Both Mahe and his dad Tui were raised by their Tongan grandmothers. In the last episode of the series, father and son discuss namesakes, queerness, and parenting through fear and uncertainty.
Content warning: This episode contains reference to domestic violence and discussion of losing children.
Watch the video version of the episode here
Both Mahe and his dad Tui were raised by their Tongan grandmothers. In the last episode of the series, father and son discuss namesakes, queerness, and parenting through fear and uncertainty.
Mahe and his dad Tui Pofele share a heartfelt conversation in the last episode of Conversations with My Immigrant Parents. Tui arrived in Tāmaki Makaurau from Tonga when he was very young, although he is unsure of his exact age when he arrived, and is unable to corroborate it.
"No-one tells my story properly," Tui recalls, "They have no record of me entering New Zealand. That's why I always joke and say, 'Well give my tax money back.' So I gather I came really young."
Tui also had Mahe when he was young, becoming a father for the first time at age 20. When he and Mahe's mother separated, Tui's mother Manaema took care of Mahe so that Tui could work enough to be able to support Mahe and his siblings. Mahe credits Manaema with a lot of his upbringing and character, saying, "She's embedded in me." Mahe describes his grandmother's sacrifices as motivation to work hard and strive for excellence in his own life.
One of the reasons Mahe put himself and Tui forward for the podcast was to have more of a discussion about his sexuality, which he had revealed to his father a few years earlier.
"I knew that I was bisexual, and even if you took it badly, I was prepared to just carry on with my life anyway, because for me, I wanted to be fully happy."
Mahe also talks a little more about what it's like occupying a liminal space in terms of his sexuality. He says that often he feels bisexual men are not truly accepted in either gay or straight communities, and that he struggles to make and maintain queer friendship groups.
The makers of this podcast want to extend a special note of gratitude to Mahe and Tui for sharing their time and stories. Tui's wife Lovi was very ill when this podcast recording took place and, tragically, she passed away not long after.
Hương fell pregnant at 20, but she didn't know it was twins until it was time to push. In this bilingual episode, she talks with her daughters Hà and Ly about dependence, marriage, and homecomings.
This episode is available both in the original Vietnamese and with an English dub.
Watch the video version of the episode here
Hương fell pregnant at 20, but she didn't know it was twins until it was time to push. In this bilingual episode, she talks with her daughters Hà and Ly about dependence, marriage, and homecomings.
Hương Nguyễn didn't know she was having two babies when she was pregnant.
"I delivered Ly first. I had absolutely no idea about the twins. The doctor said I still needed to deliver one more baby."
In this penultimate and special bilingual episode of Conversations With My Immigrant Parents, Hương sits down with her twin daughters Hà and Ly and talks about wishing she had more support with raising them, what going back home to Vietnam for the first time since she left as a young woman was like, and a closeness with her daughters that is like sisterhood.
The Nguyễn whānau arrived here as refugees from Vietnam, via Hong Kong, where Ly and Hà lived for the first two years of their lives. There was little food, baby clothes, or things to buy or share in the camp, and Hương tried hard to provide for her daughters. When cooking she had to balance one on her front and the other on her back. Her descriptions paint a clear picture of how different life with two babies was instead of the one she had expected.
The pandemic started right when Hà's long-term relationship ended and she moved back in with her mother in her 30s. In many ways, Hà and Hương believe this physical closeness has helped their relationship grow. As Hương describes it, "I know her more, can understand her more, and really empathise with each other's stories. It's quite pleasant, actually. Fun at times, too!"…
Hương fell pregnant at 20, but she didn't know it was twins until it was time to push. In this bilingual episode, she talks with her daughters Hà and Ly about dependence, marriage, and homecomings.
This episode is available both in the original Vietnamese and with an English dub.
Watch the video version of the episode here
Hương fell pregnant at 20, but she didn't know it was twins until it was time to push. In this bilingual episode, she talks with her daughters Hà and Ly about dependence, marriage, and homecomings.
Hương Nguyễn didn't know she was having two babies when she was pregnant.
"I delivered Ly first. I had absolutely no idea about the twins. The doctor said I still needed to deliver one more baby."
In this penultimate and special bilingual episode of Conversations with My Immigrant Parents, Hương sits down with her twin daughters Hà and Ly and talks about wishing she had more support with raising them, what going back home to Vietnam for the first time since she left as a young woman was like, and a closeness with her daughters that is like sisterhood.
The Nguyễn whānau arrived here as refugees from Vietnam, via Hong Kong, where Ly and Hà lived for the first two years of their lives. There was little food, baby clothes, or things to buy or share in the camp, and Hương tried hard to provide for her daughters. When cooking, she had to balance one on her front and the other on her back. Her descriptions paint a clear picture of how different life with two babies was instead of the one she had expected.
