Migrant Whinge

Today, Thursday, January 26, is Australia Day.

Australia Day 2011, since this year was canceled due to flooding

Our local radio station is listening to stories of people who have migrated here,  "New Aussies,"  and reminding us that most of our ancestors have only been here for a blink of an eye as well. 

(Many Aborigines call this day "Invasion Day" since it celebrates James Cook's arrival at Sydney Cove in 1788, and the beginning of colonialisation, not the official birth of Australia as a federation on January 1, 1901  Lookie there - even a new Aussie can learn!)

In any case, we are listening, this morning, to stories of how other Australians got to be Australians.

Like America, there are many tales.

Ian with his Aunt Merle

Debbie's ancestor really DID steal a loaf of bread.

Karina's ancestor jumped ship within sight of shore.

Damon's great-great-great-great uncle McPherson came over from Scotland to keep watch over Debbie's and Carina's ancestors.

Damon and Uncle Don contemplate the enormity of their task

Uncle's parents shuffled him from place to place in the 30s and 40s because his father was white and his mother indigenous and they had to stay one step ahead of the people who wanted to take their children away and reeducate them to 'fit into' modern Australian society.  As a servant.

Mick's mate came over a few years ago from Eritrea, where he was sentenced to death for his religious beliefs. 

Aidan taking matters into his own hands

Leading Damon to break into the greatest migrant whinge of all times.  (Doing a really good impersonation of me at my worst this week.)

"Oh.  Oh.  Oh.  Please don't make me go back to GERMANY!

It's COLD there. 

And it SNOWS!

The state-sponsored schools really really suck.

Although the roads are good.  And everything is neat and tidy.

What do you mean I have to fly to NEW ZEALAND?!

But the airplane seats are really really tight and the movies suck.

AND you have to pay for snacks.

What if the aircon doesn't work?"


Silence.

And applause.

Australia Day 2012 (With Photos From Mapleton Visit in January)

THE VIEWS EXPRESSED HERE ARE VERY LIBERAL - AND PRETTY CHEEKY FOR SOMEONE THEY HAVEN'T EVEN OFFICIALLY LET IN YET!  THEY ARE NOT NECESSARILY THE VIEWS OF ANYONE ELSE IN THESE PHOTOS EXCEPT FOR ME.  I just wanted to get in some shots of Aunt Merle and Uncle Don and Sol and our visit to Damon's family in Mapleton so that his family in the USA could see them and forward them on to Nana and Granddad.

I'm a little ashamed.  Not of the pictures of my son in drag that I am going to post tomorrow, but of the frivolous nature of most of my recent posts in general. 

Happy with Merle and Don in Mapleton.

You see, I love it here.  And I am trying to amuse you.  Not proselytize (and not only because I can't spell it!) and certainly not be a drag.

I want you all to like me. 

And so I plan to write about learning to serve that cuppa properly and how to bake scones and meat pies.

Because I want to be like you.  Because I love it here.

Aunt Merle and Uncle Don

And then, in the days before Australia Day, I hear that I may have to leave the country.  That there are no exceptions to the rules and that not having the cash to leave and return - a condition for a 309 visa being that you have to be out of the country to receive it - does not qualify as a hardship.

I cry because I realise that I don't have a right to celebrate Australia Day. 

Because I find I've been kidding myself.

It is a privilege to be here, one I might not be entitled to.

It breaks my heart, not only for me but for the four children I have promised can be Aussies and stay here forever.

The boys with cousin Sol

My husband talks to the consulate in Berlin, he calls Sydney, we go to Brisbane.  And everyone is friendly and wants to help but doesn't know what to do.  Then I go online and find a website, one that directs me to a set of rules that might just get us out of this, a set of rules that SHOULD allow us to get permanent visas without having to fork over thousands of dollars for a forced flight to New Zealand.  We SHOULD be able to qualify for a 100 permanent spousal visa.

And, again, I am reminded of how lucky I am.  (Although, in the end, I will be flying to NZ for two days in March with five children, we will get those permanent visas after all.)

I am a migrant, but I am not a refuge. 

I am desperate to call Australia home and to give my children the privilege of being citizens of the luckiest country in the world.

Uncle Don letting the boys take a breather on the trail!

But not as desperate as those who risk their lives, and their children's lives on it.

