Tasmiya

Article:

Prime Minister John Howard was called a “disgrace” today by an early morning walker.

Mr Howard was enjoying his regular early morning walk along the shore of Lake Burley Griffin when another walker shouted at him.

“You’re a disgrace John,” the man said.

“You’re such a bad economic manager.”

Mr Howard ignored the man, but a fellow walker defended the prime minister.

“Shut up you idiot,” a young man said in defence of Mr Howard.

“It isn’t his bad economic management that’s made him a disgrace,” the young man continued. “It’s his platform of race driven politics and his constant refusal to take responsibility for any of his mistakes or those of his ministers. It’s how he used xenophobia and hate-filled stereotypes to win the last election all the while LYING to the Australian people. It’s his refusal to ratify the Kyoto Protocol and his lackadaisical attitude to climate change. It’s his blatant denial of atrocities caused by previous governments on the countries earliest settlers and his refusal to offer an apology to bridge the gap and help a people who till this day are struggling. It’s his utter contempt and disdain for the Australian people who wish more from their leader than just tax cuts close to the election.”

The two hecklers hi-fived, while the Prime Minister continued walking muttering “Gay Aboriginal Muslim feminist commo-lefty tree hugging terrorist druggie scum. Get out of this country!”

Tasmiyan politics is not to be confused with Tasmanian politics which, as it turns out I know nothing about.

I love old people. No matter who they are or what they believe in - they can wallow in miserable incontinence, hate me, even if they CAN’T HEAR WHAT I AM SAYING EVEN THOUGH I AM SHOUTING CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?, drive slowly in the fast lane. Whatevs. There is something noble and distinguished about the grey hair, the wrinkles and the stilted gait.

Old people make me cry.

Husband: Did you hear about John Howard falling over?

Tasmiya: Yeah I heard something about it today.

Husband: He looks like a sad, pathetic old man. Do you want to see it? I’m sure it’s on YouTube - I can find it for you.

(Pause)

Tasmiya: …

Husband: Let me guess - you’ll see it and then you’ll feel sorry for him and then become a Liberal supporter.

(Pause)

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Tasmiya: Well…

Husband: Oh my God! I don’t believe it!

Tasmiya: But he’s old! And he tripped over!

Happy Birthday old man. Here’s hoping there are no more spills, trippings or tumblings closer to the election….

…for the sake of the COUNTRY.

I’m sorry - I didn’t want to keep you all on edge a la sands through the hourglass etc etc and finish on a cliffhanger of sorts- I just ran out of time.

See here for previous episode.

How stupid of me to just tell her to come by to pick up the clothing. I should have offered to take it to her place! How humbling, utterly humiliating it would be for her to knock on my door to ask for the clothes.

I watched outside my window in the early morning, hoping to catch a glimpse of her children as they walked to school; I sometimes drove in the general direction of her home, stopping outside each house to watch for any sign of her or her family (I didn’t have her address.) The clothing I had kept out for her left my lounge room and found a place in the garage. I worried she may have moved to another suburb or worse - back to Darwin. I often thought of visiting the school, to ask whether the children were still in attendance but realised that may be confidential information that the school had no business giving out to complete strangers. Goodness I didn’t even know her name or the names of her children.

Then one ordinary day while out driving home with my in-laws, I spied two young African boys. I unceremoniously parked the car on a roundabout, ran out of the car and chased after them. I am sure they thought me crazy but one of the boys recognised me from the meeting in the park and they both humoured me enough to show me where they lived. I grabbed the bags of clothing from the garage on the way to their home.

I had only planned on dropping off the clothes but she was so happy to have company that straight away she ushered us (my father-in-law and one and half year old came as well) into her lounge room. I saw in the corner of my eye, the boys scrambling for the bags and already fighting for the warm jacket that sat at the top of the pile. One of the older boys quickly offered us cool water to drink. We sat and talked for a while, while her children kept running in and out giggling. Her little girl however entered with a solemn and very sad expression.

I had no clothes for her so they let her wear a “Hot Wheels” t-shirt. She was only mildly impressed but her brothers thought it quite funny. I promised her next time I would have lots of girls’ clothes as my sister had a little girl. This seemed to brighten her spirits. As we left, her mother thanked me and told me to come again to visit.

I plan on doing just that this weekend inshaAllah.

On the spur of the moment, Husband and I took the boys to the park near our home. The older 2 quickly settled into their routine of running from one attraction to the next - first the slide, then climbing the web and lastly, attempting the rock climb. One and half year old settled into his routine of dutifully following his older brothers and collapsing into a lump of bitter frustration, realising he could not possibly keep up.

Another family watched all this with mild curiosity. A mother sitting quietly with her son, reading from a school book while her daughter climbed up and down the fireman’s pole. We greeted each other with friendly “Hello!”s while our children eyed each other up and down, too shy to attempt the same.

“Where are you from?” the mother asked me.

“I was born in Zimbabwe but I have lived here most of my life. What about you?”

“We are from Sudan.”

We quickly lapsed deep into conversation. I was surprised to hear she had FIVE boys and her daughter was her youngest child. How did she manage it and still look so calm? I wondered aloud. She just laughed and shocked me even more when she said she was keen to have another.

The book she had in her hand was her English textbook. “I am at Level 2 English!” she exclaimed proudly.

I awkwardly asked about the situation in Sudan, “Is there still a lot of trouble there?”

She looked away and remained silent for a while.

