Dark Dreams

by Sonja Dechian

  During the four years in Thailand I learnt and taught English. I had a happy life. Four years later, in 1984, I left Thailand. I stowed away in a boat that transported goods, with about ten other Asian people.

  We were found by a man who worked on the boat when he went to inspect the goods. We were then left at an island near Thailand. I cannot recall the name because I was never good at geography. I had no idea where the island was and knew little about where other countries were in relation to the island.

  We were stranded on the island for three months and soon ran out of food and water. People couldn’t help themselves. They drank water from the ocean then died soon after.

  We got to a stage where people went crazy, or were so hungry that they ended up eating the dead people. I was so sad and scared, just sitting there and watching things happening in front of my eyes. I was too weak to move or do anything. I stopped myself from eating people or drinking sea water. But deep down I knew that one day I would go crazy. I prayed and hoped that we would be saved soon.

  My prayers were answered because an Australian ship happened to come by and see us. The people that were left were overjoyed. There weren’t many of us, only four. We all were taken to Australia.

  Some people died soon after they reached Australia. Some went crazy. Some got jobs and lived happily. I was one of them: I now work in a factory putting goods into packages. I live alone and am now forty-one. My dad has died, so has my brother Hoan and sister Mai. My brother died after the war and my sister died of pneumonia. My sisters Son and Thi are also in Australia, though their journey was not rough. I see them sometimes. The rest of my family are still in Vietnam. One day I will help them migrate to Australia, so our family can reunite. But for now, I will send letters and money. I really miss them.

  I do feel a little better now that I have told everyone my story. I hope you will understand and appreciate what you have. Not all people are born in a rich land. Not all people can live easily. Not all have happy lives. I am one of those unfortunate people. I hope by telling you this story you will understand the suffering some people have to endure. Many of us have hidden secrets and pains from our journeys or sadness because of the loss of loved ones.

  Five Months

  by Katie Petrie, aged 15

  My name is Keitiah. I have only been in Australia for five months, but I know it is good place. My family came from Aeritrea, because of the horrible tragedies occurring there. My father was a journalist so the government on many occasions tried to kill our family and friends. They succeeded on many occasions, causing pain and heartache for many people.

  In 1994, five government soldiers locked my best friend, Mieraf, in a house and set it on fire. I was the only one who saw it. The soldiers held my hands behind my back and hit me with their guns until my body was limp from exhaustion and pain. Although my vision was blurry, the soldiers held my head up so I had to watch the rest of the house crumble to ash. Mieraf’s screams had stopped while the soldiers were beating me. I knew he was dead and cried myself to sleep in the gutter.

  The soldiers found me in the morning. I was in the same place they had left me. I believe they suspected that I was my father’s daughter (we were well known in Aeritrea). They stripped my clothes off and hit me with their guns until I was unconscious. I awoke with my hands and feet tied. I was still naked. I noticed that I was outside my front door. A note had been wired through my skin with two pieces of rusty metal. I kicked on my front door until my father answered my pounding. He swept me up in his arms, soaking me with his tears of relief. My mother carefully removed the note from my stomach. It read, ‘You must be out of the country this time next week, or we will kill your family.’

  We had received many notes like this, but nothing had happened. This note scared me as it seemed real, the soldiers had never been this violent before. My mother and father stayed up late talking about the situation. In the morning, much to my anguish, they announced that we would be staying in Aeritrea.

  Two weeks and three days later the soldiers locked us in our house and set it on fire. We sat in the house until the soldiers left. Although the soldiers set fire to our house, we were not burnt. Our friends saw the house burning, but we were safe. Many people we know have attributed our survival to a miracle performed by God. There was no fire damage on the house, so we continued living there.

  The soldiers tried many other times to harm our family, but weren’t successful. On a normal Saturday morning, the soldiers opened fire on a busy market place, shooting everyone they saw and wasting bullets on fruit and animals. They knocked over tables, stalls and carts. On that same morning my two brothers went to the market to buy some chickens. They were two of the few survivors of the massacre.

  I was saved from death another time, but only to have three of my friends murdered. We were walking through the town when a group of soldiers recognised me; the only excuse they needed to kill more innocent citizens. They pinned my friend, Sari, to the ground, and while she was still struggling they shot her eighteen times, using all their bullets. They grabbed my second friend and pinned him to the ground, now covered in Sari’s blood. One of the soldiers had a flimsy pocket knife and as they had run out of bullets they decided to use the knife. They stabbed him several times until his eyes stopped blinking. They stabbed both his eyeballs, just because they could. The soldiers grabbed my third friend who was screaming and wailing. One soldier kicked her in the head and told her to shut up. Before the soldiers started mutilating their third victim, one took a swipe at my stomach with the knife. I tried to avoid it, but couldn’t. The knife plunged down into my muscles, causing instant pain. Seeing me writhe in pain, the soldiers laughed and jeered at me. They turned back to Nyanchieu, my only remaining friend. The soldiers stabbed with such aggression and for so long, the flimsy knife blade snapped. At this the soldiers laughed, kicked me and once again left me on the street.

