Today I got locked in a jail cell by a religious sister. Ok ok- it was for all of 30 seconds, yet staying true to the Australian legacy of jailing convicts, this morning Sr Diana bolted a heavy iron jail cell door closed behind me, leaving me enclosed in complete, musty darkness. We had just arrived at Penola House, the refugee support center that Diana runs, where she volunteers distributing household goods and appliances and being a resource to refugee families that have just arrived in Australia. Penola House was converted from an abandoned police station years ago and still contains a handful of cells that are used for storage and “volunteers that don’t work hard enough.” I have gotten to know Diana well enough to know she was only half-joking, and prepared myself for another busy day. Our day started even before the doors officially opened when community members began knocking on the front gate, asking for Sr Diana’s help. As Diana opened up the building, I stood in the doorway, watching as 4 women Burundi dancers claimed a room for rehearsal space and began a traditional song and dance routine.
Behind me, Diana was a whirlwind of continuous action as usual, running in and out of her office, shooting imaginary guns at the small Congolese boys playing on the blacktop and sarcastic quips at anyone who walked by. She only slowed down long enough to briefly introduce me to her two usual volunteers, Suzann and Kathy, who I would be working with. Our job today was to pack up and transport mattresses, bedding, towels, vacuum cleaner, microwave, platters, and silverware across town to a new Afghani family that had just arrived with virtually nothing.
We pulled up to the house and immediately two small faces with large, dark brown eyes that had been pressed up against the front windows, ducked out of sight. We introduced ourselves to Mustafa Syed, the oldest son of the family and who understood the most English, therefore acting as translator between his 11 other members of his extended family and us. We were shown around their new home –nearly completely empty, except for layers of overlapping rugs cushioning the floors a few throw pillows and some kitchen utensils, all borrowed from Mustafa’s uncle who had arrived in Australia a few years ago. After taking inventory, we were off to the Penola storage center to pack whatever donated items we could fit into the car and trailer and bring it back to the house. As we were unloading I noticed the two young kids, probably 4 and 5, constantly sneaking around behind me trying to get a glimpse of my French braid, pointing and whispering to each other. When they knew they were caught, they squealed, laughing, and ran away with huge smiles across their faces.
Joining Suzann and Kathy in the kitchen, now full of pots, pans, and cooking utensils, I stood by listening to them trying to explain the governmental forms that Mustafa wanted help with. The complicated immigration and Centrelink (the governmental funding agency) papers were almost impossible for me to understand listening in English, so I could only imagine the confusion that Mustafa must have felt, and then turning around to play a game of ‘telephone’ with his other family members. As I stood there shifting back and forth on my bare feet, trying to keep warm on the cold linoleum (as is the custom, we removed our shoes at the door), I felt a little tug on my leg and looked down. The little girl, who I learned was Mustafa’s younger sister, was pointing at a pair of plastic Disney princess flip flops that she had placed at my feet. I smiled, but shook my head, not wanting her to give up her own shoes, but she smiled back, energetically nodding and pointing and so I slipped them on. Once again, I have been amazed by the hospitality offered by all the people I have met on my trip. These small children, who don’t even have their own toys to play with, quietly but genuinely desired to share with others what they did have. Although they didn’t have the usual material possessions (I couldn’t help but thinking of the countless comfort items I had insisted on buying for this trip), they finally had the political safety after leaving the Afghani refugee camp and the support of one another. In just her politeness, this one little girl showed me that it's not about what you don't have -it's what you're able to give.
(Below are some posts from the past few days –only now being put up now that I have internet again)
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