Ensaf Haidar - Raif Badawi, The Voice of Freedom: My Husband, Our Story

T he weather is bad as we stand outside Sherbrooke town hall. The rain is pouring down as it does so often in my new home, Canada, which is in every respect the opposite of my old one.

All my friends have come. It has been almost four years since my husband Raif Badawi was arrested in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia. Since then he has been in jail. One year ago, he was publicly whipped in front of a big mosque in the city.

Freedom for Raif, my friend Jane shouts into her megaphone. The other people taking part in the demonstration repeat her call. They are a few dozen loyal companions who gather with me here, week after week. We hold up orange posters with huge black letters to make Raifs name. We express our demand: Librez Raiffree Raif!

Later, when we sit together in a Lebanese restaurant near the town hall, warming ourselves up, Jeff comes over to me. Hes the guitarist with the Canadian band Your Favourite Enemies. Today hes joined us to support us in our struggle.

He solemnly hands me a bundle of letters. This is mail from our fans, Mrs Haidar, he tells me. They want to give you and Raif the courage to keep going.

Mercithanks, I say to him and, touched, take the bundle from him. Your solidarity is very important for us.

By now, luckily, I can speak enough French to express myself in the language. That hasnt been the case for long: when we arrived in Quebec in autumn 2013 I had to sit behind a school desk like a little girl and learn how to communicate. My children Najwa, Dodi and Miriam could speak at least a little French after our previous stay in the Lebanon. I spoke only Arabic.

It wasnt the only change that I found difficult. Since I was forced to flee from Saudi Arabia, pretty much everything in my life has changed. For the first time I had to learn how to take responsibility for myself and my family as a woman on her own. North American culture was completely alien to me. The food smelled and tasted different, the cold climate put a terrible strain on me and I didnt know anyone in this country, whose social rules were so unfamiliar to me.

I dont mean that the people I met in Canada were in any way unpleasant or unfriendly. On the contrary: they welcomed me with open arms, and from the very first I liked their casual, open manners. But it was alien to me none the less.

I have experienced boundless support in the country that granted us asylum. Asylum from the state where I was brought up and formed, where many of the people I love still live. Asylum from the country that threatens my husband with death. And I cant say how grateful I am for that: side by side with people from all over the world, I can devote myself effectively here to the liberation of my husband.

Najwa, Dodi and Miriam acclimatised much more quickly than I did, as children do. As for me, shortly after we arrived abroad I threatened to slip into depression in the face of the cruelty and hopelessness of Raifs situation.

But while I was in danger of giving up, I began to understand what a waste that would be. A waste of freedom, strength and opportunities to develop. A waste of everything that Raif has stood for. A waste of the love that I am allowed to experience with him.

My name, Ensaf, has a wide range of meanings in Arabic, from justice to patience. In my current struggle on Raifs behalf I often have the feeling that I urgently need all of these different facets. Its all in a name, as they say.

Once compared to now I was spoilt. I had nothing to worry about, but I had no responsibilities either.