Gypsies

“They are coming!” “Who is'” “La Policia, we must go!!” “Where are we going'” “Away from here, wherever life takes us” “WHERES JESSICA'!'!'!'!” “She’s not with the children she must still be at the house” We approach the house, which was surrounded by Police cars, I saw my sister get thrown into one of the cars, with tears flowing from her beautiful blue eyes, and I’d never seen her cry. Rage filled my heart and I stood to get her back till being dragged down by my uncle whose words still replay through my thoughts every day. “She’s doing this for us don’t you worry. Someday we will find her” Leaving my sister that day kills me every time I think about it. She was the only one in my family who supported my decision to go to school instead of working on the farm. I owed her so much and there was so much I had to tell her. As we boarded the boat to leave corrupt El Salvador I prayed for her and for that one day we would be reunited. I am outside the doors of immigration, awaiting the presence of the officer who will inevitably decide the future of me and my family. Four pairs of aunties and uncles and my cousins sat huddled in a corner, watery eyed, nervous and praying to God the Almighty to intervene on the decision that is separating our family from a new beginning in Australia, five years isolation in a refugee camp or even worse, deportation back to El Salvador. We didn’t fit in there at the moment we didn’t fit in anywhere. We all sat there in the waiting room watching the clock, the sound of each tick reverberated through my spine. As it ticked over every second in that waiting room seemed like a minute, every minute like an hour. The fifteen minutes we spent in there seemed like a never ending eternity. Finally a short, stubby man arose from the ‘interrogation’ room and asked for my attendance. I was the designated speaker of the family as I was the only one who had completed tertiary education, even secondary. The rest all left as soon as they were legally able to work on the farm and I was ostracised because of it. But as the saying goes ‘every dog has its day’ and today was mine and the basics of English I’d learnt in the refugee camp would keep me in good stead to make a good impression. “Mr Hernandez please come with me” I slowly rose from my seat, my palms were sweaty, knees weak, my arms were heavy . My anxiety had me in a chokehold. I slowly arose from my seat, i muttered the Hail Mary under my breath, praying that the omniscient Lord would intercede on this decision. I followed the man. The room was sickening, the stench of sweat and body odour lingered in the dimly lit room. I understood why the room smelled this way as a bead of sweat ran down my forehead, down my nose and dripped onto the floor. The sound of the drop hitting the floor was the only sound that could be heard in the dead silent room. . The fluorescent light flickered incessantly making concentration hard and I sat there struggling to breathe. The man introduced himself as Michael Hernandez, was this a sign' My breathing slowed from a frantic pant to a calm, regular pattern of breathing. I felt a somewhat comfortable. Michael asked where I was from, why we were here, the reason we left our home, and other quite personal questions. So I told him my story, the story of my family, about my sister. I emphasised the urgency of our departure from El Salvador, the financial and emotional trauma suffered at home everything I could to plead our case to Mr Hernandez. We finished the hearing and I was thanked for my ‘helpful’ interview. As I left the room to return to my family in the foyer, the receptionist offered me a cup of coffee. I willingly accepted and in seconds a Styrofoam cup contain a brown grey sludge was handed to me. It smelled just like the room I was interviewed in , sweaty and musty with the dominant odour of instant coffee. It wasn’t much but it was better than nothing. I thanked the receptionist before she hurriedly shuffled back to her post behind the main desk in the foyer. As I sat huddled arm in arm with my family the nerves re-ignited as we prayed the rosary, sipping nervously at my cup of sludge. I listened out for anything but all that could be heard was the incessant humming of the air-conditioner which was deafening in the mute room. We sat waiting for hours. The foyer was lit with a quite a dull, warm yellow light but it didn’t make me feel any more comfortable as I awaited my future. The door slowly creaked open and Michael emerged from the fluorescent lights as if he was Jesus entering from heaven. We sat in anticipation of his verdict. He muttered the few sentences that changed me and my family’s lives forever “ Welcome to Australia, you’ll be valuable members to our wonderful country. As for Jessica your sister, we’ve been in contact with El Salvador and she will be able to join you in Australia once you have a stable address and income”. We all burst into tears and I was bombarded with hugs and kisses. I looked around at my family as tears of joy flowed down their faces. They all looked at me in a way I had never witnessed before. It was a warm sincere look. A soft, warm look... a look of love. I looked at my mother who had a twinkle in her eye which I hadn’t seen since I was a young child. I knew that this meant more than just a new beginning for my family but it meant a new start for me as a true part of this family.