peaks & troughs

my life has taken on a new rhythm these days. there is a rush to get everyone fed and out the door in the morning, i settle into my chosen pace for school hours (usually slow) and after school i drive the kids to their various activities, do dinner, shop or whatever needs to be done. it's a peak and trough kind of existence and i'm happy with that.
on a different level, i have some troughs wondering whether i will ever work again because as much as i loved my doula studies, love watching birth videos, love reading birthy books and am dead sure i will be a great doula, i have to get some clients. i have had a couple of leads but pregnant women seem not to answer their phones very consistently. then again, i dont answer the phone consistently and i have no distracting hormones or nursery make-overs to blame.
spending a lot of time at home is a peakish thing, i am delighted to be available to deliver forgotten lunches or  assignments, visit the lost property department at the bus station, shop for fresh fruit and veg at the markets rather than the supermarket and generally have a relaxed and rich kind of a life away from the sense of desperation i felt when i was trying to please bosses who couldnt be pleased. i miss the social contact of a regular working life but that small trough is a minor price to pay balanced against the psychic pain of being disapproved of every single day.
in a strange little twist my facebook feed has become full of human rights posts relating either to refugee issues or to freedom of choice in birth. i have always been a supporter in theory of human rights but not had any active involvement. i still dont have active involvement  but i am surprisingly a step closer. it's not something i ever imagined for myself and it has all come about in a short period of time.
i continue to visit the detention centre and feel comfortable there. one of "my guys" cooks lunch and a few of us eat together. i feel it a privilege to break bread with them, even more so when i realise that the menu is set well in advance. prawn curry was last week's offering and this week will be chicken biriani.
one detainee always calls me "sister" i'm not sure whether that's to save him trying to remember an unfamiliar name or if it's a mark of respect but i have to say i really like it. i feel that i am really trusted and i am honored  to have such a position but i discovered, too, the responsibility of that trust when one of those men admitted to me a history of domestic violence. he was unapologetic about his actions and his manner of explaining triggered some uncomfortable feelings for me, for a  moment i imagined that i could never visit him again but just as quickly as i thought it, i realised that i could not abandon this man who obviously knew nothing better.

the peaks and troughs of my daily life have changed from a meaningless, extreme roller coaster ride to an exploration of faith and personal values and it all feels so much more fruitful....or potentially fruitful.....or some other poetic and worthy statement.

if you have time to take the slow road, please do. everyone should try it.

a portrait of our chef in detention, as displayed on the refugee art website. this man, a stateless, minority rohingya  from myanmar  has spent three years in villawood and a total of six years of his life in immigration detention. he is now very concerned for the welfare of his people as the rohingya people face a new wave of genocide in the violence that is sweeping western burma.

it's a long time since i wrote two posts in two days

and i am pumped that i can!

i went to the detention centre yesterday, which is generally just called "villawood" after the suburb it is located in.

it was my first solo visit and i was really pleased with it. while i waited in the reception area for my security processing one of the guys i intended to visit walked in! off the street! he was going in as a visitor after being moved to independent (or semi independent) housing. it was delightful to see him a step closer to real freedom after 31 months in detention.

we went behind bars and met his friend and countryman, who i also know. instead of going inside the noisy common room i sat at a picnic table with these guys and chatted for a good while. detainees are always polite and thankful for a visit but sometimes i feel tolerated rather than welcomed and i cant complain about that, i can also tolerate rather than welcome people who appear unexpectedly. this time though, it felt good, i felt like a friend and my almost-free friend offered and made me coffee. at t hat point i felt like i had "made it" he wasnt tolerating me, he was hosting me. i doubt that i have ever before been so deeply touched by a cup of bad instant coffee in an even worse foam cup :)

around this time i bumped into a young afghani i had met once before. (i'll call him ali) i hadnt got ali's name and wasnt able to ask for him so i was pleased to see him, especially because he is expecting release at any time and if that had happened he would have disappeared into the ether.

ali introduced me to another afghani, a man with a beautiful light about him and i dont think it was just his sparkly eyes or my appreciation for a nice dimple. this man left a wife and five children in pakistan two years ago, came to australia on a boat and is waiting for processing.

this guy was not the depressed and angry man that they become after years of detention, he was gracious about his situation, grateful that australia is careful about who crosses our borders, acknowledging that nobody asked him to come here, appreciative of his wife who is holding the family together as a single parent in a tough place.

this man, at 35, surpasses many double his age for grace and equanimity. it is unfortunate that he and those like him, are demonised by politicians and popular media because they have so very much to offer and as he said, a day in detention is worth a year of normal life for producing growth in a person.

~~~~~~~

the very first detainee i ever met, maker of a mean curry, Ramees' visa has been approved and here he is, celebrating greek easter as a free man

in detention

a couple of times lately i have spent two to three hours in sydney's villawood immigration detention centre, as a visitor to the detainees there.

villawood, as we know it, is the holding centre for people who are awaiting processing either in an attempt to get australian residence or while awaiting deportation.

visitors are security screened in the same manner we may be screened at an airport, personal items are placed in lockers, wristbands are issued and gifts scanned.

i have only been to one section of the centre which, on first appearance is pleasant enough. detainees are called to the visiting area which consists of an outdoor grassed area with picnic tables and soccer playing males as well as an indoor lounge area, for want of a better word, where there are plastic chairs, a sink and microwaves, a couple of large TVs, a piano, plastic tables and "coffee" making facilities with styrofoam cups.

it is all very clean and newish, tidy and respectable. there are ramps catering for mobility problems and large windows. it is all quite pleasant, not at all the cold drab place i imagined until you start to notice some odd little things.

it's summertime and visitors bring watermelon, the skins are left on picnic tables with the flesh scooped out because there is only plastic cutlery.

the bathroom has no mirror and there is no kettle, hot drinks are made one by one in the microwave.

detainees talk about missing family, not knowing what the future will bring, strange curry not at all as curry should be, the stupidity of blunt razors that dont work but could still be used to self harm.

today i talked to a man who is 39, has been in transit across the world as a refugee for the past 17 years and feels that he has lost his life. he became a little agitated that his younger sister is soon to be a grandmother and he has no family, no country, no trade (though he has skills) and no life. i felt bad about discussing things that were so obviously painful and diverted to my great default conversation, which is food. i didnt know whether or not food would be a good topic with him and the old sport stand-by doesnt work for me so i was on a limb for a second there but it worked like a charm until i realised we were the only people left at the table and i had no idea what to say next......

visiting those people feels so useless and i wonder if they ever feel like monkeys in cages obliged to feel grateful for the peanuts from the visitors.