The pandemic started right when Hà's long-term relationship ended and she moved back in with her mother in her 30s. In many ways, Hà and Hương believe this physical closeness has helped their relationship grow. As Hương describes it, "I know her more, can understand her more, and really empathise with each other's stories. It's quite pleasant, actually. Fun at times, too!"…
Tooba and her husband Habib chat with their teens about community and strength in Ōtautahi, a place that has been both a source of immense grief and love since they arrived in 2007 from Pakistan.
Content warning: This episode contains discussion of the white supremacist terror attack of March 15th, 2019.
Watch the video version of the episode here
Tooba and her husband Habib chat with their teens about community and strength in Ōtautahi, a place that has been both a source of immense grief and love since they arrived in 2007 from Pakistan.
Habib, Tooba, and their children Fatima and Usman have lived through some of the darkest events in Ōtautahi's history. The family moved from Pakistan in 2007, and have lived in Ōtautahi ever since. Habib works for the Ministry of Ethnic Communities and Tooba doesn't formally have a job, though she does a great deal of work providing support to many members of her community. Fatima and Usman, despite being a year apart, are in the same year at high school.
After arriving in their new home town, the family moved around a number of times, living in rental houses all around Christchurch from their arrival up until 2021. According to Tooba, leaving one house and moving into the next was a test of strength: "The bad thing about moving houses was the inspections. They were giving us the dirtiest house and then we were cleaning and making it like new, and after three months, taking photos, even if there was one piece of grass growing, and they were saying, 'You need to mow like this.'"
The 2011 earthquake was a crisis felt by the whole country, though the magnitude of it was hard to comprehend for anyone outside the city, and especially to those unfamiliar with what Ōtautahi pre-earthquake might have looked and felt like. But unfortunately, they were only the first of two major tragedies to be suffered in the same decade.
2019's white supremacist terror attack at Al Noor mosque and the Linwood Islamic Centre was, in Tooba's words, "the worst nightmare of our life." The family describe realising the magnitude of the violence against their community more and more over the course of the day, as they learnt about what exactly had unfolded. Fatima says she started wearing her hijab after the attacks, and doesn't think she would have done so if not for that, and Usman talks about his school facilitating more Muslim groups since the attacks. Tooba and Habib's community work leveled up following the March 15th attacks, and remains an important aspect of family life…
In Tūranganui-a-Kiwa, Mara and Beto learn how their son Jamil found out about the birds and the bees in Brazil, while their kids talk about growing up black in Gisborne and having DJs for parents.
Content warning: This episode contains reference to sexual content.
Watch the video version of the episode here
In Tūranganui-a-Kiwa, Mara and Beto learn how their son Jamil found out about the birds and the bees in Brazil, while their kids talk about growing up black in Gisborne and having DJs for parents.
The Weiss dos Santos whānau have lived for many years in Tūranganui-a-Kiwa. Parents Mara and Beto are DJs. They perform under the name BrazilBeat Sound System and have toured Aotearoa many times, playing in festivals and night clubs. Daughter Jazz works in film production in Tāmaki Makaurau, and younger son Jamil has recently arrived there for university.
Beto was born and raised in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, and Mara grew up in San Diego in the United States. Mara went to Brazil as part of an environmental conference, and ended up meeting Beto there. They lived together in Brazil for four years before Mara's parents (who had immigrated earlier to Aotearoa) asked them to come to Gisborne to have their first child. The family continued to move between Brazil and the US, but eventually moved permanently to Tūranganui-a-Kiwa in 2001.
Their arrival back to Gisborne was under the worst of circumstances. Sadly, they were called to leave the U.S. by the untimely death of Mara's brother Damon, and decided to stay on to help Mara's parents.
"We came back and had his funeral and everything, and then we returned to the U.S., but we just felt we couldn't stay there anymore, that we just had to come back and be with my parents and support them through this and be together as a family," Mara says.
Gisborne was a far smaller city than either Mara and Beto were used to. The move also came with a choice that Beto felt was necessary to make, prioritising fatherhood over his career as a musician, especially given his own relationship with his father. "For me, it was my kids was a priority more than my music."
Jazz and Jamil share on the podcast about how they feel they grew up being treated quite differently by their parents. In many ways, Jazz feels she broke ground for Jamil, "I took the brunt of the strict parents, and you were able to go out and drink when you were 15 and 16."
Despite what their peers believed, their parents' profession as DJs didn't mean they got to live a parentless, party lifestyle…
Palestine is where the heart is for father Sameer and his daughters Wajd and Shahd. The family discuss the difficulties returning home, sisterhood, and what they learnt from Shortland Street.
Content warning: This episode contains discussion of the white supremacist terror attack of March 15th, 2019.
