Love Versus Goliath: Two People Against the Weight of Bureaucracy

By Robyn Oyeniyi

The Oyeniyi family – my family - almost disintegrated before it even began. LOVE VERSUS GOLIATH chronicles my battle against bureaucracy, antiquated laws, and a pair of governments whose regulations and oversights threatened to separate me forever from the husband and children I love.

When I was 15, my parents committed suicide six months apart. Their deaths, and the ensuing government oversights, left me afraid that bureaucracy would always let me down.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 31, 2013
• ISBN: 9780987483003

Book preview

denial?

New Zealand – 1970

I remember the dress I wore. One of my father’s favourites, it was green with tiny daisies on it. Probably not the most appropriate funeral dress, but I wanted to wear something my father liked. I had made the dress and I had been very proud when my father praised my dressmaking skills. I do not remember the coffin. I do not remember the service. I remember the Last Post being played. Whenever I hear it soft tears well in my eyes and I brush them away.

My younger brother and sister were not allowed to come to the funeral. I don’t know who made the decision. It was the wrong decision, for they never got to say goodbye. My mother was in hospital recovering from yet another overdose attempt the night before. I was the only member of my immediate family at the funeral. I was 15 years old.

The day is a blur to me now. I remember some of my father’s cousins meeting in a front room at the wake. Maybe with my father’s lawyer, I don’t know. I don’t remember how we got from the crematorium to the farm. I don’t remember who organised the wake. Certainly it wasn’t my mother: she was in hospital.

After the wake someone took me to the hospital to visit my mother. Perhaps I drove, I don’t know, but I don’t think so. No, I wouldn’t have driven. I didn’t own a car back then and I would not have driven the car my father took his own life in. I did hear they couldn’t sell the car locally; it had to be sent away. Just like my father’s mother had been sent away when it was discovered she was pregnant out-of-wedlock. In 1921 that had not been a good thing.

So much I do not remember. A childhood lost in a fog of death. My father had, I discovered some many months later, left us a note. Somewhere in all my travels over the years I have lost it. I don’t recall what it said now, but I do know it didn’t explain why he connected a hose to the exhaust and killed himself.

Somewhere during the next six months we sold the farm and bought a house in town. My mother got a part-time job. She had been mentally ill before my father took his life, now she was very unwell. I forget how many more times she was hospitalised, but I remember on one occasion the hospital rang me to tell me she had run away and asked me to look for her. I was 15: I was too young for that responsibility.

I remember going to the lawyer’s office and pleading with him to have my mother committed. I knew we were going to lose her too. I just knew it.

I remember one day slapping her hard across the face. She was hysterical, standing in the bedroom screaming and screaming and screaming. I had read somewhere to shock a person out of a hysterical episode, you slap them. I think it was after that I went to the lawyer’s office. There was nothing that could be done, he said. Nothing could be done.

One day in March I came home to find my younger brother and sister playing at the end of the court. This was unusual. They came running up to me.

Why are you out here?

We can’t get inside!

My mother was not home. She never came home.

I knew, of course. Deep in my gut, I knew. I called the police. Despite her history, they would do nothing until a certain number of hours had passed. I think it was 48 hours, I don’t recall. My boyfriend and his friends set out to look for her.

I do not remember how we got through the week, my brother, sister and I. I have a recollection I went to stay with my boyfriend’s family, because I am sure I was there when I found out. My brother and sister must have stayed with someone local, I just do not recall at all. People kept telling us Mum had probably just gone away for a break. Where to? My mother came from Sydney, her mother had passed about three years earlier, she had no relatives that I knew of. I knew she was dead; they just had to find her.

They found her body a week later, decomposing in the warm March weather. Someone at the bus-stop had reported the smell.

Too much I can’t remember. I was 15.

Forty years later the loss I had never allowed myself to feel would come back to haunt me, as I faced the possibility of yet another death of a loved one.

Too much death.

Australia - 2010

The music was loud, as usual. The club was reasonably crowded but had not yet reached the capacity of a peak hour Melbourne train, the wonderful mode of public transport most often referred to as sardine cans by those forced to endure close quarter combat to get to work each day. The club could be just like that. I didn’t go often, but when friends did I tended to tag along. It was usually fun and the play list generally inspired dancing.

