 1982 to a Polishfather came after I was born around April in May, he had to return to Kuwait after the documents to be submitted in Polish Office where I live or in Poznan, was with his brother so he said to my mother as if he was in Poznan, he went to Kuwait and did not come back-he left me $ 100 under the pillow and the letter of the Koran.scans have his address, which left from before 30 years, and a picture of him if I have to send…
I’ve attached the picture and the letter his father left when he went back to Kuwait, can anyone help?
My sister called me last night asking me to change some things like deleting her father and uncle’s names as she is afraid her father would retaliate against her if he found out about the site. I think it’s pretty sad that she still lives in fear of him. She’s actually afraid her father could have her framed and put into jail or take away her nationality. So I did as she asked and deleted some names even though I disagree and feel he should be known as a father who abandoned his child. She was talking about how other children in this situation should have the right to their nationality like the orphans do. Children who end up in the orphanage are given first class Kuwaiti nationality and are known as “children of the Amir”. Even if a child does not take his father’s last name they should still have the same rights in Kuwait as other citizens do. Children are given their father’s nationality which means once DNA is proven their children should be known as Kuwaiti citizens like their father. UAE and KSA has stepped up so when will Kuwait do the same?
I’m over my Kuwaiti father leaving me……but then again why am I here commenting lol it doesn’t bother me so much as having to explain to my 11 year old Kuwaiti son why we don’t have anything to do with my father….his grandfather’s…..family. It’s also embarrassing when you try to work or even just go to the bank and people ask about your family because discussions like that are common and I don’t know how to answer when someone says “oh so do you know so and so” from my father’s family and I’m like “Ugh, ya sure whatever” and try to change the subject. It’s just awkward.
Since I have learned that in Islam and other major religions a child born out of wedlock is the mother’s sin to bear and religiously the child is not allowed to keep the father’s last name I kinda just shut down the subject in my head because I know that excuse is what my father is using and I can not argue with religion. Unfortunately I think a lot of the guys we r talking about use it too.
Religion is one thing and culture is another. I thank UAE for giving a voice for those of us left behind. I hope other gulf countries follow. After all what would it really hurt to give us our rights culturally if religiously we are shunned.
I didn’t choose to be born from “sin” and what was happening when the major religions were created is a bit different now. Why should we have to pay for our parents lapse of judgement? At least a nationality, recognition that we exist and have another half of our soul.
It’s hard for me to deal with this subject as it’s not my own story but the story of my younger sister. I told my mom about my idea to publish this blog but she wasn’t too thrilled the idea as they have moved on but I don’t think it’s fair to just close the subject. Living in Kuwait knowing your father is somewhere and you could run into him at any minute must be very sad and scary. Her ex-husbands uncle was best friends with her father and when she had her son her ex had tried to give her father some meat as two sheep are killed when a baby boy is born and the meat is distributed to members of the family and the needy. Her father refused the gesture and turned her husband away. I was raised by him for several years so I guess I have more memories of him than she has. I remember his boots with the zipper on the side and his Sergio “Caliente” jeans, come on it was the 70’s. I remember his big eyes that he would open wide when he was mad at me and it would make me run and hide. I do forgive him for spanking me with the vacuum cleaner wire although it’s something I will NEVER forget. Since I saw him years back when I first moved to Kuwait I saw a tired man, not the man I was so scared of as a child and whom I hated because he left our family. My question for him is “Will you really go to your grave without claiming my sister”? Your almost 60 now and no one will question you.
This blog is for my sister whose father left her behind many years ago. My mother met her father in Pensacola, Florida back in the late 70′s. The small town was flooded by GCC pilots studying with the U.S. military. The new brownies with lots of money had a lot of the girls talking. The black hair and dark skin is what caught my mother’s eye when she met A. Al-Roudhan, a Kuwaiti pilot. I was a young child when they got together and was raised by him for several years. In 1981 my mother gave birth to my sister N, she was named after his grandmother. My sister was visited by her father, his brother and some of their friends. We moved and finally settled down in California but when it was time for his family to come and visit my mother, sister and I would have to vacate and stay in an apartment somewhere else. With little money my mother had to scrape together change and we would walk a mile to the gas station so she could call him and buy me my Archie comic book. We had no tv and really nothing in the apartment which was really lonely. I look back now and know how strong my mom was to take care of us pretty much alone. When my sister was 2 he left to Kuwait and never came back leaving my mom alone with 2 children. She took a job at a pet store and left us with babysitters one of which pysically abused my sister. My mom eventually re-married a Palestinian man and he raised us for almost 20 years until they divorced. She now lives in Kuwait with her Kuwaiti husband. Upon graduating high school my sister and my mom came to Kuwait so she could find her father. All was good in the beginning in which he gave my sister some money and gold so she would go back to California but when my sister moved to Kuwait her father wasn’t so nice. My sister married a Kuwaiti and received her nationality through the marriage but she isn’t considered a first class Kuwaiti even though her father’s family is one of the biggest in Kuwait. When I came to Kuwait we went to the gold shop he owned in Mubarakiya and there I saw him, this tired old looking man whom I feared as a child. He told me I was his first child and blah blah. He has since disappeared out of sight as his father died leaving him as head of the family and he has a certain image to maintain. We know where he lives and what house he lives in which happens to be the house beside where my mom works, talk about irony. My sister even went to his house once and met her younger brothers. We also found out when his wife had a daughter she wanted to name her the same as my sister’s name but he told her no. Guilt perhaps? It’s time for the lost children to come out into the light.
Not many pictures of her dad are left after my mom burned them but she regrets doing that now.