Not as desperate as those whose lives would be put in danger just by returning to their former countries.

Really puts those rainy German summers in perspective, doesn't it?

On Australia Day, be proud.  Be proud because you are part of the greatest country in the world.  But be proud too that it IS a nation of migrants, a nation still struggling with the aftereffects of colonialisation on its indigenous people, a nation born of many nations, European, Asian, African, Christian, Muslim and Buddhist. 

Sol, ever the gentleman, escorting Ryan and Aunt Merle

On Australia Day, be aware of how lucky you are if you have been born here.  And realise that all most migrants want is to have the privilege to be like you. 

The first people to Australia came on boats tens of thousands of years ago. 

A second, invading, wave, came on boats a mere two hundred odd years ago.

And more arrive today.

Our tickets to stay!

Let Australia as a nation be strong enough to accept our diverse histories to build a common future.

Let us recognise that who we are, as a people and as a nation, lies not in where we come from but in where we go from here.

Of Milo, Vegemite, Cheerios - and Hummus

All right, mates. At some point you people have to be pulling my German leg.

I'm all good with the Milo. After all, MY people came up with Nutella, the chocolate spread that's a vital part of any nutritious breakfast. (But CANNOT be eaten for dinner, CANNOT be eaten for dinner, something I am still at a loss to understand. Besides, what else was Ryan going to whip up for us as a six year old when I was busy with two newborns?!)

I looked, the first two ingredients in Milo are barley and milk solids (not sugar and vegetable oil like Nutella). Then again BARLEY and milk SOLIDS? Good thing the third ingredient IS sugar!

I was forgiven for the Milo. Bighorse, ''some people have never even tried Vegemite!''

Can YOU imagine?!!!

Now coming from the land of Leberwurst, detesting French pate and no big fan of peanut butter either, I was still game to give Vegemite ago.

Until I tried some of the processed meat. Now I KNOW why bar-be-queing is so big here. And why we drink so much.

I can't even stand the smell of it cooking. I'm putting on a brave face for the kids – because they DO need protein – but I'm snacking on the hummus myself while they're not looking. (Aisles full of hummus and pita bread! Yay me.)

The 'cheerios' aren't too bad. Known as deli hotdogs to the rest of the world. And apparently as ''small boys'' in Western Australia. Never let it be said that the Australians don't have a sense of humor. But it still doesn't particularly make me want to bite into them. I peel off the outer coating for the kids – although I have been assured that you can eat that as well it looks awfully plastic and bright red to me – and am happy that they are easy to cook up. And a source of protein.

The meat here makes me realize that that this was once a British colony.

(Although French meat made me realize why they are the chefs of the world – you need good sauces to swallow it. And a plateload of French fries besides. Lots and lots of ketchup. For the fries of course, for the fries.)

It might be my German snobbishness after all. Bratwurst and Weisswurst and Schweinehaxen. Although I LOVE American beef. All of those growth hormones might not be good for you, but they sure do taste delicious.

Damon reassures me that we just need to learn how to cook it up.

Right-o mate.

In the meantime I am being saved by Australia's migrant culture. (Did you know that Australia was the second-most international country in the world, next to Israel? I didn't. Didn't know Israel was the first either.) INDIAN FOOD! Curry and nan. Hot and spicy. Not Germany hot and spicy but INDIAN hot and spicy. And you don't have to drive forty minutes to find it. I was a little taken aback that the full meal at the mall came with curry, nan and a slushy. Is that some Indian thing I didn't know about, the slushy? No. The Indian guy who ordered behind me was just as confused as I was. ''Don't you have a coke or water or something?'' I'm guessing the owner got the slushy machines for a good price and now feels impelled to use them. I get the chai-tea instead. CHAI TEA. YAY ME!

Damon's been torn between the choice of REAL SANDWICHES, American-style. Or bar-be-que. Or Nando's, out of respect for our South African friends who can't be here with us. Then there's the Chinese – menu in Mandarin and Cantonese as well as in English. The Japanese. Vietnamese. Samoan. So that we can be excused for not sticking to the ''cheerios.''

The twins still prefer McDonald's. Ryan gets Subway. And Andrew goes to KFC.

Tonight we're trying a meat pie though, for the first time.

We'll let you know how that goes. Or if I'm eating hummus again!