When I first came to Australia, I lived with my mum in Armidale; she was goin’ through University. I started my schooling in Armidale. Mum went back to the islands when her contract expired, and I ended up being adopted by a family in Armidale, Neville and Robyn Yates. I lived with them until I left school. I wasn’t exactly a great scholar. So I started working as a butcher. I grew to like it, and thought, “I’ll finish my apprenticeship.” Then I moved to the Northern Territory, butchering there for a bit; then I went to work on the roads for a while. I was never much of an indoor person.
I took to Australia right off. My father was Aussie, although I never met him. I go for the laid-back Aussie humour, and the way they go about things. I’ve been here so long now I class myself as an Aussie, the type who appreciates a few beers and catching up with my mates. I go for the lifestyle. I’ve got good friends from all over, from New South Wales and the Northern Territory. I have a couple of really close friends. One is Tommy Ducat, from Armidale. His father, Peter, is the mayor and a good bloke. Tommy and I went through heaps together, with his family and my family. He came over to Kiribati once, when we were young, and I often stay with his family. We’ve been through a fair bit together, and we’ve also been in some trouble together. It wasn’t Tommy most of the time who caused it. It was usually me.
I got myself into a fair bit of strife. It took me a while to wake up. I used to get locked up from about fifteen on. It came to the point where I had to have counselling so I could stay out of detention centres. They used to ask whether I was eating well at home, and stuff like that. The family who adopted me in Armidale owned a restaurant and corner store, and made the best fish and chips in the entire world, so there was nothing wrong with my eating. I think I’m a bit, “How yer’ goin?” when I get a few beers in me, or when I’m rubbed up the wrong way. You have to find out where you stand at that sort of age. I remember coming to Australia, and I couldn’t speak English. I let everything roll over the top, let everything brush off. I couldn’t stand up for myself until I spoke English and started playing rugby league. Then I thought I was big enough to look after myself. I found out I’m not too bad at lookin’ after myself when the shit hits the fan.
Life on Kiribati is pretty cruisy. It mainly revolves around families. Our family is sorta high up. Government jobs, an’ stuff like that, an’ trucks we hire out. Kiribati is pretty laid-back; you can pretty much do as you want, so long as you stick by the rules of respect for your elders, an’ do the right thing, and don’t go overboard. It’s pretty controlled in the islands; ’cause it’s a small place, everyone talks about everyone. You might have to marry someone, so it pays to keep a good record for down the track.
I have a son. His name is Jason, and he’s eight years old. It happened when I was sixteen or seventeen; it’s a sad story. I was living in Armidale, and I was playin’ up. It came to the point of being deported from Australia. I don’t know how it works, seein’ my dad’s pure Aussie, from Wollongong. It’s a fact I was born and raised in Kiribati, so when the shit hit the fan in Armidale, I had to go back to Kiribati. I couldn’t believe it at the time, but I guess I was just young and pretty naïve. I got the official letter, and I thought, “The shit’s really hit the fan now. What am I gonna do?” I thought, maybe Neville could help me out; pull me through. I heard about people bein’ deported, but never dreamed it would happen to me. They say if I don’t go, they’ll come and drag me from my house, escort me to the airport, and I’m thinkin’, “Jeez, this is a bit embarrassing.” Neville says, “You better go, leave Australia and don’t complain. This is gonna take a solicitor!” So I rock up in Brisbane, say goodbye to Neville and, as I pass through immigration an alarm goes off, and it finally sinks in. Security arrives, and they take away my passport, and escort me to a small room, where they carry on interviewing me.
“I’m goin’ home, I got this letter, an’ I’m goin’ home.”
“Yeah. Good.”
This is a bit of a prick, this feller talkin’ to me. I’m more Aussie than he is. He’s got a towel wrapped around his head, and I can’t understand his accent. I’m angry, and I say, “Oh yeah, let’s see what happens down the track.”
“You thinkin’ of coming back here?”
“Yeah, when we get this thing sorted out.”
He laughs in my face, like the smart arse he is.
“Don’t think of comin’ back here for twelve years. You’re gone!” He hands me my papers, and that’s when it hits, “Jeez, this is it, for sure!”
I’m pretty upset as I walk down to join Neville. I know they can tell something’s wrong. When the time comes, I give them a wave, and hop on the plane, and that’s when it grabs me, “That’s it!”
