In the middle of the long journey, while they were all sleeping, Zeinab’s father woke up. He heard people screaming for their lives and he saw people jumping out of the boat, men, women, children and babies. It was chaos, confusion, hell. This part of Zeinab’s story is quite horrifying and she cries softly when she relives the horror in her mind of that terrible night. Not many people in the boat knew how to swim so they either drowned or held onto pieces of the sunken boat. Zeinab, who was carrying her five-year-old brother, was holding onto a piece of wood. When her mother saw her she looked relieved but she was scared that Zeinab might drown. So she told Zeinab to hand her brother over. It was this decision Zeinab regrets dearly. Zeinab’s mum drowned with her five-year-old son along with the seven-year-old boy she was already carrying. Zeinab remembers screaming and crying when she saw her mum drown with her younger brothers.
Later Zeinab saw her older sister drowning and calling for help. She tried to help but she couldn’t. Just metres away she saw her father drowning with her nine-year-old sister. Within a few horrible minutes Zeinab’s family members were swallowed up by the sea forever in front of her eyes. Darkness is all she remembers. When she awoke she saw none that she knew.
The next morning in a rescue boat there were twenty-five other desperate faces. She was alone … lost … orphaned. She remembers thinking that it wasn’t a bad dream. The family … her beautiful mother … wonderful father and adorable brothers and sisters were gone. The boat took her back to Indonesia and they printed her photo in the newspapers. Zeinab’s uncle saw her photo and requested the Australian government allow Zeinab to come and live in Australia. Fortunately they accepted her.
Today Zeinab lives with her uncle in NSW, a world away from misery. She doesn’t have parents or sisters or brothers. She is completely lonely. Zeinab tries to see the positive things in life, but she says the memories and the loss will haunt her forever.
SPIRIT REMAINED
‘They did what they could to stay alive, and then they played soccer.’
Kim’s Story
by Helen Huynh, aged 15
‘This isn’t something you’d just forget,’ he replied when I asked how vivid his recollections were. I remember how I leaned forward, pen in hand, not wanting to miss even a word. At that point I wasn’t quite sure what to expect but I knew one thing. There was a history of struggle behind that boyish grin and that youthful temperament. I was attempting to conceive a reality so unlike my own that it seemed surreal.
On the night of 23rd April 1977, my uncle’s journey began. He was standing on the dock, absorbing a scene of agitated people rushing back and forth around him. In his possession was a small bundle of his basic necessities, which he had strapped around his back. The only thing on him that was of any value was his mother’s ring, which he wore cautiously on his finger. It was the only link he had to the family he left behind. My uncle was eighteen at the time.
On board the boat, about fifty other men and women sat wedged together, all sharing a look of quiet apprehension. They were aged from fifty to as young as fifteen, but each was there for different reasons. The atmosphere was dense with anxiety. It wasn’t so much the fear of being caught, as their bribes had been wholeheartedly accepted, and the local government was turning a blind eye to their escape. Their fear was of the ocean; of dealing with the fact that something so alien had become their home.
But below the uneasiness was a lingering sense of relief. My uncle was conscripted to a war against the Chinese. Vietnam was now a Communist country. He was to fight for a cause which he had no loyalty to; and then he was to die a pointless, brutal death. But he was leaving it all behind. As the boat crawled deeper out to sea, my uncle made a vow to live. He knew that in order to survive mentally, he was going to have to block out all his excess emotions. He trained his mind into a state of detachment. From now on it was to only function systematically. But even in this, fate spared no mercy.
They were amateurs, prodding around in the dark with no plan, no expertise and no experience. On day one, the tired old engine stopped and they were stranded. Their compass busted, so they were lost as well. Then on further inspection, they found out that their Captain, a young man named Duc, was bogus. Duc had never driven a boat but was recklessly placed into that position. The bitter unfairness of this situation is laughable and my uncle recounts this incident with light humour.
Luckily though, they were able to work as a team. With bits of scrap they restored the engine to a semi-functioning standard. To keep track of direction, they followed the movement of the sun, and at night, the constellations of the stars. They knew that if they kept heading south, they’d eventually hit land. Unfortunately, this brief moment of bravado was short-lived. Any feelings of optimism were vanquished by day two, three, four, five, six, seven and eight.
Food rations hit a dangerously low level. The oldest were the most vulnerable. Their weakness made them sick, and after a few days they started dying. By this time though, death had become a tangible reality and the survivors accepted it quietly. There was never an uncontrolled despair, despite knowing that they could be dead the next day. The irony was that exhaustion was what kept my uncle’s mind together.
On the eighth day, those who were still alive saw land. Some cheered, some cried. The important thing was, everybody saw hope again. And then the boat broke in two. They were a hundred metres from shore and not everybody could swim. Sharp corals framed the island bed, savaging the skin of those who dared to cross it. My uncle and a few others had to lap over them several times to rescue as many people as they could.
Finally, gasping for breath, dizzy and choking with salt water, my uncle dragged the last person to safety. He clambered further onto shore and collapsed. His body was stained with blood. The survivors lay there for some time, not daring to open their eyes, hardly believing that they were actually alive.