Watch the video version of the episode here
Palestine is where the heart is for father Sameer and his daughters Wajd and Shahd. The family discuss the difficulties returning home, sisterhood, and what they learnt from Shortland Street.
Sisters Wajd and Shahd sit down with their father Sameer to talk about their pride in and longing for Palestine, the surprising way Shortland Street helped them understand their mother, and their hopes for the future.
Leaving Kuwait after the invasion was a decision that felt very clear for the family. Namely because, as Sameer says, "When an invasion happens in any country, everybody's affected."
Sameer, who is Palestinian, and his wife Amal, who is Palestinian and Indian, arrived in Aotearoa when their children were very young, and seven months before Wajd was born.
The siblings undertook the majority of their education in Pōneke, though Wajd moved away when she left high school to study in Ōtautahi. Her decision to undertake her study in another city had repercussions, especially for her older sister Shahd, who had to take on much more of a caregiver role for their mother Amal.
Shahd describes it in practical terms: "In terms of helping Mum and stuff like that, I also had to be a bit more independent, like, plan a bit more. I guess that's why I'm so obsessed with lists and what's happening in three hours, and what we are having for dinner..."
Amal was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis when Wajd and Shahd were still in their early teens. It took some time to be able to fully understand the implications of the diagnosis, and the impact it would have for them as a family in the long run, so Sameer and Amal held off on telling their children exactly what Amal's condition was.
In their conversation on the podcast, Wajd reflects on the moment things were clarified: "In Dubai, we were visiting Uncle Fady. What I remember her saying to him in the front seat was that she had multiple sclerosis, and I remember being so shocked because at the time there was a character on Shortland Street called Sarah, who had multiple sclerosis."…
Adel escaped religious persecution in Iran as a teenager. He talks with his wife Maxine and daughter Carmel about language, whakapapa, plane rides, and the privilege of putting art first.
Content warning: This episode contains offensive language, themes of escape, sacrifice, loss of language, and navigating multiple identities.
Watch the video version of the episode here
Adel escaped religious persecution in Iran as a teenager. He talks with his wife Maxine and daughter Carmel about language, whakapapa, plane rides, and the privilege of putting art first.
Adel, his wife Maxine, and their eldest, Carmel, lead the first episode of this final series of Conversations with My Immigrant Parents. Maxine is Samoan, Chinese, and Māori; Adel is Iranian, and came to Aotearoa with his brother when he was 16, after spending a year and a half in a refugee camp in Pakistan. Maxine and Adel live in Tūranganui-a-Kiwa with Carmel, who is 20, and their youngest, Haami, who was 16 at the time of recording.
In the conversation, Carmel talks about preparing to live away from her parents for the first time, leaving Tūranganui-a-Kiwa to head back to Tāmaki Makaurau, where her family lived for many years, to study fine arts and language at the University of Auckland.
"I feel I've only really discovered the art world in the past year because I've started to work with people and spend time with people who are involved with that, but my idea of being an artist was always you," Carmel tells her dad.
Adel made art for many years, alongside his other work and study. He describes having to make a choice in order to provide for his family: "I didn't give up everything, but I did give up art or a life in art for financial security." However, he is mindful that he did this specifically so that his children would not have to be in the same position, and would be able to choose a career in the arts if they wanted.
Maxine and Adel met through their shared Baháʼí faith, and wrote one another love letters for a long time before they met and wed. After they married, they lived in West Auckland and raised their family there before making the decision to return to a place that might provide a new kind of home - to Te Tairāwhiti, where Maxine has whakapapa connections…
Immigrant whānau across Aotearoa have frank conversations covering love, ancestry, home, food, expectation, and acceptance.
NEW SERIES 3rd APRIL, 2023
Immigrant whānau across Aotearoa have frank conversations covering love, ancestry, home, food, expectation, and acceptance.
Series 3 | Trailer: Conversations With My Immigrant Parents - Series 3
Conversations with My Immigrant Parents is a podcast and video series hosted, produced, and directed by Saraid de Silva and Julie Zhu.
Saraid de Silva is a Sri Lankan/Pākehā actor and writer. Her work deals with contemporary feminism and the realities of being a first-generation South Asian New Zealander.
Born in China, Julie Zhu is a filmmaker, photographer, and storyteller focused on championing the stories and voices of marginalised identities.
| Twitter: @saraiddesilva & @juliezhuu | Instagram: @convoswithmy | Facebook: whereareyoufromreally |
How do we search for something we've never seen? The last episode of the series sees the Arif whānau reflect on their years in Aotearoa and dream of a better future.
How do we search for something we've never seen? The last episode of the series sees the Arif whānau reflect on their years in Aotearoa and dream of a better future.
The Arif whānau settled in Kirikiriroa in the 1990s. Dad Mahmud is originally from Iraq, with Turkish heritage, and his wife Mayssaa is Syrian and Egyptian.
