Refugee AU 2018 OOM 2
Aug. 25th, 2018 01:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
imthepilotBodhi felt like cattle, shuffled from pen to pen in the big immigration and asylum processing centre.
Every shade of human misery was caught in those pens with him – children and the elderly, men who had left their families behind or were here to follow them over. Those who had lost everything, or only parts. Quite often of themselves judging by the way their sleeves hung flat or they leant heavily on crutches.
So many had lost their souls along the way too. Eyes flat and dead as the friends and family they lost.
The girls are alive. Bodhi reminded himself. And Galen is waiting for me.
It makes his heart tighten to think of the older man. They’d known each other for less than two days and Bodhi was already in love.
As was Galen.
It almost would have been easier if it hadn’t been mutual. If it had just been an unrequited crush he could have written off and moved on from.
But they both felt it. Bone deep. Like something that was always meant to be.
He was janked out of his revelry by a bell, calling him into an interview room.
The processing officer on the other side of the table looked as soulless and tired as the refugees. Maybe the feeling was infections.
Bodhi went over what he’d gone over before – his name, nationality, reasons for seeking asylum. He listed his education, his work history, his qualifications.
It was all duly noted without much reaction. Without much more than mechanical nods and shrugs. All read from a script.
The next office is all medical checks. He’s stripped down and checked for lice, tested for STDs, poked and prodded, and pees in a cup on queue.
As warm and personal as an abattoir.
Blood tests and immunisations leave his arms spotted with tiny holes. He’s grilled about the splattered marks on his arms, the small healing dot for from IV Rochin gave him. They check him for track-marks, warned him that lying about drug addictions will lead to his deportation.
The scars on his back raise no questions at all. War related injuries are of no interest here. Of no novelty.
Allowed to dress again, he’s sent on to another room. This time to be grilled about his claims of British heritage. His copies of his grandmother’s papers – birth and death certificate, and passport are scrutinised. Demands made as to why he doesn’t have to originals.
He repeats over and over that his sisters have the originals. Gives their location as Rochin gave it to him. Promised to provide them as soon as he’s reunited with them.
In the end, they herd him into another pen to be transported to another processing facility. The one where his paperwork is. Where his sisters are.
It’s only by luck and a young intern who hasn’t died inside that he’s able to get a message to Galen before they herd him onto the bus.
He can only hope Galen is willing, and able, to follow him there.
Every shade of human misery was caught in those pens with him – children and the elderly, men who had left their families behind or were here to follow them over. Those who had lost everything, or only parts. Quite often of themselves judging by the way their sleeves hung flat or they leant heavily on crutches.
So many had lost their souls along the way too. Eyes flat and dead as the friends and family they lost.
The girls are alive. Bodhi reminded himself. And Galen is waiting for me.
It makes his heart tighten to think of the older man. They’d known each other for less than two days and Bodhi was already in love.
As was Galen.
It almost would have been easier if it hadn’t been mutual. If it had just been an unrequited crush he could have written off and moved on from.
But they both felt it. Bone deep. Like something that was always meant to be.
He was janked out of his revelry by a bell, calling him into an interview room.
The processing officer on the other side of the table looked as soulless and tired as the refugees. Maybe the feeling was infections.
Bodhi went over what he’d gone over before – his name, nationality, reasons for seeking asylum. He listed his education, his work history, his qualifications.
It was all duly noted without much reaction. Without much more than mechanical nods and shrugs. All read from a script.
The next office is all medical checks. He’s stripped down and checked for lice, tested for STDs, poked and prodded, and pees in a cup on queue.
As warm and personal as an abattoir.
Blood tests and immunisations leave his arms spotted with tiny holes. He’s grilled about the splattered marks on his arms, the small healing dot for from IV Rochin gave him. They check him for track-marks, warned him that lying about drug addictions will lead to his deportation.
The scars on his back raise no questions at all. War related injuries are of no interest here. Of no novelty.
Allowed to dress again, he’s sent on to another room. This time to be grilled about his claims of British heritage. His copies of his grandmother’s papers – birth and death certificate, and passport are scrutinised. Demands made as to why he doesn’t have to originals.
He repeats over and over that his sisters have the originals. Gives their location as Rochin gave it to him. Promised to provide them as soon as he’s reunited with them.
In the end, they herd him into another pen to be transported to another processing facility. The one where his paperwork is. Where his sisters are.
It’s only by luck and a young intern who hasn’t died inside that he’s able to get a message to Galen before they herd him onto the bus.
He can only hope Galen is willing, and able, to follow him there.
no subject
Date: 2018-08-25 08:01 am (UTC)He's waiting by the fence that the bus passes through into this second shelter, he is there, following the bus on foot and waving aside some minor official with the membership card from his NGO, and then he is there by another, smaller door some metres away from the one Bodhi and the others are being led into, not making a fuss, just waving for Bodhi to go ahead and follow the others; he will be there on the other side.
no subject
Date: 2018-08-25 08:08 am (UTC)Please let them be okay.
The thought of them being stripped and deloused the way he was made his blood boil.
And like the last place, he was shuffled and herded and made to recite everything again.
The only things that stopped Bodhi going out of his mind was knowing the girls were here, and Galen was waiting.
Finally, after some hours, they directed him into a room.
And Pema and Malika leapt into his arms. Weeping and hugging and kissing them both for what seemed like a lifetime, Bodhi ignored the other person in the room. A processing officer who seemed alive enough inside not to hurry them till the crashing wave of emotion had ebbed.
Once again, he went over everything, matching his copied documents to the originals the girls carried. As their legal guardian, he was granted asylum with them and put on a temporary protection visa pending their British Heritage visa going through.
When the processing officer started arranging them temporary accommodation, Bodhi shyly admitted he had a friend waiting for him. A friend who’d offered to help him find work and somewhere to stay.
The girls gave him side-eyes, knowing Bodhi wouldn’t be that shy about an ordinary friend.
Once all the paperwork was stamped, all the visas signed, Bodhi headed to the door, a sister under each arm.
And there was Galen. Waiting for him.
And the sun came out.
no subject
Date: 2018-08-25 08:26 am (UTC)"I'm Galen, from the ship that fished your brother from the sea," he introduces himself. "And you must be Malika, and you, Pema. Right?"
It seems obvious which one is older and who the younger.
no subject
Date: 2018-08-25 08:38 am (UTC)"Like hell!" Bodhi grabs his sister, picking her up in a bear hug before she can snatch the keys out of Galen's hand.
Pema, far more polite than her older sister, offers Galen her hand. "Yes, that's us. Thank you for helping us. We really do appreciate it."
They're both lighter skinned that Bodhi and Pema has serious dark eyes, more blue than brown. But the family resemblance is obvious.