Free Sydney's Song by Ia Uaro Page B

nodded quietly and we nodded quietly back.
    â€œI don’t think he likes migrants,” I told Nina.
    â€œOn the contrary. He’s friendly with our community because we’re migrants-through-the-front-door. He occasionally attends our events.”
    Hornsby’s Mall makeover was a complete mess, with only takeaway food. We ordered grilled fish and sat in the Florence Street promenade.
    â€œAren’t you scared racist people will treat you badly?” I asked Nina.
    â€œNo. Australians are very friendly. I’ve heard of some racist ones. Perhaps I’ve unknowingly encountered some, but when you behave like a model citizen they wouldn’t have any reason to express their leaning, would they now?”
    She explained migrants-through-the-front-door meant the UN gave them priority due to the persecution against their religious community. In their homelands others attacked and killed them and theirs, while authorities watched. As they were an anti-violence community with the principle “Love for all. Hatred for none”, they peacefully left.
    â€œThis is home now. It’s no hardship to show gratitude to Australia.”
    â€œI’m proud Australia assists the oppressed,” I offered. “But some people look down on people they don’t know, thinking the women are backward and oppressed by their men. They wouldn’t know you’re very smart.”
    â€œIt’s no big deal. No one will think badly of me, except the low people. And no one will honour me, except the honourable.”
    She further told me there were over 1100 ethnic-groups and over 700 active languages in Indonesia, which made me sad thinking of our vastly diminished Aboriginal languages.
    Nina belonged to the Minang ethnic-group of West Sumatra, a strongly matriarchal people. For over a thousand years women had been the heads of families. Only daughters can inherit.
    â€œHow cool! I’ve never heard of that before. Western suffragettes were only a hundred years ago. But who is persecuting the Minang people?”
    â€œNo, I didn’t explain it well. Minang is my ethnic group. But the one being persecuted is my religious group, Ahmadiyya. In Muslim countries we’re persecuted by other Muslims, the majority, who refuse to accept us as Muslims.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œMany issues. We don’t believe in any form of violence.”
    In her sect women received equal treatment to men, with most of the women highly educated. She had a cousin who was an actual rocket scientist in the literal sense of the word. No kidding.
    Pete flashed his light when I floor-walked after lunch.
    â€œThis guy’s yelling his lung out ‘cause his 178 is shockingly late,” he told me. “What’s happening?”
    I checked with Ratko. He walked to Pete while calling Sydney Buses on the cordless phone.
    â€œNo reported delay,” Ratko reported.
    â€œWhaat?”
    â€œSydney, that’s what we’re told. We’re under the obligation to tell customers exactly what we’re told.”
    â€œBut Radio Room fired that out right away! They didn’t check first!”
    Ratko lifted his arms, giving up.
    In helplessness I turned to Pete, who was watching me closely. We looked into each other’s eyes—feeling bad, guilty, very sorry for the caller. There was a shared understanding there…
    Tuesday was my day off. I had asked our cleaner Vivian to come only every fortnight. Her pay came automatically from Mum’s bank-account—Mum’s way of showing me she cared.
    â€œRent out some rooms to students,” Vivian suggested. “Extra money.”
    â€œNo. The house isn’t mine.” Mum earned a lot as the finance director of a multinational trading company, while Dad earned obscene pay with an American oil company in Indonesia. But the house still belonged to them.
    â€œYou Aussies are particular,” she chided. “We Asians never