Do not judge the colour of my skin.

“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.”
― Martin Luther King Jr. 

These past few weeks I’ve been reading through the archives of my past life. This often leads me to reflect on the inhumane treatment we endured while growing up in South Africa. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not wallowing but reflecting. I know many don’t and prefer to bury the past, but I often reflect and walk through the pain to face my trauma.

The first time we applied to come to Australia in 1981 we had no idea how our lives would be turned upside down. But that’s for another blog. A few months before our interview at the Australian Embassy in Cape Town, an older relative (rest his soul) advised me how to prepare for the interview. He made reference to the white Australia policy that had ended in 1973.

In his opinion, my husband Chris and 4-year-old Sasha, based on their skin tone, would have no problem with the interview process but somehow my darker shade posed a threat. Naively, I listened to him about staying out of the harsh African sun and to wear a sun hat to prevent my face from going any darker. His advice actually crushed my soul; I was so worried that we would be rejected because of my skin shade, that I stayed out of the sun.

At our interview in the small office of the Australian Embassy, I wore long sleeves to cover my brown arms. I had spent hours straightening my hair the day before and used a method we called swirling which involved tightly wrapping a nylon stocking on my head!

While waiting for our interview, we watched a video showing the Australian landmarks, and kangaroos and koalas. I was mesmerised by the vast landscapes, beautiful beaches, the Opera House and Harbour Bridge. Chris browsed through the newspapers checking out the prices of properties and cars.

I don’t recall seeing anything about the First Nations history. I had seen some of the history in a TV series Against the Wind and learned how NSW was established. There were none of the discriminatory signs, that we had grown up with, visible anywhere!

Our interview with the two officers, was nothing like I had imagined. If they were ticking boxes on the form, they didn’t make it obvious. We felt prepared when they asked us the blatantly obvious question: ‘ Why do you want to leave and why did you choose Australia?’  This was despite them knowing about the atrocious conditions we lived under and the privileged conditions that they qualified to live under. We evaded the obvious answer and referred to the similar climate, job opportunities and English language. Could we have stated the obvious? Would that have made us too rebellious and unsuited to Australia’s policies?

We will never know.

My cousin had made ‘Sunday curls’ in Sasha’s hair and she had the rosiest cheeks with a sprinkling of freckles (like white people!). Peaches and cream complexion people called it. It probably saved us. My older sister and her family had arrived 2 years prior, and they were doing fine. Admittedly their skins were a few shades lighter than mine.

When we received our acceptance letter, it was all surreal. We had so much to do – the sale of our property and the many farewell parties. Sasha had little idea that we would be ripping her away from the people that she adored and take her to a far away place where we only knew my sister and her family. Is this the life we dreamed of for ourselves and our children?

Pictured at the airport in July 1982, 5 months pregnant with Michelin. I had covered my arms and face from the harsh African sun but look at my legs.

Beryl Crosher-Segers, Storyteller ‘Never be ashamed of or dismissive of our history, it’s a part of who we are.’