“Take your necklace off, it will beep,” my father says to me in Arabic.
I remove my necklace by which a gold cross hangs and place it on the tray in front of me.
The room is dull, the artificial lightening is gloomy.
Walking through the security scanners I hold a bag of falafel rolls, which consumes the smell
of the room.
A sense of dread consumes me, I’ve been here too many times.
I follow my father through the corridor but I know this route well, I can navigate the building
on my own.
I know every field and court, every hallway and corner, every restricted and non-restricted
Area.
For one year I have been visiting. The guards offer me their pitiful simile, I am the source of
communication between them and my father. Room 173, there he is.
My uncle, my God-father, who has lived with us my whole life. Seated on a bed, dressed in a
maroon track-suit uniform.
He is now behind bars. In a place they call a “detention-centre”.
When he sees us, he smiles, always. This creates a glimpse of hope and on hope is how he
survives.
At ten-years-old, I did not understand. But at ten-years-old I visited every day because
where I’m from, family is important. I wonder, reader, do you know about this centre which lies just off Villawood Road? It’s quite hidden, it’s quite evil.
In the waiting room is where I spent most of my time, doing homework, eating falafel, celebrating Easter. Visiting hours opened at 5:00pm every day and so my parents ensured every day at 4:30pm we were to arrive, because where I’m from, family is important.
But reader, life goes on. The system wins, my uncle gets deported and I continue growing.
And if you must know, till this day,
I cannot drive on Villawood Road
Eat at Villawood McDonald’s or
Think of Villawood.
Don’t worry, I did not spend all of my childhood in the waiting room.
I also played with my cousins at the park. We swung on swing sets, flew on flying foxes and
Oh yes, got told to “Go back to where you came from!” by a cruel lady.
Don’t worry, we continued playing.
Reader, I could tell you about robberies and violence, racism and inequality but that is continuous and you’d keep wondering when does one arrive.
At 16 I decided I wanted to be a performer. I wanted to sing and act. But I felt stuck. You see in Merrylands, is where I grew, in Merrylands is where I studied, in Merrylands is where I worked.
But I never knew of any artist from Merrylands. Do you?
Until one day I realised,
I am the artist from Merrylands.
Who has seen what I have seen? Who has felt what I have felt?
At age 21, I am here to tell you that I am here, I have always been here.
In Merrylands I still reside.
On hope is how I survive.