“Yes. Lots of trouble.”

She did not elaborate and I didn’t pursue it. Instead we spoke about her time here in Australia. Her family had been living in Darwin for 2 years but found it necessary to move to Brisbane as jobs up north were scarce. She didn’t like Brisbane. “Too cold!” she said.

I watched her daughter playing together with my son. For the first time, I studied the girl - Not only was she wearing shorts in this cold weather but they were threadbare and I saw at least 3 holes in that one item of clothing.

This family had left unspeakable trauma in their home country; left everything they knew to make a new life in an alien country. The mother was busy taking care of six children and learning English while her husband was working hard to put food on the table and clothes on their backs. My heart ached and I blinked away my tears.

“I have lots of clothes at home that I have been meaning to give away to charity organisations. Would you mind..I mean is it ok..can I give these clothes to you..for your children?”

She smiled. “Yes. Is OK.”

“I don’t have any clothes for little girls though.”

Laughing, she said, “Is OK.”

I gave her my address and told her that when she had finished at the park, she could come and see me and I would have the clothes ready for her. I raced home and organised Husband’s shirts, clothes from the boys’ cupboards and anything else I thought she may need.

I waited.

For two whole months I waited.

She did not come.

..to be continued

Last year while waiting for the school bell to ring everyday, I befriended an elderly Chinese woman. She had two grandchildren and she sat patiently and waited beside me every afternoon. She loved my children - always chatting with them and giggling as the boys made funny faces or smiled at her. She told me often to make sure my youngest had his feet covered (he loved taking his socks off and would not have a bar of footwear of any kind.) At times I thought I saw a twinkle in her eye and an itching to pick up and hold him. I didn’t offer to take him out of his pram - I worried that I might have misinterpreted those signs or that perhaps she was too frail to carry the little beast of a baby!

We spoke about the weather, especially the biting cold wind that seemed somehow to be worse on the school grounds than anywhere else. She taught me the Mandarin word for “strawberry.” At least, I think it was Mandarin. I’ve since forgotten the word. She giggled at my (mis)pronounciation. I don’t think I even came close. Sometimes we would just sit together without saying anything.

Her face lit up when her grandchildren finally strolled out of class (they seemed to take their time while the other children sprinted out). She talked quickly as she hugged them and started the walk to their home. I saw her sometimes as I drove home and watched in my rear view mirror; her face never lost that infectious smile and her grandchildren walked with her, laughing or stifling a giggle.

I didn’t ask her name. She never asked me mine.

In truth, she never spoke a word of English. We made ourselves understood by animated gestures or sometimes just a nod or a laugh. Politicians and many people in this country believe migrants need to learn English and pass an Australian values test. I’ve never thought it a necessity. I don’t know much about her family but I saw her take care of her grandchildren. I saw their smiling faces everyday and her undeniable love for them. My children looked forward to seeing her and were bitterly disappointed if we didn’t. I can say undoubtedly her family was that much richer, better and fuller as were mine for knowing her. There is no exam to measure her worth to this society.

On the first day of school this year I looked for her. She didn’t come to pick up her grandchildren. There was a much younger woman in her place (perhaps her daughter?). The next day I waited again. After a week of wondering and dreading, I plucked up the courage to ask her grandson about his grandmother.

“She’s gone back to China,” he said sadly.

Thanks everyone for their kind words after my last post. I know you luw me beddy much!

In truth, I did not watch the budget unfold and get analysed by economists and the like. I did not read much about it either. What I do know is that this government has taxed the bejebus out of everyone and THEN go around saying how good they are because there is a surplus. Then try and buy our votes (let’s face it - only the very rich or the very stupid would vote this government back in) by giving us tax cuts.

Is it not a tad strange that the government is enjoying a huge surplus while the ordinary Australian is enjoying the highest recorded personal debt? Something is not right here. I’m counting on you to sort it out, Kevin. Don’t make me come over there and sort it out for you….or wait.

Here is how I would spend the surplus:

1. A big house, new car and an overseas holiday

1. More money for education, infrastructure and HEALTH (you know important stuff)

2. Less money for fighting terrorism (BECAUSE I WOULDN”T HAVE MADE AUSTRALIA A TERRORIST TARGET IN THE FIRST PLACE!)

3. Give more money to the poor people.

4. More money for study, manufacture and implementation of alternative fuel sources. We are a DESERT country - solar panels, anyone?

Well since this chick has pretty much no life at all is so politically aware, the BUDGET will be released tonight and I will be refreshing my stats webpage crying and wondering why nobody visits me anymore glued to the television and making notes on what’s happening to Australia’s economy (Preempt - more money for the rich, less for the poor).

1. Level 5 water restrictions means only 4 minute showers. I have contemplated on more than one occasion, going without bathing for 8 days so I can have a wonderful 30 minute shower. DON’T JUDGE ME!

2. On wash days, I pray it DOESN’T rain.

3. I am a nuisance caller and professional complainer. Well I’m pretty sure the Brisbane City Council thinks so. So far I have rung THREE times about my vegetation officer’s visit and once about some possible termite nests in the park near me. I have called when I thought there was a problem with my bill (there WASN’T, apparently). Whenever I tell the help desk person my name, he or she will always say in a knowing tone, “Oh yes….. Tasmiya….” WELL I PAY MY RATES..DON’T JUDGE ME etc etc.

4. I thought Jim Soorley was a pretty good mayor.