The Harsh Reality of Migration: When the Dream Abroad Turns into Survival
People out here are going about their day-to-day business as usual, but do they know I was almost deported from Australia? Let’s all repeat together – We read, and we don’t judge.
As promised last week, I offer a glimpse into my life as an international student in Australia, with my motivation being two-fold: Firstly, I provide information that I wish someone had provided me when I was at the decision-making stage of studying abroad, and also that I may serve as a walking cautionary tale and that through sharing experiences, we can use them as lessons and opportunities for learning. I know I learn best when I can relate to another’s experiences.
My early years in Australia were quite difficult emotionally and psychologically. My upbringing in Kenya had been severely insulated, only ever interacting with the general public in curated situations like school or church. I had migrated to Australia at 19 from a conservative country, one whose largest tribe I would argue, was and still is religion.
Growing up in Kenya, I learned to perform the rituals of Christianity, and not entirely by choice – we attended church every Sunday, I was in the church choir, I was baptized and attended Catholic catechism classes and was forever riddled with a healthy dose of fear of this God that seemed to promise severe punishment for sins, big or small. An entirety in a burning furnace for someone who needed immediate hospitalization for a paper cut was as severe as my mind could conceptualize at the time.
Step into the shoes of that teenage girl for a minute – shy and reserved unless I was with my friends, whose status in my life was so because of proximity rather than shared values. Take a flight as that girl and land in Adelaide, Australia, to start the next chapter of life – tertiary education abroad. Walk into campus where almost no one looks like you – there is a sea of Asian and Caucasian faces, so much so that seeing another black person would immediately elicit a desire for connection and conversation. But because life was not on pause for me to make social connections, I could only manage a quick smile or wave and either proceed to lunch or to my next class, alone.
What I didn’t know at the time was that it was extremely unlikely for people who did not look like me to approach me in public or to try and strike up a conversation. There were simply too many variables – did I know English? Was I a refugee? Would we understand each other? How would I respond?
Western culture, unlike African, is very much every man for himself. Whereas Africans mind each other’s’ business, Westerners mind their own business. It’s a tough cultural shift that left me feeling invisible and misunderstood most of the time. Since the language around mental health issues has only recently become commonplace, I also had no idea where to look for help when I was in the depths of my homesickness.
It was the unconditional love of a stranger who noticed I was behaving in a manner out of the ordinary – failing to attend my classes, not caring whether I failed – that prompted a series of events that changed the entire trajectory of my life. Next week I will share more on how a complete stranger decided to put everything on the line for my sake.