Parallel Lives

by Narelle Minton

  Finally, on Sunday, 30th December, they sailed into Sydney Harbour, catching their first glimpse of the famous bridge. Delyth and Gwyn stood, hand in hand, in the bright sunshine, watching their future draw closer. The ship was moored at the port but then time slowed. It was not until the next morning they got the chance to disembark. Then, there were further holdups while they undertook medical examinations, had their passports and luggage checked and changed their currency from sterling into Australian pounds.

  Finally, they were taken by a BHP representative to Central Station and given a travel voucher and instructions to get off the Newcastle train at Broadmeadow, the last stop but one. Delyth slumped into the seat with relief. The train flew along, passing through most of the stations without stopping. The trip was a magical experience with all the strange gums trees, the tunnels and delightful views of the Hawkesbury River. Then they saw what they were looking for, Broadmeadow Station. Gwyn got the luggage and they alighted from the train, looking out for the person who was to meet them. Delyth was the first to notice a man holding a hand-written sheet of paper, ‘Mr and Mrs Jones’. They rushed up to him to be greeted by a warm smile and hand-shakes. The man took one of the suitcases from Gwyn and, with instructions to follow him, they soon found themselves in a small bus on the way to their new home.

  When the bus drew up at the hostel at Mayfield, Delyth’s mouth opened in dismay. The ugly array of timber and corrugated iron dwellings reminded her of an army camp. Have I come all this way for this? They were taken to a small room with two single metal beds. Deyth sat on one of them, only to sink into the middle.

  “Leave your luggage here and come to the office to sign in.” They followed their guide through one of the buildings adorned with an assortment of signs, ‘No ball games’, ‘No running’, ‘No children without supervision’. Is this a migrant hostel or a prison? At the reception office, they were handed a sheet of rules, given information on meal times and advised of the weekly charge, to be paid in advance, of course. After that, they were shown the not so clean communal bathroom and dining room. There were people all over the place, a lot of them speaking foreign languages. Delyth didn’t know what she’d expected but here she felt very small and a long way from home. Their wonderful holiday had ended. They were now definitely on foreign soil.

  Chapter 44

  1982

  Months went by with Natalie dragging herself through life. Then, one morning, she noticed an ad in the newspaper for Australian Volunteers Abroad (AVA). That’s what I need, a complete change. Expectations won’t be so high in a third world country. She rang the number. A friendly voice on the other end of the phone was soon recounting stories of his wonderful time overseas. Memories of PNG resurfaced. As she joined in with stories of her own, her enthusiasm grew. “Yes, put my name down to attend the upcoming information evening.”

  Natalie sat down in the crowded room, looking around at the motley array of people. There was a range of ages and backgrounds, but most were of the long-haired, unkempt variety. The first speaker focused on the hazards of overseas work – insurmountable red tape, lost luggage, volunteers being stranded at airports, designated jobs not being available, substandard accommodation with no electricity or running water. The second addressed the cultural issues – sexual harassment, language barriers and the risks of contracting AIDS. This negative attitude is so annoying. Some people might be taken in by it, but I know better. I’m determined to work overseas.

  She took one of the application forms being handed out and, within a couple of days, sent it off with her resume and references. Fortunately, her previous supervisor had provided an excellent reference, without making any mention of her reason for leaving. Hopefully, AVA won’t find out.

  Before long she was called in for an interview with Malcolm. Having recently returned from a placement in Africa, he was keen to share his experiences. This is more like it. She listened to all he had to say, enthralled, her own excitement mounting. “I’d love to spend time in Africa. From what you’ve described, the culture sounds fascinating. I know it can be a struggle for people there. Hopefully, I can help. I don’t want to tour foreign countries, viewing scenery through the window of a bus or train. I want to be part of the local community.”

  It wasn’t long before Malcolm called. He offered to propose her for a position as senior social worker at a hospital in Botswana. She didn’t have any hospital experience but that didn’t put her off. She accepted the offer.

  Natalie waited restlessly for a reply from Botswana. She attended an OSB briefing, had various vaccinations in readiness and prepared to leave, selling her car and furniture. Then, at last, her placement was confirmed. She received plane tickets for Chis and her, dated two weeks’ hence.

  Now she had to face her parents. They caught the train to Newcastle. As she expected, Gwyn was none too thrilled with the idea of her taking Chris overseas. “Not again, Natalie. Chris should be preparing for high school. You can’t disrupt his education. There are all sorts of health problems in Africa. Go if you must, but leave Chris here with us, where he can have some stability. You don’t want him growing up like a savage.”

  Why does he always have to be so unreasonable? He can’t stop himself from trying to run my life. “He’s my son. I’m taking him with me and that’s that. Education is more than just schooling. He’ll learn through experiencing life in different cultures. It’s an opportunity for both of us.”

  Chris chimed in. “Mum, I don’t want to go. Can’t I stay with Grandma and Grandpa?”

  “No, you can’t. It’s all arranged.”

  Chris started stomping around the room. “You selfish bitch. It’s always what you want. I’m not going, I tell you.” He made to storm off out the door but Natalie caught his arm and prevented him from leaving.