A man walked in: tall, shaved head, good looking. Definitely caught my eye, but sadly he had a date with him. Strike him off the list! I ended up speaking with them when I took my aching dancing feet to smokers’ exile for a rest. He suggested he had a friend whom I might like.

He asked me, Do you have anything against Nigerians?

No, of course not, I replied.

It was clear he had learnt quickly that Nigeria’s reputation internationally was not exactly what he may have thought!

I was single, had nothing against Nigerians and believe you meet people through other people. I didn’t give him my number; I gave it to his date. Am I old-fashioned or what! His name was John.

John called and wanted to meet me to talk about his friend. I’m not 18, I smelt a rat. So did my housemate, Arthur. Never under-estimate the ability of a man to interpret another man’s actions or words! I decided to give mystery man the benefit of the doubt, given the language barrier. He was cute, after all. He later told me his initial attraction was driven in part by the fact he had determined I was out commando. This was true: it was a slinky and, thankfully, full length dress.

We met. We talked. John told me his history: not all of it by any means (this was coffee, not a month-long vacation), but enough to enable me to understand his current situation. This adorably cute man was an asylum seeker, waiting for his protection visa to be granted. He had been in my wonderful country for nearly two years. Two years? With no resolution to his situation? I was stunned! The more he told me, the less confident I felt any protection visa was arriving any time soon, if at all. I could see he believed it was coming, but I was not at all convinced. This was my country, my territory: I knew a little more about our culture and our systems than he did at the time. I thought I knew more about our systems.

John has four wonderful, delightful children whom he missed terribly. They were still in Nigeria: he had not seen them for nearly six years. I saw his pain over this first coffee. I would see the tears during the ensuing months. He was desperate to provide for his family and bring his children together in one home. At this particular time, John believed this new home would be in Australia.

I offered to see if I could help him. It all sounded very messy from his description, language barrier or no language barrier. Despite my considerable experience with accents, I was having a terrible time understanding his. I was embarrassed by constantly having to ask John to repeat what he said. I had the time available to be able to try and make sense of what I was fast detecting might be a cross between a minefield and a nightmare. While he had a pro-bono migration agent, I knew in reality a person working pro-bono has limited time to devote to a case. I also felt he needed some cultural education: there were aspects to our culture of individualism he clearly did not comprehend and I could see this was impacting his understanding of his case.

With hindsight, I don’t think there was any doubt we were attracted to each other from the start. We just chose to live in denial at that point. He did tell me he was not in a relationship with his date from the Friday night and would not be continuing to date her. I understood this perspective; I’ve lost count of how many dates I’ve had over the years that never went further than a few dates. It is what we do, after all. To steal a line from Sleepless in Seattle, we try people on for size. That is what dating is all about. Quite often the fit just isn’t right. It is a bit like buying shoes, really. One pair might fit me perfectly, but pinch another shopper’s toes. Nothing wrong with the shoppers or the shoes; just not the right fit.

John was under strict medical instructions not to form a relationship. There is no doubt that being an asylum seeker is an emotionally and psychologically dangerous and damaging place to live. The health professionals were concerned that should he form an emotional attachment and should anything go wrong with that relationship, it could be devastating for him psychologically. This was not difficult for me to understand. On top of this, John was dealing with the relatively recent break-down of his marriage; something he had not wanted yet he understood his ex-wife’s position. At this stage, he had not seen her since 2004. This was now January 2010. I could feel both his sense of loss and his resignation and acceptance of the reality. This was a man who had remained faithful to his ex-wife through several countries over five years, until the point when he knew his marriage had ended.

Rather than jumping into bed, we jumped into a mountain of paperwork. Later, John told me this was something else that attracted him to me: I was different, I made him wait! Cupid was working in mysterious ways.

As I delved into the history of his life I learnt more about John as a man. I was impressed with his integrity, his love for his children and his fervent desire to just live a normal life after over five years of wandering the world trying to find a safe haven. His wandering may seem aimless to the casual observer from an individualistic culture, but knowing him as I do and understanding his culture, I understand how those years happened.

I read the Refugee Review Tribunal (RRT) Decision Record. Who was this man of whom they spoke? It certainly wasn’t the man I was learning about. I began the battle.

Australia Day (January 26) weekend we went to Anglesea.