Their daughter Shayma'a is one of six children, and joins them on the last episode of the series. Shayma'a lives and works in Te Whanganui-a-Tara as a human rights lawyer. Mahmud recently retired and Mayssaa volunteers in many capacities, working with the refugee community and supporting the local Arab community in Waikato.
This episode dives into feelings of loss that can be hard to define or give voice to, particularly the loss of home. The family discuss being unable to visit either Iraq or Syria - Iraq because of Mahmud's family's background in politics, and Syria because of the ongoing war and humanitarian crisis.
Shayma'a pins down one thing about separation from home which she has found particularly unsettling, saying, "I feel like I really wanted to see Syria, but now it's too late.
"I see all these white people going there all the time. I always see on YouTube all these Europeans going to Syria and visiting, even during the war, but they're fine and they enjoy it. This is what I get really sad about. How come they get to go back to our homelands and enjoy our countries, but we're not allowed to go and enjoy our own countries?"
Mahmud initially came to Aotearoa as a skilled migrant with years of experience as a dermatologist, but according to New Zealand's laws around doctors with foreign licences practising here, was unable to work in the field he specialises in.
For the last 12 years, he has been travelling back and forth from Aotearoa to the United Arab Emirates, working as a dermatologist there and returning to be with whānau here when he can. The fractured living and working environment and disruption to his family life has not been easy for Mahmud.
"I'm not regretting coming here, but I'm disappointed," he says.
Mayssa and Mahmud have their two youngest daughters still living with them in Kirikiriroa, and now that Mahmud is retired, they hope he is able to spend more time with his whānau.
In this last episode of Conversations with My Immigrant Parents, the discussion explores how differently immigrants and refugees experience Aotearoa, displacement, grief, having children, and kittens…
Arriving from Fiji, newlywed Halima Stewart headed straight to Tapu Te Ranga Marae where she raised three kids with husband Bruce. She talks with her two youngest about navigating different cultures.
Watch the video version of the episode here
Arriving from Fiji, newlywed Halima Stewart headed straight to Tapu Te Ranga Marae where she raised three kids with husband Bruce. She talks with her two youngest about navigating different cultures.
Halima Stewart was 22 when she came to Aotearoa to be with her new husband Bruce, who was in his 50s when they met. After growing up in Fiji, and speaking only Hindi, moving countries and heading straight to Tapu Te Ranga Marae to live was a huge culture shock for Halima.
"When I was first feeling homesick on the marae, Bruce tried his best to take me everywhere he could so that I could speak my own language. Two years, I couldn't speak my own language around here, and I couldn't speak English very well at that time. I never knew what 'homesick' meant at that time."
Bruce Stewart was an influential figure in Te Whanganui-a-Tara, and when he passed away in 2017, his death left a hole in the lives of many people around him. He and Halima had three kids: Parehuia, Hirini, and Kirihika. Halima's two youngest kids, Hirini and Kirihika, join her in the discussion on the podcast.
"Growing up, not being Indian enough in an Indian household and not being Māori enough in a Māori household. You're just in the stereotypes constantly," poses Kirihika.
As Kirihika explains, trying to stay true to both sides of her identity was difficult. Halima wanted her children to grow up with a strong sense of their identity as Indians, and with knowledge of Islam, as she did. Bruce wanted their children to grow up with tikanga Māori, which was largely missing from his own childhood and upbringing.
Tapu Te Ranga Marae was a beacon for the community in Island Bay, but unfortunately a fire broke out in 2019, a tragedy which is covered extensively in Episode One of RNZ podcast He Kākano Ahau. Losing both Bruce and Tapu Te Ranga was devastating for Halima. Although Halima and Bruce had been separated for many years, she was his primary caregiver in his later years, and was with him when he passed.
This episode explores loss, isolation in a new country, biculturalism, and cross-cultural relationships that bypass colonialism and connect straight into te ao Māori.
In Kirikiriroa, Donally and her father Alfredo discuss parenting that contradicts society's expectations, how Filipino men are expected to 'get on with it,' and life after tremendous grief.
Content warning: This episode refers to mental health, grief, and death.
Watch the video version of the episode here
In Kirikiriroa, Donally and her father Alfredo discuss parenting that contradicts society's expectations, how Filipino men are expected to 'get on with it,' and life after tremendous grief.
Alfredo Bernal immigrated to Kirikiriroa from the Philippines and met and married his first wife soon after. They had a daughter, Donally, but divorced when she was 18 months old.
Alfredo took custody of Donally after the separation and was her primary caregiver, though the breakdown of his marriage took a toll.
"I've always thought that marriages are lifetime things. You don't get unmarried. I grew up in an environment where there's no such thing as divorce, so, when I married your mum, I thought that I will be married for life. But, unfortunately, it didn't work. Honestly, I cannot remember why. And in my second marriage, I tried harder. So that lasted longer."