  “Don’t you move until I say so.” She gathered their things, grabbed him by the hand and departed to the bus stop to catch a bus back to the station.

  Chris sulked all the way home but surrendered to her greater will on this issue and reluctantly prepared to leave for Africa.

  They were in the air. At last, she could relax. Cocooned in the safety of the plane, with its soothing vibration, her old life crumbled away. The pain of the last few months disappeared into the ether. Like a bird, she floated above the world, free of the restraints of her previous existence. Chris sat quietly beside her, absorbed in his puzzle books.

  Harare, the capital of Zimbabwe, provided them with a two-night stopover. A friendly man, unperturbed by having waited over two hours for their flight, greeted them at the airport. The drive to the hotel wasn’t the wild Africa she’d expected. Wide streets were dominated by imposing mansions with splendid gardens peeping over high fences. In a similar vein, their impressive, colonial hotel, with its rambling gardens caught her breath. A black man, dressed in formal attire, offered them each a glass of fruit juice from a silver tray. Another carried their luggage to their room, which was large and elegant, with heavy, old-fashioned furniture, tie-back curtains and an en-suite bathroom. Chris immediately switched on the television, flicking past the news channel to one with cartoons. Tired after the long flight, Natalie was soon relieved to drop into bed.

  After a good night’s sleep in comfortable beds, they were ready for breakfast, served in a stately dining room with full-length windows overlooking the garden. The tables were adorned with starched, white tablecloths and silver cutlery. Immaculately dressed waiters stood to attention, attempting to be unobtrusive, yet readily available if required. After cereal, they enjoyed an English breakfast of sausages, bacon and eggs. This was grand, like being part of a period drama. Then it dawned on Natalie, this was not a television programme. This was exploitation of native people in their own land by white invaders, who’d forced their own culture on local people. She felt a sour taste in her mouth as they made a hasty exit.

  The morning was spent exploring the city. The traditional architecture of government buildings and shops was magnifi
cent, even if more English than African. Parks were well laid out with huge, old trees offering plenty of shade. Chris threw his ball about until he found some equipment to play on. When they came upon a craft market, Natalie joined in the haggling game, entertaining herself and the vendors, finally purchasing two small sculptures. Chris had a go too, buying himself a knife with a carved handle. It was fun chatting with local people, who all spoke good English. Not so much fun when they were approached by sad-looking beggars dressed in rags.

  They returned to the hotel for lunch and waited in the foyer for their tour bus. Their guide soon appeared, showing them to a four-wheel drive vehicle, where he introduced them to the driver. An exclusive tour for the two of them, they were soon bouncing their way along a bumpy, pot-holed road, past the slums, to the animal park. The lush green of the park extended for miles, providing a home for many species of orphaned animals. Chris was thrilled to get close up to cheetahs, lions and zebras. Natalie played a game of cat and mouse with timid giraffes, trying to get a good photo, but only managed to catch them in retreat. Her favourite photo was one of Chris patting a baby elephant. Just enough time left for them all to share a delicious afternoon tea at the café.

  The next day a short flight took them to Gaborone. Finally, we’re in Botswana. Yet, she felt apprehensive when they joined the slow-moving queue heading into the airport. Chris was restless after the flight and continually ran off in various directions, chasing a ball she’d told him to leave in his luggage. He bumped into numerous people, obviously delighting in their discomfort and reprimands, which only served to escalate his unruly behaviour. He laughed and made faces at her, stuck in the queue. Finally, she reached the immigration officer, a large intimidating, black man in an immaculate uniform. He looked down at her, frowning.

  “Good afternoon.” Natalie handed him her documents.

  “These are irrelevant. Where’s your work permit?”

  “This is all I was given. I thought it was all I needed.”

  “No, it’s not. Where are you staying?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m supposed to be meeting someone.” How stupid does that sound?

  He stared at her, the frown becoming more intense, as he sighed in exasperation.

  He’s not going to let me through. She looked around. “Perhaps I could go through and see if I can find the person who’s supposed to meet me? They might be able to give you more information.”

  “Come straight back. I’ll be watching you.”

  Natalie and Chris went through the gate to a large room that was now rapidly emptying. She looked around but it was clear no one had come to meet them. She started to shake as tears welled up.

  A black lady, with a large straw hat, approached to see what was wrong. Natalie explained the situation.

  “I’m from a different government department, here to meet another volunteer, but I can agree to be responsible for you and take you to the Ministry of Health if that helps.”

  Fortunately, the immigration officer found this acceptable, obviously only too pleased to be rid of them. The airport was now virtually empty. She went to collect her luggage, discovering only one of their two suitcases had arrived. Oh no, what else can go wrong? The lady with the straw hat took her to the lost property office, where an officer interrogated her as if she were to blame for the missing case. She was instructed to complete a lengthy form, which he said he’d process the next day. “Ring this number at the end of the week.” He handed her a slip of paper before turning his back and walking away.

  Natalie followed the lady and other volunteer to her car, dragging the remaining suitcase with one hand and holding Chris’s hand with the other.

