{"id":6896,"date":"2012-06-07T06:46:25","date_gmt":"2012-06-07T10:46:25","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/dbsjeyaraj.com\/dbsj\/?p=6896"},"modified":"2012-06-07T16:26:49","modified_gmt":"2012-06-07T20:26:49","slug":"meeting-ranjini-a-day-at-the-villawood-detention","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/dbsjeyaraj.com\/dbsj\/?p=6896","title":{"rendered":"Meeting Ranjini: A Day at the Villawood Detention Centre"},"content":{"rendered":"

by Niromi de Soyza<\/strong><\/p>\n

A<\/strong>s soon as I step into the reception room which reminded me of a sterile hospital cafeteria, a woman with long dark hair in a black blazer catches my eyes. The epaulettes on her jacket give her small skinny frame an air of authority.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

I recognise the young woman easily as Ranjini, she looks exactly like in the pictures splashed across newspapers and news media over the past few weeks \u2013 sparkling eyes, a big bright smile and the unmistakable side-parting of hair.
\n
\nShe is not the only Sri Lankan in the room \u2013 there\u2019s another pretty woman standing beside her and a few young men milling about. There are a couple of kind elderly ladies with silvery hair and white transparent skin, handing out gifts to the women. I later learn that they are from a charity, \u2018trying to help these people who have suffered great injustice\u2019.<\/p>\n

The room is well lit with energy-saving fluorescent globes as well as natural light that flood the room through the floor-to-ceiling glass doors and windows. My friend, a Refugee Advocate, introduces me to the group. I smile politely as a man in a blue-checked sarong and a kakhi jacket looks at me and says in Tamil \u2018we\u2019re glad you came\u2019. I feel the warmth in his voice.<\/p>\n

I am not sure of his age, but his cheery face makes him look late-twenties but he might be older. The others are looking at me intently but with a smile. A third woman walks into the room. On her forehead is a large red pottu and she\u2019s wearing a black dress with orange flower prints. She is followed by a tiny little boy. I find myself in a situation that doesn\u2019t happen to me very often \u2013 I\u2019m lost for words. I sit down on my heels and smile at him.<\/p>\n

\u2018How old is he?\u2019 I ask a while later.
\n\u2018Fourteen months\u2019 replies the woman in black.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

children and Ranjini <\/p><\/div>\n

She adds that she has two older children, and that there are six children under the age of eight here. And here is Sydney\u2019s Villawood detention centre and these families are among the 50 or so recognised as genuine refugees but considered a threat to Australia\u2019s security. <\/p>\n

They cannot know why the Australian Intelligence Agency found adversely against them or appeal against those findings. As genuine refugees, they can\u2019t be sent back to where they came from. So now they are stuck indefinitely in this sufficient but soulless place.<\/p>\n

\u2018My wife and child are on the outside\u2019 the man in sarong speaks again. \u2018I see them on the weekends but I\u2019m a visitor than a husband or a father.\u2019 Underneath his upbeat, chatty and intelligent self, I sense deep sorrow.<\/p>\n

The group tells me that they are well cared-for and escorted out for essential shopping, religious activities and medical check-ups. The children get taken to the play-ground and the local school. But \u2018home\u2019 is this metal-fenced detention centre, and possibly forever.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Niromi de Soyza<\/p><\/div>\n

Some of the men affectionately play with the little boy as my friend updates them on recent activities. A uniformed Serco officer walks in \u2013 it\u2019s time to go for Beading, the bus is waiting. The families say a hurried good-bye. The father of the little boy instructs one of the young men to make the visitors a cuppa as he follows the officer. Ranjini is the only woman to stay back. \u2018I don\u2019t feel like beading today\u2019 she says. \u2018I have mild nausea because of the pregnancy\u2019 and gestures me to sit down.<\/p>\n

I still feel a little spell-bound by Ranjini, like meeting a celebrity in flesh \u2013 I watch her as she speaks rapidly but in almost a whisper. She is just as what others have described her \u2013 petite, talkative, passionate and honest.<\/p>\n

In the short time we speak, she displays a gamut of emotions \u2013 laughs when she talks about her children and new husband, smiles gratefully when I tell her about her \u2018fans\u2019 organising candle-lit vigils for her and let tears stream down her face as she remembers those who perished in the war. \u2018Acca, I don\u2019t know why I was left to live,\u2019 she says as she wipes her tears. I notice that her wrists are slender. \u2018Death would\u2019ve been much easier\u2019 she says in a broken voice.<\/p>\n

She reminds me of myself. I recognise her survivor guilt. I try to remind her of the obvious \u2013 that she needs to stay strong for her children and that there must be a reason why she lives when so many had perished. Perhaps it is her situation that will be instrumental in bringing about change in Australian government policy of indefinite detention. I try not to sound preachy. She looks intently at her fingernails and nods.<\/p>\n

Ranjini becomes animated again as she tells me about a man who visits here and gives cigarettes to the young men. \u2018Wouldn\u2019t it be better if he brings them books instead?\u2019 she asks. Listening to her speak about fellow detainees, about the people she had to leave behind in her homeland, and the wonderful people she had met in Australia, I understand she is altruistic despite her situation.<\/p>\n

Thoughts of others\u2019 welfare seem to occupy her mind more than that of herself. The sarong-clad man brings me and the two elderly women coffee and Ranjini offers us Tim Tams from the bag of goodies I had brought. The detainees\u2019 hospitality surprises me. I had expected hopelessness to have turned them bitter and angry, at least melancholic. But I see resilience and decency, whatever their past may have been.<\/p>\n

Ranjini and I chat about this and that. Although she is a decade younger than me, we have a lot in common. We chat about children, cooking and the war we had survived.<\/p>\n

Before we leave, I embrace her and tell them all to remain hopeful of their future. As my friend and I walk away from the rising dust, sounds of diggers and bulldozers making way for more buildings, I feel embarrassed that all I could offer these people were words.<\/p>\n

A Serco guard smiles and wishes us G\u2019day. I wonder if she enjoys her job and looks forward to coming to work here every day. Her pleasant face and attitude certainly softens the harshness of this place. I think to myself that a few more trees, a vegetable and a flower garden and some children\u2019s play equipment wouldn\u2019t go astray.<\/p>\n

As I get back to my life, the faces of the detainees and their guards stay with me. I had expected to meet some miserable people that day; instead, I found those making the best of what life has dished out to them. I had hoped to motivate them, instead, I found myself humbled by their spirit of generosity and resilience.<\/p>\n

Beneath their ongoing trauma, these detainees are optimists \u2013 they are the ones who in the hope of freedom, took a chance on a stranger with a leaky boat and travelled the treacherous seas to a foreign land. Now they find themselves in a hopeless situation. Ranjini says, \u2018Growing up, the only thing I ever wanted was freedom\u2019, but it seems that\u2019s the one thing that remains elusive to her.<\/p>\n

Niromi de Soyza the Sydney based author of “Tamil Tigress” wrote this piece about her day trip to Villawood Detention Centre as an exclusive for “iSrilankan”. It is reproduced here with her consent<\/em><\/p>\n

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by Niromi de Soyza As soon as I step into the reception room which reminded me of a sterile hospital cafeteria, a woman with long dark hair in a black blazer catches my eyes. The epaulettes on her jacket give her small skinny frame an air of authority. I recognise the young woman easily as …<\/p>\n

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