Growing up with her father as her primary caregiver meant Donally always felt a bit different to her classmates and friends. The two of them discuss the quizzical looks they would receive from other mothers and parents at playgroups or at the mall.
"There's a stigma to fathers raising daughters," muses Alfredo.
Alfredo grew up Catholic in the Philippines, but didn't raise Donally as strictly in the church. During her high school years in Kirikiriroa, Donally experienced difficult times, and she was aware of how her relatives' opinions about this were influenced by their faith.
"The normal is to be Catholic in the Philippines, so I remember a comment that someone gave to you about me and they said, 'Well, why didn't you send her to church? You should have sent her to church so that she wouldn't be depressed and suicidal,' or whatever, as if it was your fault and you'd done something wrong by not raising me the way that all the other Filipinos were raised."
Fortunately, Donally has reached a point in her life now in her early 20s where she feels truly settled, and currently lives with her husband Austin in Tauranga. She and Alfredo are still close despite living in different cities, and this episode explores the depth of their relationship, Filipino identity outside of religious and cultural norms, grief, and parenthood…
Sisters Avi and Eva sit down with their daughters and talk about white men who travel to Indonesia, the fetishisation of Asian women, and leading parallel lives in Whangārei.
Watch the video version of the episode here
Sisters Avi and Eva sit down with their daughters and talk about white men who travel to Indonesia, the fetishisation of Asian women, and leading parallel lives in Whangārei.
Sisters Avi and Eva did not plan to both end up living and raising their whānau in Whangārei. Growing up in Indonesia, as two of five siblings, they were similar in age and had a close relationship.
Eva, the eldest of the two sisters, started working at a company owned by her later husband Colin. When Colin's friend Tim travelled to Indonesia, her sister Avi was picked to be a guide for him, with Colin secretly hoping they might take a liking to each other.
In the end, Avi and Tim immigrated to Aotearoa in 1995, with Eva and Colin following in 2003. Both sisters have two children; Avi has daughters Cinta and Aimee; and Eva has kids Cindy and Tom. Cinta and Cindy join their mothers in this conversation.
Being the daughters of Indonesian women who married Pākehā men is a large part of this episode.
Avi talks about observing the ways white men behave in Indonesia: "In Indonesia, when you are an expatriate, some of them like to play with women."
Her daughter Cinta explains feeling hyper-visible and conscious about the way her father is treated in Indonesia: "Whenever we go over, walking on the street with Dad, everyone's kinda coming here and crowding around Dad because they're, like, 'Ooh, rich white man.'"
Since moving to Aotearoa, Avi and Eva have done a lot to create and involve themselves in a community of immigrants, and of Indonesian immigrants, specifically.
Avi spends a lot of time volunteering with WINGs, the Women's International Newcomers Group in Whangārei. Both sisters have made a concentrated effort to bring Indonesians across the North Island together to form a community.
Cindy and Cinta live and work in Auckland, and return to their family homes in Whangārei and Tutukākā when they can. They talk about the close relationship their mothers share, and Eva confesses how important it is to have her sister so close.
"I feel really blessed to have Avi here. If she weren't here, maybe I would have a best friend or something, but it will be different how we talk, how we let go of our feelings, everything different."…
It took Juliana eight long years to gain residency after moving here from Brazil. She and her mum Nadmea discuss New Zealand's immigration system, second chances, and Tinder-ing in your 50s.
Content warning: This episode makes references to suicide and mental health.
Watch the video version of the episode here
It took Juliana eight long years to gain residency after moving here from Brazil. She and her mum Nadmea discuss New Zealand's immigration system, second chances, and Tinder-ing in your 50s.
Nadmea and her daughter Juliana came to Aotearoa from Brazil. Juliana and her siblings came first in their adulthood, and Nadmea followed in 2014 once she heard how much they enjoyed living here and after she had finalised her divorce from her husband of 30 years.
As a 19-year-old in Brazil, Juliana fell ill suddenly and lost the use of her legs. She found the process of learning how to be independent again challenging, and Nadmea found letting her daughter grow on her own difficult in its own way, saying, "My family has a big trouble. They have too much mother. I always knew that."
Nadmea and Juliana discuss the real growth and learning that came from Juliana learning to live independently in a wheelchair, and that this was made possible after she spent a month in a rehabilitation centre, and got to know other young people in wheelchairs.
Unfortunately, Juliana's challenges did not stop there, and she had a difficult time gaining residency in Aotearoa, "largely because our immigration laws deem people with disabilities to be 'too expensive' for our economy," she says.
Describing the toll this took on her, Juliana says, "I think the immigration process was the hardest thing I ever fought. It was harder than becoming paraplegic."
