An Afghan Refugee's Journey Through Food

1. This is the story of my coming to Australia as a refugee from Afghanistan and my life in Australia, told through food.

2. The very first thing I ever ate in Australia was a Lamington. It’s a square of sponge cake coated in chocolate icing and rolled in coconut. I had been in a refugee camp for two years, living off rice, beans, and millet porridge. There had never been enough and there certainly had never been sweets or cakes. Even fruit had been a rare and luxurious treat. I had just gotten off the plane to Australia and while I was waiting someone offered me a Lamington. The memory of biting into is so clear in my mind, I remember everything, what the room looked like, where I was standing, what clothes I was wearing and most of all the taste. In that moment it was the best thing I had ever tasted, soft and sweet. I have since had them many times, but none can compare to that first one.

3. The next food I want to talk about is Vegemite. But first I need to talk about something else. The Toaster. Before coming to Australia, I had never seen a Toaster or sliced bread in a loaf. I was put in transitional housing, and it came with a toaster. I didn’t know what it was, so I left it alone. I asked my case worker and she showed me, I was amazed. I thought “Its like a little naan oven that doesn’t use fire”. When the toast jumped out with a bang, I screamed just a little.

4. First, I tried the toast with butter, which I loved, it was like ghee, and I love ghee. Then I decided to try Vegemite, it seemed like the quintessential Australia food, and I felt like I needed to try it. I buttered the toast and spread the Vegemite thinly over it, the Vegemite looked like shoe polish and it smelled like strong meat broth and chemicals despite neither being present. The first bite tasted bitter and salty and where it touched the exposed skin of my lips it burnt. I threw it away and washed my face like I had a chemical burn. In a few days I tried again, this time careful to not get it on my skin. I spread it even thinner and took a careful bite, my lips pulled back. This time I could see the appeal, it was rich, savoury, and unique. I finished the toast, but I do not have any desire to eat it again. I will stick with butter.

5. After a few months I was able to get work and move into my own place, a small, terraced cottage in a smallish mountain village, it has a little backyard with beautiful birds and flowers. My neighbour is a nice older lady who one day asked me if I would like to go with her to the seaside (about 90 minutes away). I had never seen the ocean up close before nor felt it on my skin. I can’t swim, but I let the waves wash against the bottom of legs and feet. It filled me with a joy that’s hard to explain.

6. For lunch we went to a seafood restaurant. I really wanted to try lobster and crab, but I had heard that sometimes they are placed into boiling water while still alive. For me that is haram, and I would not like that to happen to any living creature. So, I asked the waitress, she didn’t know, but said she would ask the chef. The chef came out, she was a blonde, white Australian in her 30’s. She assured me that she killed them first before cooking and said that I could come watch if I wanted to make sure. I told her that I trusted her, but she said she would like me to watch, so I agreed. It was an open kitchen so I could watch without actually entering. The chef talked the whole while, explaining everything, much of it I missed as my English could not keep up. I was so honoured that she cared that much about making sure it was right for me. The food itself when it was finished, was amazing. It had been fried in butter and tasted like heaven.

7. A big community event happened in my village. I went along and it seemed like everyone was there (Covid didn’t affect us until Omnicom came in the last month). In the middle of the event was a square shaped food stall run by a charity with barbeques set up. It was what Australians call the “Sausage Sizzle”. There was possibly the largest man I had ever seen running it, I later learned he was Samoan, he seemed like he was twice my height and 3x my weight (I admit that I am short and skinny, so that’s not hard), but he spoke in a soft gentle voice and had soft gentle eyes. He saw me looking and asked if I wanted to have some? I said that I didn’t think I could. He nodded and said he had vegetarian sausages that he cooked on a different barbeque, and could I eat those? I smiled and agreed. He grabbed a napkin, put a slice of bread on it and slapped a sausage diagonally across it and asked, “Do you want onion?” I said I didn’t know, and he laughed. It was a nice laugh. He is a nice man and I hope that life will always make him laugh. He said that he would give me one with and one without. He handed them to me and said, “Get some sauce on em”. I put mustard as I find tomato sauce too sweet. I tried to pay him, but he laughed and waved it away. He pulled off his glove and reached into his pocket and paid with his own money. I tried to protest but he just waved it away again and said it was his pleasure. I thanked him and he said it was “no worries love”.

I bit into it, and it tasted so good. I walked through the crowd eating it and trying not to spill mustard on myself. People grinned at me, and I grinned back. I was happy. The war, death, and suffering that has been my whole life, felt like it had faded just a tiny bit. I wasn’t scanning the crowds looking for gunmen or potential bombs. My ears weren’t straining to hear the sound of approaching helicopters, drones or military vehicles. I wasn’t feeling guilty for being alive when so many weren’t.

I realised that I finally felt like I belonged.

Thank you for reading. If you want to know more of my story, check my profile. Special thanks to my best friend & fellow Afghan @HeyArabella.