My Experience Of A Refugee From Kalala's Family

1268 Words 5 Pages
I sat in my car waiting, as all the mourners started to flee the funeral- my funeral.
Eleven years ago after arriving to Australia from Burundi, Africa, I met my husband Kalala Balenga, who was a recent refugee from Congo. We had the same social worker who helped us get settled. Since I spoke Swahili, and Kalala spoke English, our social worker made us spend a lot of time together, so I could learn English. Eventually we started to fall in love and ended up getting married, and moved to Melbourne Kings Park in Australia, where we had three children, plus the five that Kalala had from a previous marriage. I started to learn more about Kalala’s past. He told me about a dark time, where a rebel army invaded his village, and ransacked it.
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My birth mother had died shortly after I was born and my father remarried and then one day he never returned home, so I became very close with my stepmother. Going to her funeral was a very emotional time, because it was the last resemblance of a parent figure, who helped shaped me into the person I am today. I had a hard time telling myself to go inside the building. I didn 't want to sit through a ceremony and being told “I’m so sorry for your loss” and “She was a very good mother”. I got the courage to step inside the building and walked over to a chair that was away from everyone. While during the ceremony, I received a call from Kalala. I was relieved. He asked how I was doing and I told him how I was having a rough time dealing with the funeral and how I felt very overwhelmed. He suggested that the best thing that I could do was go outside away from everyone else, and let the fresh air calm me down. I stepped outside, took a deep breath and a man approached with a gun pointed at …show more content…
I got into a car and drove to my house. I sat there for what felt like an hour waiting for the perfect moment to rip open the doors and see all the jaws fall to the floor. But, for some reason, I didn 't want to make a big scene. Why? I had no idea. Instead I decided to wait until everyone left. The moment came. As the last few mourners left the house, I opened the door and started to walk up towards the house. I stood outside the front door and took a deep breath. Then, I opened the door and took a step inside, and then I stopped. There he stood. My pathetic husband. I just stood there looking at him. I could see that he was scared. Then, he started to walk towards me, slowly, as if he was walking on broken glass. I could hear him mumbling, but couldn 't make out the words. As he reached me, he said, “Is it my eyes, am I seeing a ghost?” He slowly lifted his arm and hesitated to touch my shoulder, hoping that his hand would go right through me. He jumped back, and then did it again, this time screaming. He fell to my feet and started crying. “Noela…. Noela… I’m so sorry for everything that I’ve done to hurt you!” It was too late for

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