Dec 24 - A Walk to Remember

 

These are the stories of our elders...

Some details have been omitted as per the elder’s request.

Untold Story #1

I was only 12 years old when we left Ethiopia in 1977, during a time of political tension and unrest under communist rule. Everyone lived in fear of persecution, and our lives were constantly at risk. One day, with only ten minutes' notice, we were told to prepare for a journey that would forever change our lives. We fled to Djibouti with no time to pack, no time to say goodbye, driven only by the will to survive.

When the United Nations began accepting refugees, we were fortunate to be among the first group granted refugee status. People of all ages—elders, parents, children—rushed to the camps, seeking safe passage from a country that had become unrecognisable. After spending 11 long months in the refugee camp, we finally received scholarships to complete our high school education in Egypt.

Life in Egypt was comfortable for a while. We formed a close-knit community of Hararis who supported each other, and I found solace in the company of my younger brother. The bonds we formed there created a sense of community that helped us feel less isolated in a foreign land. However, we all knew that Egypt was not our final destination. Many were already planning moves to more stable places like the United States and Canada, in search of stability and a permanent home.

As I neared the end of high school, the uncertainty of our future weighed heavily on me. We were untethered—without a home to return to and no clear path forward. Although we had hoped to move to a Muslim country, it soon became clear that this was not possible. The visa process was too complicated, and the countries we hoped to go to were beyond our reach.

Canada seemed like the next best option, and we began preparing applications. However, during this time, my brother fell ill, and we questioned whether we could endure the harsh Canadian winters. Accustomed to Ethiopia's warmth, the cold was unimaginable. As Canada became a less viable option, many advised us to consider Australia—a country few of us knew much about.

Australia seemed like a distant, isolated place. It was often seen as a last resort—a faraway land at the edge of the world. Our only knowledge of the country came from Egyptian films set in Australia, which painted a small picture. Despite the uncertainty, we decided to take a chance. But it turned out to be a land full of blessings, where we could finally build new lives far from the turmoil of our past. We were led to a place we never expected but now proudly call home.

Our first impression of the country was a warm one. We were very happy in Australia, largely due to the group of Hararis who had arrived before us. As the second large group of Harari immigrants, we were well supported. The government provided aid and jobs were abundant. We were gradually introduced to Australia’s system and culture. Although everything was new to us, we had each other for support, marking the beginning of a Harari community in Australia.

Most of our income was spent on phone bills to call family back home. No cost was too great to be able to speak with our loved ones. We had left many behind, but the family we found here was just as special.

 During these initial years in Australia, we were closer than ever. All Hararians were family, no matter what. Whilst weekdays were spent working for a better future, weekends were reserved for each other. The scent of hulbat marakh was enough to gather all Hararis in Melbourne at one house for the weekend. Every corner of the house filled with people eager to connect, share stories, and reminisce about the culture we had left behind. Together, we deepened our Islamic knowledge and kept our traditions alive. We established the Abâdir soccer club, which lasted for many years. This was the nature of Hararis—we naturally formed communities wherever we went. Whether in Harar, Cairo, or Melbourne, we built connections that sustained us. It was an integral part of who we were, something we could never live without.

 

 

 

Untold Story #2

Keeping a record of history as it unfolds may be the way we leave our mark in this transient place. Over time, as we are forgotten, these remnants serve as a means for those who come after us to remember. As part of the early wave of Harari immigrants to Australia, this history will help us establish our roots in this foreign land, providing a rich archive of culture and memories to unite generations to come. Together, we can record the struggles and joys of our journey to find a home, etching them in our minds so they are never forgotten.

The first thing we knew of Australia were its kangaroos. We were aware that it was home to its own Indigenous population, native to the land. While many found the appeal of North America too tempting to resist, we decided to give Australia a chance. To this day, I am grateful for the decision we made to bring our families here and start afresh. However, it did not come without its difficulties, and there was a lot of adjusting to do it seemed.

Like many immigrants, we would face language barriers. English was not native to us, and our tongues would need training. But we were eager to succeed. After all, communication was the key to success. With grit and determination, I attended three months of advanced classes, which enabled me to read newspapers. But the learning never stopped, and I was eager to continuously improve. The learning didn’t stop there; I constantly noted down unfamiliar words, my pockets always filled with scraps of paper. At home, I spent nights decoding these words with the help of my dictionary. Within six months, I had become proficient.

While English was relatively easy to master, Australian culture was not. Raised in a typical Harari environment, we were sheltered from many of life's harsh realities, protected by our parents and community. We were left vulnerable in Australia, exposed to all types of situations at a young age. However, the beauty of our Harari nature was that we formed our own family. Our Afôcha protected us from the dangers of living in a country we knew little about. This community became our safety net.

With the guidance of our elders, we shared knowledge to keep our heritage alive. We established weekend schools to pass on this knowledge to our children, hoping it would benefit them as it had us.

Since then, the Australian Harari community has grown in great numbers. However, our work to strengthen our bonds as Hararis and preserve our rich culture and knowledge continues.  We must continue to look out for one another, just as we always have. We faced many challenges to call this place our home. We may not show it, but our minds will never forget. Driving past Springvale brings back many memories to this day. The joys and the sorrows. Whilst we have come a long way since then, our work is never complete.

 

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