In July, 2020, Juliana was finally granted permanent residency. This milestone was important in reflecting her relentless commitment to bringing attention to New Zealand's discriminatory laws pertaining to immigrants with disabilities.
Juliana's siblings and her mother Nadmea, especially, went through a lot of these challenges with her. Their views on immigration have been informed and affected by Juliana's experiences, and as Nadmea puts it, someone's outward appearance is often not a reliable assessment of the strength of their contributions to a society.
"There are lots of people with a visible disability, but you cannot see immediately the internal disabilities when someone is deeply racist, or sexist," argues Nadmea…
After four years studying in Dunedin, Alby has just moved back in with his mum Lina in Naenae. The two of them discuss Lina's career, Alby's grief, and whom our lives are lived for.
Content warning: This episode explores themes around mental health.
Watch the video version of the episode here
After four years studying in Dunedin, Alby has just moved back in with his mum Lina in Naenae. The two of them discuss Lina's career, Alby's grief, and whom our lives are lived for.
When Lina Fairbrother came to Aotearoa from Sāmoa in 1986, the move was a chance to improve the lives of loved ones at home, as well as to give her potential children here more of a leg-up in the world than she had.
"That is the main reason why I came here: to help my family to have a future here."
A few years after arriving here, Lina, in her own words, "met my honey" in Albert Fairbrother, Sr. They married, had one son, whom they also named Albert Fairbrother. The three of them lived in Naenae, Lower Hutt. Albert Fairbrother, Sr. was 26 years older than Lina when they married, which caused some trouble at family gatherings.
"Uncle Maiava said, 'Oh, he's too old for you, look for another one,'" remembers Lina.
Alby's dad passed away when he was still in Year 12, something which dramatically changed how he experienced his last year at school. He describes attaining university entrance early, but his grades dropped so low in his final year that he was unable to get into university without sitting extra exams.
He moved to Dunedin to study at Otago in 2017, and took some time to adjust to the lifestyle and the community.
This episode was recorded the day after Alby left his hall of residence and his life in Dunedin to move back in with Lina. He recently got his first job, a graduate position writing policy for the Ministry of Primary Industries, the same government department that Lina, coincidentally, has worked in as part of the cleaning staff for the last 10 years.
Lina's perception of her job is an important counterpoint to the ways immigrant workers in cleaning roles have widely been portrayed.
"I told people at MPI, 'My team, we are VIP people.' They look at me and I say, 'We are very important people. Without us, who's going to clean your mess?' I'm not ashamed because it pays the bills, buys the food. I do it with passion because I'm a cleaner, and I'm so happy to call myself a cleaner."…
When 11-year-old Anique left Sri Lanka, she thought it'd be temporary. Almost two decades later, she talks with brother Navin and mum Sushani about guilt, obligation, and what freedom really means.
Watch the video version of the episode here
When 11-year-old Anique left Sri Lanka, she thought it'd be temporary. Almost two decades later, she talks with brother Navin and mum Sushani about guilt, obligation, and what freedom really means.
The Jayasinghe whānau originally hail from Sri Lanka but also lived in Malaysia for five years and Singapore for a year, before finally ending up in Tāmaki Makaurau. Sushani and her two kids Navin and Anique settled here with their father (referred to as Thati in the episode), though he and Sushani separated in 2007.
The separation was difficult on Sushani and the kids at the time, and Anique remembers that Navin, as the oldest, shouldered a lot of the responsibility of care.
"Navin was the person who always took the brunt of the responsibility since Thati left. I really always admired that. It showed me the type of person I want to be, and it just showed me a different side, that there can be men who take care of families."
There were positive outcomes to the separation also, including Sushani's increased sense of independence. She learnt how to drive and how to do her own taxes, and these are things she describes taking a lot of joy and pride in.
Her experience of finding peace and happiness in independence is a key theme that runs through the podcast episode, and is mirrored by her daughter Anique's experience. Anique moved out of home in her mid-20s to undertake her Masters in Te Whanganui-a-Tara, and recently moved to Whanganui to work as a community arts coordinator.
Coming from a culture that prioritises the collective over the individual, the dominant narrative of individualised success in Aotearoa has been challenging to adapt to. Anique describes the process of trying to understand this, comparing it to what is considered normal in Sri Lanka.
"There are intergenerational families living in one household, and that's not a stigma. It's not a thing. I guess I've been thinking about how I sometimes feel guilt that I can't be here for the family."
The discussions in this episode delve into the balancing act of upholding cultural expectations around taking care of family, while staying true to expectations for oneself.
From Botswana to Nelson to Pōneke, Judah and his sons Tafara and Pako have experienced multiple communities. They talk about fruit picking, single dad life, and dreams in different languages.
