No Sex in the City by Randa Abdel-Fattah Read Free Book Online Page A

energised as soon as I walk through the doors, and today I can see Lisa through the large windows in the interview room sitting at a table across from a young man and woman, deep in conversation.
    My class is waiting for me in one of the rooms. We’re a small group of six. There’s Sonny, a seventeen-year-old refugee from Sri Lanka, who was moved from Christmas Island to community detention several months ago. He arrived in Australia by boat, leaving his parents and the rest of his family in a camp in the north of Sri Lanka as they couldn’t afford to pay the people smugglers the money needed for them all to come at once. There’s Christina, also seventeen, who’s from Iraq and has been granted refugee status. Faraj, also from Iraq, is the youngest in the group, at fourteen. His family arrived by plane two years ago and are still waiting for a decision on their refugee status. Then there’s Miriam and Ahmed, sixteen-year-old twins who arrived by boat from Afghanistan and have since been granted refugee status.
    ‘Okay,’ I say, clapping my hands together. ‘Today we’re going to continue our five-minute stories. I’m still trying to organise the digital movie-making workshops.’ A collective sigh of disappointment. ‘It’s okay,’ I say, ‘we’ll get there eventually. We can still work on our scripts and storyboards.’
    Miriam raises her hand. ‘I have started mine.’
    ‘That’s great! Are you comfortable sharing it with the class?’
    She laughs, her large brown eyes holding my gaze. ‘Yes, of course.’ She takes out a piece of paper from her bag, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and clears her throat. I remember the first time I met Miriam. She was fourteen years old, but she looked older then, her face lined with anxiety and fear. She barely knew any English. And now she’s trying so hard to write poems and short stories.
    ‘My story in five minutes,’ she reads, her voice strong and confident. ‘I come to Australia from Afghanistan with my brother, Ahmed, and my mother and father. We left behind my grandparents and much family. We know my uncle was killed by the Taliban and another uncle is hiding in Pakistan. In Australia we are un-un—’ She pauses, smiles self-consciously at the class, then ploughs on. ‘We are unlearning how to live in war. We must learn how to live in a peaceful country. When we walk in the street, we must unlearn being scared. We must unlearn looking over our shoulder. We must unlearn being quiet. We must unlearn not trusting the police officer.’ She stops and looks up at me. ‘That is all I have done. Still more.’
    ‘That was brilliant, Miriam,’ I say and she beams at me. I turn to the others. ‘Anybody else?’
    For the next hour I help the others work on their scripts. It’s mainly about helping them find the right words; words that mean something to them, rather than me speaking for them.
    When we’re done we hang out for a bit, drinking tea and eating some biscuits. As usual, Sonny is making us all laugh. He lives in a small flat in Auburn with five other refugees and always has a story to share.
    ‘There is one man in the flat who loves the farting!’ he says gleefully, his sharp eyes bright and alive. ‘He is
loving
to fart.’ We burst into hysterics. ‘Yesterday I am screaming at him that the smoke alarm will be complaining soon.’
    When it’s time to go home, I hover in the main office area, waiting for Lisa, who’s still in the interview room. She notices me and quickly ducks her head out the door. ‘Hiya,’ she says breezily. ‘I need another hour. Don’t wait for me. Call me tomorrow, yeah?’
    ‘Okay, sure.’
    I drive home exhilarated, humbled and overwhelmed by a sense that it’s here, at the centre, that I am really starting to find my own identity and place in the world. My parents have always told me how lucky I am to have grown up in Australia, but it wasn’t until I started working at the centre that I really