The Little Refugee Part 1

Taken by Coast Magazine

This is about a little person. Little in stature, not ability, nor strength of spirit. This person is tenacious, clever, wise and funny. He had a life in a country far from ours. But war, distress, hunger and the burning of villages by Burmese soldiers caused him to leave his country, and settle in a Thai border refugee camp (Mae La), along with thousands of other displaced people.

Opportunites to learn in the camp were minimal for those who had passed school age. Food was rice and fish paste, supplemented with whatever could be grown, gathered or caught nearby, because people  had no work permits to allow them to work legally. The drums rolled often, to mark the demise of people, often children. Parasites and disease were common.
One day someone offered him a chance. They offered to pay the costs of bringing him to Australia, to shepherd a small group of stressed but optimistic Karen, ready to brave the unknown to give their families a better life. They were coming to a small country town, because life there would be simpler than in the city, and people would be friendlier. There were English classes, and a group of interested people ready to help them to settle. Training had been provided for volunteers.

But the reality of dropping people into a foreign culture was brutal. Town traffic with busy streets, shops with strange foods and alien smells, people who talked a language they didn't know, and a house with unfamiliar gadgets everywhere.
It would take courage to embrace this new life. On arrival in the town, after a two hour car trip from Melbourne airport, the quiet monk was given a meal. It had been cooked by a local lady familiar with cooking spicy Thai food, as a welcome gesture. It was eaten at a low table in the centre where his English classes would be held; - the hub where many learning and training options would occur. His face was calm, with a degree of bewilderment, but curiosity rather than fear registered. We took him to his temporary accommodation - a week's stay... with a male, as his religion dictated.
The first week, a native speaker of their language came to help the group shop for food and essentials, and to explain living arrangements and answer their questions.  They were so overwhelmed a lot of his advice went right over their head. He himself was still learning to come to terms with our customs and language.The weary travellers were faced immediately with the battery of health tests and government forms to ensure access to benefits until they could earn their own money. It was neither quick nor easy to get electricity connected, leases signed, phones connected, bank accounts opened and tax file numbers given. Telephone interpreters assisted, but because of the small numbers of people who speak their language we often had to muddle through with limited interpreting. This became an ongoing issue as doctors could not guarantee an interpreter at the time of consultation, and explanations of medicines and how often to take them were baffling to people used to limited access to any form of healthcare.
Behind the scenes, the system rolled along- the government provision of basic household goods  arrived, and furnished the newly-leased properties. The part-time settlement worker struggled to provide essential services- but someone was really needed oncall 24 hrs a day in those first weeks. Without kindly volunteers the whole process would have been too hard for all concerned. And the volunteers were kind - from making beautiful patchwork quilts to chopping wood, the tasks were many and varied.  All through this early process, the monk supported the families, and though only in his early twenties, he provided the anchor they needed to survive the early challenges.