As my uncle lay there on the sand, he dreamt. It was a dream that was to recur again many times over the course of his life. In his dream he was trapped back at home. He was holding a gun, preparing for battle. But something was wrong. With mounting frustration he realised that he didn’t want to kill people, nor did he want to die so worthlessly. There was a great life waiting for him to live, big things he yearned to achieve. Desperation engulfed him, suffocating him.
‘To think you’re doomed,’ my uncle said, ‘and then waking up to see the sun, sand and trees, the feeling is unspeakable. You appreciate your freedom so much more and with that mentality you can take on the world.’
When they woke up the next day, a new chapter started. They were in Indonesia on one of the tropical islands. The sun was a healthy and steady twenty-eight degrees, and the jungle was thick and waiting to be explored. Immediately they filed into groups of roughly six to eight people but everyone made an effort to pitch in, eager to do something useful for the group.
The coconut trees towered up ten to fifteen metres high and my uncle, who was exceptionally fit, used to climb and pick them to share around with the others. But they needed nutrients, so out came the fishing hooks, rods, nets, and scuba masks. They also needed shelter, so a hut was built out of logs and leaves. At this point in time it sounds a bit like a camping trip or the reality show ‘Survivor’. But it wasn’t like that at all. You didn’t play the game for money or for your joy. You played the game for your life.
On that island, if you didn’t cut it, if you were weak, you’d die. If you sat on a sand mound there would probably be a body underneath. Anything you ate or touched was completely at your own risk but you took the risks anyway because there was no other choice.
Hunger was a driving force; it made you do things you wouldn’t normally dare to do. When your body cries out for food you’d do anything to satiate the need. You would follow a turtle into the depths of the night to locate its eggs. You would eat oysters, realise they’re poisonous, and keep eating them in the hope that you might become immune.
One night, my uncle was awo
ken by a series of screams. He and two friends got up and went to see what the commotion was about. What they saw was a three and a half metre snake. My uncle backed away cautiously but he heard a whisper from one of his friends, ‘Kill! Kill it!’
And that was the way life had become. If anything moved, you ate it. Life was tough and yet somehow they didn’t become brutal, heartless and greedy beings. The Vietnamese are a playful people. They did all they could to stay alive and then they played soccer. The bond and sense of companionship between them was impenetrable. Even though they were extremely poor they always looked out for each other, sharing whatever food they could collect, often giving them out to the elders.
As for the lovely hut they built; it was effectively useless. When it rained, water seeped through the many gaps and gushed down upon them. The weather got remarkably cold after dark and it was impossible to sleep on most nights. Strangers would huddle together, sharing warmth. They would stand there, shivering and rubbing their arms, waiting for day to dawn.
Amidst all these hardships, a great sense of spirit remained. Resources were limited but they made the best out of the little that they had. Nobody ever complained because even on the worst days they were able to console themselves in the knowledge that at least they were living, free men.
Eventually, the Indonesian Government acknowledged them and sent aid in the form of food, blankets and plastic (for shelter). They were relocated to a better island. As a result of this, fewer people died, but overall they weren’t much better off. Starvation was still a problem, as was boredom.
The second problem was tackled deftly on this new island. There was an assortment of skills between them and so classes were started up. The types of classes ranged from English to sports to chess. My uncle, who was training to become a PE teacher when he was conscripted, ran a vigorous, daily exercise routine.
To tackle the first problem, hunger, my uncle made a huge decision. He spent days thinking about it and on the fifth day he traded in his mother’s ring for cash. With hindsight he concludes: ‘No matter how hard things get, there’s always a business to run—even if you only make peanuts.’
He wanted a long-term solution so he made one. There were people with money who wanted shelter but had no accessible manpower. He collated a crew of twenty young men and added himself into the equation. Before long he was supporting a booming shelter-building business. The Indonesian shops in the local area were delighted about this explosion of customers and my uncle developed quite a reputation. Through the risk that he took, he stopped being perpetually hungry. He wasn’t immune to disease, however, as life was still tough. He caught malaria.
One and a half years later, when he was nineteen, the long-awaited miracle happened. The Australian officials paid a visit, offering places in their country. At this time my uncle had recovered from malaria. He applied and went through a series of interviews. Two weeks later he became an Official Australian Citizen. All his hardship had paid off; he was going to the West.
To understand what went through his mind you have to know his character. As a youngster he was mischievous and disobedient, constantly in trouble for fighting with the local boys, gambling (and cheating) with the old lady next door or skipping school to go fishing. But the hardships that he faced over this short amount of time ensured that he was to change; he had now grown into a mature and responsible young man.
Through this though, hidden aspects of his personality emerged, like his instinctive need to be challenged, his ambition, and his will to succeed. He was extremely grateful to get the opportunity of becoming a part of Australia. He wanted to contribute to the country that had adopted him. My uncle made a new vow; he was to be an asset to it and make a real difference.
Before my uncle boarded the plane, he took off all his outer garments and even his shoes. He left them behind for his best friend, who needed them more than he did. He gave his friend a final hug, punched him playfully on the shoulder before ascending the stairs.
