clandestine, makeshift, about the mix of unbuilt gleaming wire and the high inner fence. Work crews moved languidly in the middle distance. A golden-haired workman, bare torso copper in the early sun, stood by the sentinel gates and stared up at Dhurgham as the bus passed him. His deep-set blue eyes were inquiring, uncertain. His stare was so intense that Dhurgham felt something was demanded of him personally. He raised his hand. The beautiful young man involuntarily lifted his own, then dropped it to his side and frowned. They passed through a second perimeter fence, this one thoroughly solid, topped with barbed wire, and entered the dusty compound.
It was a prison, no doubt about that. Dhurgham was faintly surprised. He wondered fleetingly whether anyone knew him, then dismissed the possibility. No one here knew him or Mr Hosni. They were in Australia .
The double perimeter fence, the blade-threaded wire rolled at the top, the disdain on the guardsâ facesânone of these seemed real. He stood up tall and expanded his fourteen year old chest. He was in a new country, among new people, freed from the terrible boat journey, freed from the grim drone and shudder of the road trip and the huddle with the others in the alien buses. He was tens of thousands of miles away from Mr Hosni. The wire, and the desert surrounding it, were a simple impediment, a short insignificant hiatus to be handled with grace and fortitude. His eyes shone and the guards looked at him as though he were mad. The mothers looked and saw a beautiful baby in the long, too-thin body, but their hands and hearts were too full and their own fears too pressing to do more than note it.
Sometime on that first day in Mawirrigun Aliens Processing Centre, Dhurgham suddenly thought his parents might be here, right hereâand, if not, then somewhere in this country. It was the first time in a long while that he had thought of them in the present and he was for a moment washed with guilt and a strange reluctance to bring them to life again, to feed his hope. He felt dizzy. Then to his horror he could not recall their faces. His motherâs form, movement, voice; but not her face. Nuraâs hair. His fatherâs cloak. No more. But he might see them, any minute now! He was only four weeks away from Damascusâthey could so easily be here before him! His heart lurched with guilt, hope and pain; he peered through chinks and wire to get glimpses of the people who occupied the main part of the centre. He and the two hundred and seventy-three boys from the Hibiscus were held separately. Later he found out that this was to make sure no one helped them. If they failed to say the right words, they were slipped into the deportation quota without a hearing, staying in this isolation wing until, bewildered and afraid, they were flown out of the country again to who knows where. This weeded out many of the uneducated, several of the younger children and all those who had not been as carefully briefed as Dhurgham. They were the unwanted the world over, he was later told.
The isolation wing was tense, with mothers rocking crying children, white-faced themselves at the indignities and petty cruelties some of the staff inflicted; bewildered by the kindness shown by others. One man sobbed, forbidden from contacting either his brother in Sydney or his family in Iraq in case someone helped him with the magic words. When he said that his family would not know whether he was dead or alive, an AID guard laughed. But this first day, Dhurgham was too happy and still too detached from the world to mind much. He merely noticed these things and remembered them later.
One by one, over several weeks, the boys of the Hibiscus were interviewed and were either left there to be deported or were sent into the main centre. The families from other boats could give no more information than the boys themselves had. No one in isolation knew why some were rejected and some accepted, as
It was a prison, no doubt about that. Dhurgham was faintly surprised. He wondered fleetingly whether anyone knew him, then dismissed the possibility. No one here knew him or Mr Hosni. They were in Australia .
The double perimeter fence, the blade-threaded wire rolled at the top, the disdain on the guardsâ facesânone of these seemed real. He stood up tall and expanded his fourteen year old chest. He was in a new country, among new people, freed from the terrible boat journey, freed from the grim drone and shudder of the road trip and the huddle with the others in the alien buses. He was tens of thousands of miles away from Mr Hosni. The wire, and the desert surrounding it, were a simple impediment, a short insignificant hiatus to be handled with grace and fortitude. His eyes shone and the guards looked at him as though he were mad. The mothers looked and saw a beautiful baby in the long, too-thin body, but their hands and hearts were too full and their own fears too pressing to do more than note it.
Sometime on that first day in Mawirrigun Aliens Processing Centre, Dhurgham suddenly thought his parents might be here, right hereâand, if not, then somewhere in this country. It was the first time in a long while that he had thought of them in the present and he was for a moment washed with guilt and a strange reluctance to bring them to life again, to feed his hope. He felt dizzy. Then to his horror he could not recall their faces. His motherâs form, movement, voice; but not her face. Nuraâs hair. His fatherâs cloak. No more. But he might see them, any minute now! He was only four weeks away from Damascusâthey could so easily be here before him! His heart lurched with guilt, hope and pain; he peered through chinks and wire to get glimpses of the people who occupied the main part of the centre. He and the two hundred and seventy-three boys from the Hibiscus were held separately. Later he found out that this was to make sure no one helped them. If they failed to say the right words, they were slipped into the deportation quota without a hearing, staying in this isolation wing until, bewildered and afraid, they were flown out of the country again to who knows where. This weeded out many of the uneducated, several of the younger children and all those who had not been as carefully briefed as Dhurgham. They were the unwanted the world over, he was later told.
The isolation wing was tense, with mothers rocking crying children, white-faced themselves at the indignities and petty cruelties some of the staff inflicted; bewildered by the kindness shown by others. One man sobbed, forbidden from contacting either his brother in Sydney or his family in Iraq in case someone helped him with the magic words. When he said that his family would not know whether he was dead or alive, an AID guard laughed. But this first day, Dhurgham was too happy and still too detached from the world to mind much. He merely noticed these things and remembered them later.
One by one, over several weeks, the boys of the Hibiscus were interviewed and were either left there to be deported or were sent into the main centre. The families from other boats could give no more information than the boys themselves had. No one in isolation knew why some were rejected and some accepted, as
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