A home at last

KATE McILWAIN meets two 
Middle Eastern families who 
recently made Wollongong home.

Refugees have been part of life in Wollongong for decades, arriving in waves since the world wars. Since 2000, the city has been a dedicated refugee welcome zone accepting displaced people from across the world. In 2016, more refugees from Iraq and Syria will arrive in the city through the government's expanded visa program. 

Today we look at the stories of families in our region who have fled war-torn countries to make their home in the Illawarra. It coincides with the launch of our new campaign in which we ask you to open your hearts and minds.

'The first day my son went to school, my wife cried'

On a scorching hot November day at North Wollongong Beach, it would be hard to find a more typically "Aussie" scene.

The sun is beating down on school kids learning to surf, teens in bikinis soak up the end of the HSC, and mums and bubs wave away flies as they stroll the pavements with takeaway skim flat whites.

It's the end of the breakfast service at Diggies Cafe and the last of the pancakes, corn fritters and banana breads are leaving the kitchen.

Chef Javad Ghaderi has just finished his shift, and although his life experiences couldn’t be more different to the blur of other chefs and waitresses swirling around him, the Afghani refugee is right at home.

The softly spoken 46-year-old has been working at the popular beach-side eatery for about six months, after his talent and determination was spotted by his TAFE teacher and Diggies manager Elise Flowers.

He started out washing dishes, but his bosses quickly noticed his cooking talents. He’s since started running the kitchen at breakfast, and has injected some Afghani and Persian flavours into Diggies’ new summer menu.

Javad arrived in Australia nearly three years ago, with his wife Fatimah Sabaghi, son Mani, now 12, and six-year-old daughter Raha, whose name means “freedom”.

They came here from Iran – via three years in a United Nations camp in Indonesia – which they left when Javad couldn’t send his children to school. He fled his original homeland, Afghanistan, more than 26 years ago when war broke out.

“I married my wife, an Iranian lady, and lived for 22 years in Iran but the government didn’t give me an ID card. I was deported three times. And so my children could not go to school, they were not allowed, because our marriage was illegal.”

In Indonesia, while the family waited to be assessed as refugees, Javad honed his passion for cooking by helping in the kitchens. When money ran out, he baked bread to sell to other refugees.

“In the last eight months in Indonesia we ran out of money, there was nothing. It was a very hard life, but still better than Iran because we had freedom.”

Asked about his life in Wollongong, Javad’s eyes light up. He swells with pride knowing he can pay taxes after studying language and hospitality at TAFE, and fondly remembers the first day Mani went to school.

“The first day my son went to school, my wife just cried because now our children will have an education. This is a beautiful life, Australian people have helped us.”

It’s his immense gratitude for these humble achievements which struck a chord with Elise when she met him at TAFE, prompting her to give him a job in the Diggies kitchen.

“He’s passionate, quiet, very hardworking and just a beautiful soul,” she said. “We just had a connection, and Javad was doing volunteer work experience and I felt people were taking advantage of him. It’s really touching what he’s done so far, I’m really proud of him.”

Likewise, Diggies owner Stan Crinis says Javad is a valued part of his business.

“He’s definitely one of our standout chefs,” he said. “He encourages our younger guys and they’re learning a lot from him. His gratitude is amazing, he brings baked goods in almost every morning for all the other staff to try.

“We’re proud to have someone like Javad in our kitchen, and that we have been able to give him that opportunity.”

'If I stay in Syria, they will kill me'

Mousa Al Ahmad and Maisaa Rashdan have always been refugees.

The Corrimal husband and wife were both born in Syria to Palestinian parents, who fled their country with hundreds of thousands of others after the second world war. Essentially stateless, their families were allowed to work in Syria, but did not have citizenship rights or the same property rights as other Syrians.

"My parents were children – about seven years old – when they left Palestine, but we were only ever refugees in Syria, we couldn't get citizenship," Mousa said.

“There is terrible discrimination against Palestinian people in the Middle East.”

Nevertheless, he became an emergency doctor, running a successful medical centre of his own for 12 years in Damascus.

But when the conflict started in 2010 he was given an impossible choice, as the Assad government and Islamic State forces sought to harness doctors’ skills.

“If you worked with anyone, the other would kill you – simple,” he said. “We haven’t another choice, all the doctors, not just me. If I stay in Syria, they will kill me – ISIS or [the] regime – and not just me, also my children.”

With Maisaa and their three little boys, Ahmad, Mohammed and Ibrahem, he fled to Lebanon and applied to the United Nations for refugee status. Their fourth son, Youssef, was born in Lebanon.

“We lived in Lebanon for about 20 months, it was the worst period of my life because of the discrimination against Palestinian people,” Mousa said.

“We couldn’t work, we couldn’t stay legally there. We had to go to the minister with documents every month and pay money. Not everyone had to pay, but we were Palestinian.”

“We were so happy to be accepted as refugees in Australia. We are now double refugees.”

“I am happy, with my family, to be here in Australia. We have made many friends with Aussie and English people and they help us very much.”

While overjoyed about finding a new home in Australia, Mousa struggles every day with the knowledge that his parents and siblings are still in grave danger.

“My parents, my family are in Syria, and we were rich there despite the discrimination. I lost everything. This is a new start. It is hard beginning every time.”

“My parents are there, left in Syria in a terrible situation and they can’t go anywhere because of the discrimination. I lost my two brothers, they were executed by Syrian regime, why I don’t know. This is war, there is no rule.”

His sister has also been threatened with execution, and every few days he calls home to find out if she is still alive. The family has applied to the UN to try to get her out of Syria, but has so far has so far gained no ground despite the urgency of her case.

“I want to say thanks to my god and to the Australian government for the help we have, but I miss my sister. I would do anything to help her, if anyone could help her escape outside Syria, I would give everything.”

Despite this constant anguish, Mousa and Maisaa have thrown themselves into Australian life since arriving in Wollongong late last year. They are both completing academic English courses to allow them to go on to further study, and have watched their boys thrive academically at West Wollongong Public School.

"They talk like Aussies," Mousa said.

Maisaa plans to study childcare, while Mousa hopes to once again practice as a doctor and is hoping to soon enroll in his first medical subjects at the University of Wollongong. He has also helped establish an Arab Brothers Association, to mentor young Middle Eastern people and help them find links within the Illawarra community.

Asked how he manages to do this amid study, raising four boys and the emotional stress of worrying about his family, the answer is simple.

“We should do everything we can do to live here in a comfortable way and make Australia the best place, to be safe. This is my children’s country now, they are free and I need them to be safe.”