And the Winner is…

En cours de littérature étrangère (anglais), les élèves de 1ère L1 de Madame Paccard ont participé à un concours d’écriture en lien avec l’exposition Dorothea Lange proposé par le magazine Speakeasy (Nathan). Les élèves devaient choisir une photo et écrire l’histoire qu’elle leur inspirait. 

Nous sommes fiers d’annoncer que le texte d’ Eve-Marie Koning a non seulement été retenu mais figure parmi les préférés du jury. 

Félicitations à Eve-Marie !!!

Publication dans le le magazine Speakeasy (Nathan)

We had so many fabulous entries to our Dorothea Lange creative writing contest that we’ve chosen 30 winners instead of 10. Here are the winning texts from Première pupils, in alphabetical order except where we’ve regrouped texts about a single photo. (We’ve included Première LVA pupils with the Terminale winners.) Here is one of our two favourite texts inspired by Lange’s iconic photo « Migrant Mother », an interview imagined by Eve-Marie, Mme Paccard’s class, Lycée Jules Ferry, Paris.                                                                   

Voici son texte : 

At the request of the state, I went to a migrant camp in Nipomo, to take pictures to do a report on the situation there. I met a migrant mother, who agreed to tell me her testimony. Hunger, Suffering, and Mourning are full members of her life.

“I was born in Oklahoma. When I was 22, I had a husband, Cleo. He was working in a farm. We had 3 daughters. My life was perfect, I was happy, despite our poverty.

“When I was pregnant for the fourth time, my husband was fired, because of the poor harvests. Depressed, he started to drink. He came back home very late in the night. He beat our children and I. He was totally destroyed by alcohol. And still today, I don’t know what’s happened with him. I knew a friend who moved to California with her two children when her husband, died from polio. So in 1930 we decided to leave our country, with our four children, to go to promising California.

“We started our journey in the coldest November I had ever experienced. We lived on frozen vegetables from the surrounding fields and birds that the girls killed. We were hungry. It took us nearly two months to reach California, because we had to sell the tires from the car to buy food. We didn’t have money, just enough to survive.

“When we arrived in Oroville, after around fifty days walking, we were starving! The little one was just 2 years old, the oldest was 7, Cleo was sick and I was pregnant for the fifth time. Because of his sickness we stayed two weeks there. He died on January 1931. It was terrible for us, but a relief anyway, he was always more violent with us.

“We kept walking for a week. In Firebaugh, I gave birth to this little girl. So she never even saw her daddy. When she was a ten-month-old baby, I moved with my five children to Nipomo.

“Nowadays, we panhandle and live in a tent. I don’t know what will happen.”

Florence Thompson, the migrant mother, looked away, her face gaunt with wrinkles, not because of old age but because of her fatigue and weariness. She was uneasy about the future of her children, so young but already exposed to many risks.

Will the richest state in the nation manage to help their people, migrants in their own country ? »