  They were dropped at the Ministry of Health. The car sped off, leaving them alone outside a gloomy looking building. Natalie opened the timber door and they walked inside to discover a narrow, concrete staircase leading upwards. With no strength left to drag the heavy case, she shoved it into a recess beside the door, hoping it wouldn’t be interfered with, and they proceeded up the stairs. With no obvious reception area, she knocked at the first door they came to. A woman opened it and told them to be seated on two hard-backed chairs beside the wall. A long table was piled high with a mountain of files. Women sat around it on old-fashioned wooden chairs, chatting to one another in Setswana, apparently as oblivious to the files as to their presence. Natalie looked down at Chris nervously, wondering how long he’d be prepared to sit there. Not long. He was off out the door with her in pursuit. He glanced back. “I’m not hanging around here waiting for these stupid people.”

  “Chris, come back.”

  At this point, a large woman rose from her chair, instructing Natalie to follow her.

  “I can’t. I have to get my son.”

  “Leave him. He’ll be all right. Follow me.” The woman began to walk in the opposite direction from Chris. Fortunately, his curiosity got the better of him and he returned to see what was going on. With them tagging along behind, she went from one office to another, speaking to people in Setswana but nobody was expecting them. They were finally handed over to Mr Pekhu, a gentleman sporting a crew-cut and eyes that appeared to be completely glazed over. Natalie and Chris were once again instructed to sit down on uncomfortable, timber chairs. Natalie did as requested while Chris bounced his ball around the room. Fed up with their treatment, Natalie did nothing to intervene, even when he knocked things off the desk. Mr Pekhu appeared unperturbed by the carry-on, continuing to work on his files in silence. They remained there for about twenty minutes, listening to incessant and incomprehensible chatter from the adjoining room before Mr Pekhu led them around the offices again, with the same result. Nobody was expecting them. By now it was 4.20, ten minutes before closing time.

  Mr Pekhu looked at her, clearly frustrated by her presence. “Go to the President Hotel.”

  “Where do I find it?”

  Sighing, he shook his head. “Follow me.” He found a woman who was still at her desk and asked her to drop them off. Then he walked away without further comment.

  The woman kindly helped Natalie retrieve the suitcase and put it in her car. As they drove to the hotel, Natalie watched carefully, counting off the streets and memorising directions. Fortunately, it’s only a short distance and, even with Chris in tow, we should be able to walk back to the Ministry in the morning if no one arrives to collect us. On arrival at the hotel, Natalie signed the registrar and was given a large, pleasant room overlooking the mall. She discovered their case contained most of their clothing. That’s a relief. It was the one with books and reference material that had gone missing. After hot showers and a good meal in the dining room, they settled down together to watch television.

  Chapter 45

  1951

  Delyth watched Gwyn join the other men on the steelworks bus. Now she was alone, a whole day to fill in by herself. She returned to their tiny, drab room, looking at the two beds and single wardrobe, immediately regretting her disdain for life in Swansea. What am I to do now? She sat on the bed and let the tears flow. That’s no answer. Pulling herself together, she made the beds and tidied up their belongings. Looks like we’ll have to live out of suitcases for a while. No point staying in the room. She ventured out into the common area where the racket of children reverberated around the buildings. Strange eyes watched her but nobody spoke.

  She wandered back into the dining room. A woman approached her, “Come and have a cup of tea, love. It won’t feel so bad once you get used to it. My name’s Barb. What’s yours?”

  “I’m Delyth.”

  “That’s a strange sort of name.”

  “It’s Welsh.”

  “We won’t hold that against you. We Brits have to stick together. The place is overrun with wogs. They’re out to take all the jobs. You can’t trust them either. Keep an eye on your purse, love.” Before long two other women joined them and they chatted over tea for a while.

  “We’re heading off down the shops shortly. Want to join us?” a
sked Barb.

  Delyth spruced herself up, put on some comfortable shoes and joined her new friends, now pushing strollers with toddlers in them. The sun was already warm as they made their way down the busy, main road past old, dilapidated houses, which looked like they could do with a lick of paint. “You’ll find the food pretty bland and monotonous”, said Barb. “That’s why we buy the kids a few treats. A lot of the time they won’t eat what’s dished up.”

  One of the others agreed. “You’re lucky not to have kids to worry about. Don’t rush into it.”

  “I’d like to have a baby.”

  “That’s how we all felt before we had them. You’re still young. Enjoy yourself. You’ve got plenty of time.”

  The shops were surprisingly well stocked, giving her the opportunity to pick up a few things she needed, including some reading material. She’d find out about the library another time.

  Delyth buried her nose in a book that afternoon. Before she knew it, Gwyn was back. She flung down the book and ran up to him for a kiss and a cuddle. “How was your first day at the new job?”

  “Not too bad. The first thing I saw this morning, as we drove in, were all the different shades of coloured smoke spewing out the chimneys. Beautiful, just like back home. The blokes are all pretty straight and the money’s good. It shouldn’t be too long before we have a deposit for a house and can move out of this dump.”