I’m really quiet on the plane. I talk to friends who know my family, and they’re trying to figure out what happened, whether it’s drugs. I finally get home, and I say to myself, that’s it for Australia. It’s back to my normal routine, and going to school. I’m not really interested in school; I’m more into rugby league. That’s the only sport I can play. There goes that little dream. I start playin’ up heaps, and drinkin’ heaps. I’m young, but thinkin’ I’m older, ’cause I’ve been overseas, and stuff. I’m thinkin’ I’m pretty cool, knockin’ round with other fellers, drinking and fighting, and stuff like that. Then, coming to the thing, I remember this chick, from when I was younger and living here. She used to sing in a band. Her name is Temarewe. It’s a Kiribas name, and has to do with the flowering tip of a tree. I like her heaps. Lucky me, her cousin comes over one night, and tells me she likes me. I can’t believe it, but then I find out, yeah, she’s pretty interested. I can’t believe my luck. So we start seein’ each other, and she’s, sort of, the first girl I ever felt serious about, and really ever loved. It’s hard in the islands, ’cause her family is Catholic, and I’m Protestant. Her family thinks they have everything; they’re pretty rich, into shipping and other things. She has everything goin’ for her, and I’m nothin’ but a bum. I drive hire trucks for my family, just cruisin’, livin’ in a bit of a dreamland. I’m also still in shock, ’cause I thought I’d be living back in Australia. Neville and Robyn, they still talk to me by phone.
“We’re still workin’ on it; we’re not giving up on you.”
Anyway, I’m back in the island, not worryin’ about anything, just thinkin’ about my life. I’m thinkin’, well, I might as well start a little family, ’cause we’re in love, and we spend a fair bit of time together. I talk to Neville and Robyn about it. They ring pretty often, and I tell ’em I’ve lost interest in comin’ back. In a way I’m sayin’ goodbye to Australia. I keep remembering the feller at the airport, and how he laughed as he told me I wouldn’t be back in twelve years. I faded Australia away, an’ we kept goin’ with our trucks an’ everything. It’s cruisy, and I’m in love. Down the track I find out her family doesn’t like me, but we don’t care, we hide, and see each other all the time. Then Neville rings from Australia to say they’ve had a breakthrough, and says it’s now okay to come back. On the one hand I’m happy, but I’m in love, and I don’t want to leave what I have in Kiribati. So this is how I work it out. I’ll go back to Australia, and get my papers sorted out. Then I’ll bring Temarewe to Australia. But then her family won’t let her; it’s really complicated. I find out she’s a couple of weeks late, and that’s hard. I’m really upset about it. She isn’t happy, either, about me goin’. So by now I’m in Australia, where I find out I won’t be able to leave for three years. I’m on a probation visa for three years. If I do everything right by the government and the law, then I get my visa, or whatever they call it, at the end of the day. This really hits me hard, and I ring Temarewe, and tell her. She can’t believe a law exists that keeps two people apart. I tell her I can’t go back, so will she come over here? She says her family will kill her, and don’t even mention it. I’m seventeen, she’s eighteen, and pregnant. She says, “I’m dead. My family are going to kill me when they find out I’m pregnant.” She doesn’t understand; I try everything I can to get her to come over, but that’s it, everything just fades away, and she rings me and says, “My stomach is coming up, and they’re going to see it, and kill me if I don’t have a father! What I’m going to tell you will hurt me more than it hurts you. This is what’s going to happen. I’m going to get someone to marry me … and especially, being a Catholic, I can’t have an abortion.” I’m at home with Neville at the time. It hits me really bad. It feels like something is stuck in my gullet. Temarewe doesn’t really like this person she’s supposed to marry. So I’m pretty upset. Temarewe rings again later to say she’s married, and that her husband’s pretty jealous. I’m banned from talking to her. I say, “What about my son’s situation?” She’s in hospital, giving birth, and I have to tell my family. It’s the most frustrating thing. I’m not allowed to leave Australia, to fix things up, or help in any way.
I’ve seen my son a couple of times, on short visits. But you can’t run up to him, and say, “Hey! I’m your dad!” He’ll probably scream, and run away.
I’m interested in the work I do right now, and hangin’ out with my mates. Ever since the trouble with Temarewe, I’m not too interested in chasin’ women, or fallin’ in love. It’s pretty much all work, watchin’ rugby league, havin’ a few beers with the boys, or spending time with the family.
My relationship with Neville goes up and down. Sometimes he comes across like a boss, or a father figure, but he’s more like a full-on boss. My pop was a hard man, too, and when I was really young, he used to slap me around. When I’m playin’ up, and hangin’ round, Neville tries to get me to do the right thing, but most times it goes in one ear and out the other. Whenever I’m in the cop shop, the shit really hits the fan, and that’s when I let myself down bad. Yeah, it’s a pretty stormy relationship with Neville. I get angry and confused, but Neville’s pretty good to me. He carries on like a good mate. We sit down and have a beer, and whenever I don’t agree with him, I’ll say, “Nuh.” And I walk off, and we don’t talk for a couple of days. Neville really understands where I’m comin’ from.