Watch the video version of the episode here
From Botswana to Nelson to Pōneke, Judah and his sons Tafara and Pako have experienced multiple communities. They talk about fruit picking, single dad life, and dreams in different languages.
When Judah and his sons Tafara and Pako came to Aotearoa from Botswana, their first home was Mahana, Nelson. To some, this might sound like an especially jarring transition, but the Seomeng whānau believes it had its benefits.
As Pako describes it, "Had we come straight from Africa to, say, living here, central Wellington, that would have been a way bigger culture shock, big towers and everything, compared to still the same lifestyle ."
However, the family's arrival in the country was not without its struggles. Pako's mother became ill with cancer and passed away just a couple of years after they moved here. To sustain the three of them financially, Judah did a variety of jobs, including fruit-picking and tree-pruning.
Judah remembers, "There was times when I was working, starting work before sunrise and finishing at last light picking fruit. That was the time when I used to be late picking you guys up."
Tafara chuckles, "Single dad life, eh?"
Judah worked as a musician as well as studying, and in 2019, he graduated with a Masters in Cultural Anthropology. Tafara and Pako are both working now, and flat separately in Wellington. Judah has remarried and has a five-year-old daughter Sethunya and a stepdaughter Shiloh.
The three men find common ground in this episode when discussing language, and the moments they noticed their mother tongue, and primary language, changing from Setswana to English.
"All of a sudden, my dreams stopped being in Setswanan and they started being in English. I was, like, 'Wow, what is going on with my life?' Even now, I still wonder why I can't dream in Setswanan even though I can still speak Setswana. I try to force my dreams to be Setswana, but they just don't. They come out all in English," explains Tafara.
This episode explores the experience of the black diaspora in Aotearoa, and covers themes of isolation, integration, and grief.
In this "bonus" episode of the podcast no one asked for, co-producers and hosts Saraid and Julie talk to their own mums, who hail from Sri Lanka and China, respectively.
Note: The second half of this episode has an English dub of Jenny's dialogue, translated by Julie Zhu and read by Jing su-Cornall.
In this bonus episode of Conversations with My Immigrant Parents, hosts Saraid de Silva and Julie Zhu turn the mics on themselves and talk with their own immigrant mums.
Saraid's mother Karenza migrated to Aotearoa from Sri Lanka (after a brief stint in England) when she was seven years old. Along with her parents and two brothers, the family moved first to Waikouaiti before eventually settling in Invercargill.
"We were one of very few brown families in Invercargill. Probably, you could count them on one hand," remembers Karenza.
Her father Rienzi passed away suddenly when she was 19, and after that Karenza and her siblings dispersed to different parts of the country. She now works as an environmental lawyer based in Auckland.
Karenza had Saraid when she was 28, but she and Saraid's father divorced when Saraid was four. Saraid was raised in Hamilton, Auckland, Tauranga, Christchurch, and Wellington before eventually moving back to Auckland when she was 19 to study performing arts at Unitec. Saraid also has a younger sister, Siena, from Karenza's second marriage.
Saraid and Karenza compare their different experiences of racism, from growing up as one of the first brown families in Invercargill to Saraid's experience growing up in different parts of New Zealand and having both Sri Lankan and Pākehā heritage.
"I think when you're half-white, the shit that is said to you is like people backhandedly complimenting you. And they're kinda putting you on this weird box or this weird zone of being better than people who are not half-white in some ways. They're kinda, like, separating you," describes Saraid. "But I just kinda wanna be brown, you know?"
The pair also discuss relationships, divorce for Catholics, and what it means to truly feel Sri Lankan.
The second half of this episode turns to Julie and her mum Jenny.
Julie's parents came to New Zealand when she was two years old, leaving her in China with grandparents as they tested the waters of Aotearoa.
"We thought we'd just come here for a bit to see. We only brought two suitcases. Like, just going for a holiday," says Jenny…
The Muzondiwa family left Zimbabwe at a time when it was difficult to buy even bread. They talk colonisation in Africa and Aotearoa, and whether finding a "true" cultural identity is possible.
Watch the video version of the episode here
The Muzondiwa family left Zimbabwe about 10 years ago, with mum Nyembezi arriving here first, for two years by herself.
"It was very difficult, to be honest, to move over here without your family. I got so skinny because I could hardly eat. Every time I sat down to eat, I would think of my kids back home because there was nothing over there, even in the supermarkets."
As a registered nurse, Nyembezi was able to work hard to save enough money to bring her husband Amos and their two daughters, Shalom and Takunda, over. Their third child Ben was born here in Aotearoa. Amos is now a pastor; Shalom is at university; and Takunda is in her final year of high school. This episode features a conversation between Nyembezi, Amos, and Takunda. Amongst other topics, they reflect on how it feels to go back to Zimbabwe.
