We're all immigrants somewhere else, and all journeys start in hope.
Image for illustrative purposes. Picture: iStock
Immigration, stranger danger, the ousting of people from across borders… it’s all got me a bit devastated right now.
To my selfish shame, this is not just because of the Malawians, Zimbabweans, and other Africans currently living in abject fear in South Africa, people who arrived just wanting to build a better life like so many migrants the world over.
Xenophobia
Nor is it simply due to xenophobia, that pernicious dehumanisation of fellow people casting a poisonous shadow, although it is that, too.
Nor is it just horror at the door-to-door vigilantism, the torching of shacks, the hunting of people born elsewhere as if they were prey, the fear for their lives of visitors to my home country, though obviously there’s that as well.
I hoped we were better than this… But today my very personal grief is because my family have just been adversely affected by new, restrictive migration rules too.
A personal tale
Until July 2024, South Africans could travel to visit Ireland on holiday without a prior visa.
My daughter-in-law could come and stay, my friends could visit on a (rather expensive) whim. No more.
South African passport holders who have overstayed their welcome are being deported apace.
This month, my precious grandbaby was at last due to visit Ireland from Cape Town. He was arriving this Saturday, gone to hang out with his Jenma – his parents were escorting him – but the day before they were to fly, the whole thing had to be cancelled because the necessary visas weren’t issued in time.
My Sam-Sam isn’t coming. My heart is filled with stones.
For six months I have envisaged his little hand in mine as we explore this new world, looking at the fuzzy fat bumblebees, laughing as we watch my greyhounds run like the wind, feeding the birds together, looking at the moon, throwing stones into the river, showing him off to my friends and neighbours because surely they’ve never seen a child quite as interesting and beautiful as this one.
His 93-year-old great granny couldn’t wait to meet Sam, either. Last week I set up a cot for him and hung a crystal prism in the window so that sun-captured rainbows would dance around the room – rainbows we could chase together.
Now it seems I was chasing rainbows all along.
Because we’re all immigrants somewhere else. And all journeys start in hope.