  I stayed in the same spot for two hours, wailing and mourning the death of my friends. The pins and needles in my feet and legs were so bad, I couldn’t walk properly. I dragged my limp lower body home, still crying. When I got home my parents were waiting for me with my brothers and sister. They had decided we were leaving Aeritrea the following week.

  When I stepped off the plane in Australia, the first thing I noticed was how everything seemed paved, there was no dirt anywhere. The airport was huge and I could see grass in a distant field. I felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. You may think I am a coward for leaving, but I have been through so much in such a short time, I can hardly explain it all. We are safer here in Australia and I hope one day my other friends are able to come and live here too.

  Even though I have had to learn a new language, and I miss my home and grieve for my friends, it is far outweighed by the peace and security we feel living in this country. I am going to school and have made many new friends. In some ways Australia does remind me of home.

  THE WAVES TO FREEDOM

  ‘Mummy, I don’t want to go on another boat ever again. I don’t want Daddy to die again.’

  Waleed Alkhazrajy: Perserverance Personified

  by Yasmin Aleem, aged 17

  Can you imagine having to leave your homeland, your family, friends, career and life, for fear of being killed by the government? Can you imagine travelling through 1700 kilometres of desert, with nothing but the clothes on your back? Can you imagine being detained for ten months in a foreign land, and given little opportunity to prove your worth? Maybe you can’t, but many can. In fact they don’t have to imagine it, because for individuals like Waleed Alkhazrajy, these events actually happened.

  Waleed was born in Iraq, where he was raised as a Muslim and still practises his religion. Though now an Australian citizen, his path was far from easy.

  Waleed’s story starts in 1995, in Iraq, where he worked as a doctor. The Iraqi government had previously announced that all those who deserted the military would be branded with a cross on their forehead o
r have their ears cut off. This barbaric decree was published on Friday, notifying Waleed that this would be one of his duties on Monday. Waleed’s reason for becoming a doctor was to treat illnesses. This decree was a complete contradiction of what he believed in, so he refused to carry out any acts of mutilation. Consequently, Waleed fled the country that Saturday morning, in blatant defiance of the Iraqi government. This meant that Waleed was himself liable to major persecution and his defiance punishable by death.

  Waleed left for Jordan after fleeing Iraq and, using all available methods of transport, travelled through the Syrian Desert. For us, it’s hard to imagine just what kind of physical, psychological and emotional stress Waleed was under. He stayed in Jordan for a year, but did so without ever having a real identity because he did not have any official documents. Had he been caught by either the Iraqi or Jordanian governments, he would have been sent home to face death. Waleed was in ‘limbo’, as he was also unable to apply to the United Nations High Commission for Refugees, because it was under surveillance by Iraqi intelligence; anyone who approached that organisation would be traced and probably killed or transported back to Iraq. Anyone in a similar situation would feel compelled to resort to extreme measures.

  Waleed’s family paid nearly A$30,000 to people-smugglers, to ensure he reached Australia. This amount is not too much for the wealthy, and the truth of the matter is that 90 per cent of oppressed, articulate Iraqis are rich enough to pay this sum. Sadly, such information is not reported, because it does not correspond with the image that the Australian government has. The government has created an image which depicts the majority of Iraqis coming for economic reasons, and those here are wealthy and thus described as greedy, selfish queue-jumpers, because they are apparently preventing other deserving immigrants the chance.

  Waleed says that those who have the money to come simply do not have the means to apply in the manner the Australian government would prefer: ‘… we had to find other ways of coming, otherwise we would have died.’

  Waleed placed his life in the hands of people-smugglers, who are: ‘from the dark side of this world; people that you can’t trust with your life or your money.’ The journey took two weeks; starting from Jordan, flying to Kuala Lumpur, crossing the border over the sea to Indonesia, then to East Timor. The group that Waleed was travelling with then boarded a small, wooden fisherman’s vessel and ended up near Ashmore Reef, off-shore in North-West Western Australia.

  Why would a university graduate, who had lived a life of relative luxury, choose to come to Australia in this manner? Why would an educated man, who cannot swim, decide to spend two weeks in a leaking, wooden fisherman’s boat with fifteen others? The answer is simple, but profoundly disturbing. Waleed concluded that he was certain to die anyway—at the hands of the Iraqi government, the people-smugglers or while crossing the sea. His attitude was: ‘Either you make it or you don’t.’ I do not know anyone else who can say that they have been in similar situations. Situations of such desperation are the cause of erratic actions; this can be seen in Waleed’s decision to take a chance, to reach what he perceived to be a land of justice and democracy.

  Sadly, the image of Australia being the country of ‘a fair go’ is false. This was not what Waleed was met with when he arrived at Ashmore Reef in late 1996. He was immediately detained for ten months: ‘for political reasons’. Waleed accepted that there were many motives for the government to detain him, one of them being that, by stopping people from coming, Australia would no longer be seen as an ‘easy target’. Another motive is that, at the time, the Iraqi government had signed a deal worth $50 million with Australia to trade wheat in return for the Food for Oil program. This was organised through the UN and our government did not want it ruined by accepting immigrants, especially those the Iraqi government was looking for. There was pressure to send the refugees back, otherwise the deal would be forfeited. Australia was, no doubt, putting trade before principles, and Waleed, along with the others who arrived with him, were victims of this morally-indefensible practice.