Amos reflects, "Unfortunately, now every time you go back, things are worse than they were last year. It's always a huge disappointment each time you go back and so-and-so has died and you have missed being together in times of crisis. And there's always that sense of, people think we don't care."
Takunda chips in, "We, like, left them."
"Yeah, like, we have abandoned them... and even though nobody is saying that, you kind of feel it," adds Amos.
After many years here, the Muzondiwa family have a lot to say about the 'tools' colonisation employs to keep communities operating on a tier below their European counterparts. This episode dissects frankly the effects of colonisation, and the ways that diaspora children try and search for an authentic version of their cultural identity, which, as Amos explains to Takunda, is in many ways an imagined concept.
"I think it is also important for you kids to know that even when you see me and your mother and probably even my parents, those people that you are seeing are no longer Africans. Essentially, you are looking at a European in a black skin, and we are still negotiating what it means to be really African ourselves."
Ty Meng's parents escaped the Cambodian genocide and went on to raise five children in Lower Hutt. Three generations of the Meng family consider how their family's history lingers in the present.
Content warning: This episode discusses war and violence - in some cases, graphically.
Watch the video version of the episode here
Mom Meng came to Aotearoa in 1979 as a refugee from Cambodia. After spending two years in Thailand in a refugee camp, she arrived in New Zealand with her husband and their son Ty, who was only a toddler at the time. The family was sponsored to come to New Zealand, where they eventually settled in Lower Hutt.
This episode of the podcast features three generations of the Meng family, with Mom in conversation with her son Ty and his daughter Emrie. Mom's English is limited, so Ty does some translating for her in the episode.
"I come to New Zealand, so I will only speak my culture, but my children forgot my culture. That's why I speak all the time, not speak English," explains Mom.
Ty adds, "Mum's quite fresh. I don't speak it fully, so I can understand bits and pieces. I jump in from English, and I jump in from Chinese to Thai to Cambodian. I'm quite multilingoed. In one sentence, I will cover four different languages."
The three discuss their family's experiences growing up in this country as former refugees, and how the trauma of their family's history in Cambodia during Pol Pot's regime has continued to affect their lives.
Mom and her husband worked long hours to provide for their family, and were unable to be present at home for a lot of Ty's childhood. This resulted in Ty neglecting his own schoolwork and family as he strove to find a sense of community elsewhere - "with the cool cats, unfortunately."
Ty's lack of stability also impacted Emrie's relationship with him as a child. Ty had Emrie and her twin sister Chyanne when he was only a teenager.
"Because of the upbringing you had growing up here, with Granddad, who had just fought in the war, it probably wasn't the best kind of transition. Like, he probably should have been given a little bit more support. I think that affected your relationship with him growing up in New Zealand, eh?" Emrie asks her dad.
Ty replies, "Yeah. Mum and Dad escaped the Cambodian genocide, so it was a massive thing to get out of - the days of the Killing Fields, and all that."…
The Solomons thought leaving South Africa meant leaving entrenched white supremacy. They discuss how much of this they still found in NZ, and what they are learning about gender and queerness.
Content warning: This episode also explores themes around mental health.
Watch the video version of the episode here
The Solomons are South African by birth and, in their own words, South African in their hearts. Parents Derrick and Lynette moved their three kids to Aotearoa in 2003 in search of more safety and less entrenched racism. In this episode, they speak with their middle child, 28-year-old Tammy.
As with several families in the podcast series, Derrick was the first family member to arrive in New Zealand, spending some time making arrangements before bringing the rest of his family over. He is of Khoisan heritage, an indigenous tribe of South Africa, so he has indigenous whakapapa as well. This led him to spend a year learning Māori when he first arrived in the country.
The terrorist attack on March 15th changed the family's view of New Zealand being the safe haven they'd believed.
Tammy describes hearing of the attack for the first time online: "When I found out, I felt terrified. I called you guys and everything, and we were so on edge because this was not meant to happen in New Zealand. Like, we escaped that hatefulness towards people being different."
Derrick chimes in, "In the back of my mind, we always knew that something was going to happen. I always thought that New Zealand was too complacent in certain ways, you know? They eventually afterward said that they were looking in the wrong area where a threat was probably coming from, but that was a shock for myself."
However, racism wasn't a new experience for the Solomons before the Christchurch attacks. It's something they have encountered from both New Zealanders and white South Africans who have immigrated here.
Lynette explains, "Just living our normal life day-to-day here, I met a New Zealander, and she said to me, 'Ah, so you are a Coloured.' So I said, 'Excuse me? Where did you get to hear of that term?' and she says, 'This white South African said there's a lot of Coloured people here.'"
Derrick adds, "A lot of the Afrikaner people that moved from South Africa to New Zealand... they still carry their racist views over to this country, and that is very sad."…