Wearing only a dirty, frayed singlet and limp shorts, owning nothing of value, (‘Why should I bring peanuts to Australia?’) he made a strict contrast to the passengers on board. He looked at his ticket and made way to his given seat, aware of being watched. It just so happened that it was beside a neat and conservative looking old man. Fortunately, my uncle had attended a few of the English classes back on the island.
He asked, ‘Sir, what do you have for lunch in Australia?’ Aside from wanting to make conversation, my uncle was also curious to know what Westerners ate, because apparently they didn’t eat rice or noodles. To this day, my uncle is able to recollect the feeling of heated embarrassment. The man turned around impatiently and said, ‘Hamburgers,’ My uncle, having no idea what that was, laughed and nodded, feeling extremely stupid. He sat quietly for the rest of the ride, but his mind was buzzing with realisation.
His journey was far from over. The loneliness hit him and he realised how isolated he was and how different the struggle ahead was going to be. He had no money, no education, no connections and, in light of his recent discovery, no English either. All he had was himself but he was determined to make something out of that. Immersed in his own thoughts he let the plane sail peacefully towards his new home: Australia.
Today my uncle owns a chain of successful framing outlets. Although he works extremely hard, he has kept his sense of adventure and love of sport. He has three sons who carry his boisterousness, and lives with his wife in Melbourne. He still likes fishing and has bought a holiday house for this reason—he has stopped climbing coconut trees, however.
Since coming to Australia, he has won several tennis and iron man competitions and also participated in various outdoor activities, like parachuting, hang-gliding, scuba diving and archery. ‘To see what life has to offer,’ he said.
Although content now, he recounts his tough road to the top, where at one point he balanced three jobs at the one time, having only a few hours sleep in between. He recalls the annoyance of not being able to speak English and owning nothing, but at the end of the day, is wholesomely glad that he took the road that he did.
Life. You Never Know What’s Ahead of You. Never
by Mina Hami, aged 16
My name is Mina and I’ve been living in Australia for about five years. I was born on 5th April 1986 in northern part of Iraq. Life in my homeland was very hard, in order to survive you actually had to finish school with a very high HSC mark to get a professional job that makes enough money for living.
I come from a very educated family. My dad and mum are teachers of biology and chemistry. That’s why for me it’s hard to leave school and choose what I want to do other than be a doctor, engineer or teacher. So I have to finish school with a high HSC mark.
But it was in April 1992 when my dream of becoming a doctor was ruined and taken away. It was War again. The government of Iraq was persecuting the Kurdish people in northern Iraq where I lived. I waited anxiously with my family in our home as helicopters flew across the house bombing the places next to our suburb, a tragedy which made the whole town escape to the mountains of Turkey.
I was six years old then, when one morning, I got up and heard noises coming from my house. I rushed up to my mum and asked ‘What’s going on Mum? What’s happening?’ Mum said ‘Come on, honey, get in the car, I’ll explain later.’ So I ran and got in the car. Mum said ‘We’re going to the mountains of Turkey.’ ‘Why?’ I asked. She replied with a sad, soft, smooth voice and a very worried look, ‘Because, do you see all the bombing that’s been happening here, we’re running away from it to keep you and your sister safe and in peace with no danger, so we’re going to the mountains of Turkey.’ When she said those words I looked in her eyes, and I could feel and sense the terror and fear in her. It was like she wasn’t sure of what she was doing or saying.
By the time we reached the mountains I watched hundreds of people running away with their kids and family. It was a disaster coming true. I mean, I’ve seen a disaste
r and danger happening on television but this one was a real live situation happening right in front of my eyes. I could see it, feel it and touch it, just like a witness in a crime scene. It was freezing and it was pouring rain and the ground had turned to mud and snow. Sometimes my parents would carry my sister for half an hour and swap and carry me for the other half an hour. It was a desperate time. It was so hard. We were suffering from cold and shortage of food and drink. Something we never ever imagined would occur had happened in our lovely town, by our own government.
In the mountains we would all try to be close to each other, so we wouldn’t lose one another and try to hope and wish for a miracle to happen. That we would get to Turkey and be rescued as soon as possible. I remember my dad asking people how much further to get to Turkey and some people would say half an hour, the others would say one or two days. The truth, no one, really no one, knew how long or how much further to get to Turkey. But it was amazing how everybody tried not to give up and kept on moving. To me it felt like I was playing a guessing game, guessing will I survive and get there safe and sound or will I just die here and become this left fossil to never be discovered ever again?
The only thing I enjoyed out of it was that I got to sit on a horse. I remember my uncle said to me, ‘Are you tired of walking?’ I replied ‘Yeah. I am very tired and I don’t think I can walk anymore.’ He said ‘Well. Get yourself ready because you’re about to get a ride!’ When I heard these words I jumped up and down saying, ‘Are you serious uncle?’ He replied, ‘Oh yeah! Because you are going to get a ride on a horse!’ and I screamed as loud as I could, ‘Woohoo! I’m going to ride a horse. Woohoo!’ So I got to sit on a horse for a little while with my uncle at the front and my sister at the back. That moment felt like I was this princess who got rescued by prince charming.
Dark Dreams Page 10