  At the Port Hedland Detention Centre, Waleed was subject to completely inconsistent treatment, ‘… showing us a hard time so that we will tell the others that are to follow not to come. We were very patient to tolerate that treatment; we thought Is this the last chapter in our story of suffering? and if it is, then we will tolerate it, just as we have tolerated years of persecution in Iraq.’

  After one month that the refugees were told that they would meet with Immigration officials. During that time, Waleed and the others were kept in tight security. They could only see the sun for ten minutes in the morning and in the afternoon, (smoking time for smokers), but all used that as an excuse to get out: ‘otherwise we will be locked up the whole day.’

  Injustice did not end there. Before his meeting with Immigration authorities, Waleed and the others were provided with a solicitor, to present their cases. The solicitor was formerly a priest; his first question was: ‘ Why did you come to Australia; this is not a Muslim country?’ He treated all matters on a racial basis. The group then spent five months waiting for the ultimate decision from Immigration. Their applications were refused; after hearing this, the group changed solicitor. ‘We approached the Red Cross and they provided us with the names and contacts of some people who are genuine refugee advocates.’ The Refugee Casework Association was able to help Waleed and the others, and two months later they received their refugee protection visas; they had finally been granted refugee status!

  After leaving the detention centre in late 1997, Waleed studied for one year, then, in October 1998, took the Australian Medical Exam, a test that all overseas-trained doctors must sit for their qualifications to be recognised in Australia, regardless of background or country of birth. Waleed’s results were very promising; he achieved 82 per cent, which ranked him as the second-highest candidate of 317, Australia-wide.

  He then worked in the Frankston Hospital, in the emergency department, first as a junior doctor, but was soon promoted to the position of registrar, after his talent was recognised. His medical interests were to specialise in anaesthetics and so he applied, and was accepted, for the South Australian training program, supported by the Australian and New Zealand College of Anaesthetists. Waleed has worked in two South Australian hospitals, and is currently posted as registrar at the Royal Adelaide Hospital.

  Waleed now tries to help any junior doctors with exam preparation, as he was helped by those senior to him.

  Waleed is happily married to Nicole, whom he met in Australia. Nicole is a radiographer, and both Waleed and Nicole have made many friends here in Adelaide. In January 2002, they bought a house in Unley. They are settled and happy with their work and social lives.

  Waleed still has strong opinions about world issues, especially those related to immigration. Those who apply for refugee status were not only victims of politics in their own countries, but were also faced with politics upon arriving in Australia. They are from specific racial and religious groups and, while it is not articulated, sadly, this is one of the reasons. Waleed knows that such people are not at all a threat to the freedom of this country; they simply want to live a quiet, peaceful life.

  In Waleed’s opinion, Australian detention centres are becoming worse. Now, emergency workers have limited access, along with the media. The new Port Augusta Detention Centre is not guarded by razor-wire fences, like others of its kind, but instead by a six metre-high electric fence. Waleed emphasises that: ‘erecting an electric fence just increases the humiliation for these people.’

  In light of the many protests staged around the country, Waleed claims to have a certain respect for the protesters. He feels that the majority of Australians ‘have chosen to be blind’ to the issue. He believes that ’99 per cent of people choose to do nothing, while just a few people do something.’

  Australia now supports those world powers which have decided to proclaim that they are ‘defending the freedom’ of Western countries, whil
e single-handedly preventing many from accessing the same freedom of which we speak so fondly. Double standards are present everywhere. History proves that not all actions mirror the clean-cut image which is portrayed. A jumbo-jet was blown up while flying over Lockerbie, Scotland in 1989. Most of the passengers were either American or Scottish, and Libya was blamed for the incident, recognised as an act of terror. Four hundred died; they were all innocent. Libya was pressured to pay $10 million for every death. Yet recently, in Afghanistan, when a US missile hit a wedding party, killing forty and injuring fifty, the price of life was not considered to be as high. The United States accepted responsibility, yet only $200 was paid to the families of those who died and $75 to those injured. How much are people worth in different countries?

  Waleed is a truly admirable person. I have the utmost respect for this man, who has endured much; with perseverance he has achieved more that anyone could have expected. His story shows how some people have had to fight to become Australians, and how this fight has been tough, but hopefully worth it. ‘I believe that Australia is a safe country and I am lucky to be here. Sometimes I wonder about being in another safe country, whether I would have been treated better, but Australia is a wonderful country.’

  I hope that his story is sufficiently moving to prompt concern within the Australian community about the treatment of refugees. I believe that Waleed should be commended for his devotion to his aims, and his strength of character which has, no doubt, aided him in becoming the remarkable person he is: ‘You never know who is going to be lucky to get out and establish themselves, as I have done. I think it all depends on luck,’ but Waleed has largely made his own luck.

  The Waves to Freedom: The Story of Nga-Huynh Diep