Anglesea is my favourite beach, just a great place to be. The water was warm, deliciously warm. The sun wasn’t scorching. We played in the water and then lay on the sand in each other’s arms. I will never forget that day. It was the first time I saw who John would be without the worries and stress he faced every moment of each day. His face broke into laughter, his eyes shone. For a few brief hours, there was happiness in his life. I wanted it to be like this forever. He laughed when I insisted he use sunscreen, believing he couldn’t burn. Even those with an ample sufficiency of melanin can burn. There were a couple of bemused onlookers: I am sure they wondered why on earth I was lathering sunscreen onto such a dark body.

During those early days, despite my suspicions about what might really be happening with his visa, John was still confident that it was coming soon. Due to his cultural values and beliefs, he could not enter into a formal relationship until, I quote: I get my visa, can get a job and feel like a man again. It is very important that I am able to provide. As my housemate said on numerous occasions, we were kidding ourselves. We were in a relationship; we just didn’t admit it – to ourselves or anyone else! We were also both very conscious of the medical advice detailed earlier. So we just continued to be in the relationship we weren’t in!

Until he reached Australia, John had never used a computer. Here he found this thing called internet dating – what a strange and wonderful world this seemed to be. Not only that, women would contact him and want to have sex that same day! While this seemed rather odd to him, from his perspective this must be the prevailing local culture. By the next day the same woman would be asking for a relationship: not something he was in a position to contemplate. Not only that, as he said, Why? We know nothing about each other. It quickly dawned on him this was not necessarily a good thing! By the time he met me he had learnt a thing or two and was a wiser man than the one that first put his fingers to a keyboard. Some things on the internet continued to shock, surprise and on at least one occasion I remember, horrify him: he would come to me with questions about things he found quite often. Not only had he found internet dating, he had found pornography, something he had never been exposed to.

Looking particularly shocked, he exclaimed, I have to show you something I found.

OK, what?

Look at this! Do people REALLY do this?

So we had a conversation about the pornography industry and how much is staged and no, most people don’t do a lot of the stuff that he would find on the internet. This conversation was not something we tendered to bureaucracy as proof of our relationship!

In 2008 I underwent a hysterectomy. A common complication of abdominal surgery is adhesions. Adhesions are basically scar tissue that can do nasty things to your insides. In 2009 I had surgery to repair adhesions. I won’t go into all the details of what nasties the adhesions had got up to inside my abdominal cavity. I did lose one ovary in the process as the adhesions had (medical term) mangled it.

One of the recovery instructions for the hysterectomy was to have gentle, frequent sex to soften scar tissue and prevent painful sex. When one is single, this is not really a possibility. Then of course I had a second bout of surgery. Yikes!

By the time I met John, let’s just say the scar tissue was rather hard and unyielding. John was very understanding and gentle and ultimately we beat that old scar tissue to a pulp. Not only were we both very happy about that, his patience and understanding was extremely endearing.

Unfortunately, I met John too late in this saga. Unbeknownst to us, Australia was already planning his removal. Removal is the term used for those being deported for reasons that are not of a criminal nature, such as those denied a protection visa. We became formally aware of this when I became his authorised representative at the Immigration Ombudsman’s office. John had not been advised of the plans to remove him.

I contacted Professor McGorry who is renowned for his work with asylum seekers and refugees and a tireless advocate against mandatory detention. His advice was to ramp up legal representation for John. Looking back, I should have just hired a lawyer. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. I remember at our Migration Review Tribunal (MRT) appeal hearing, the MRT Member asked me if I would have done a certain thing differently if I knew then what I know now. Hiring a lawyer was not the topic of the question, but it was in the forefront of my mind when I answered, If I had known then what I know now, I would have done many things differently. One just doesn’t hire lawyers when one is not actually admitting to being in a relationship with the person needing the lawyer! Besides, I was still innocent or naïve enough at that point to believe in our system. I could see where John’s case had fallen through the cracks; it was as plain as the proverbial nose on my face. I was still confident our bureaucracy would see it too, if they would just look at the work we had done.

I had married a migrant and therefore been part of a migrant family earlier in my life. We had many migrant friends. I had taught English to migrants many years ago and again more recently. I had helped migrants find jobs. While I had considerable experience with migrants, I had no experience with the refugee system. After many phone calls and more contact with Professor McGorry, we finally convinced the Asylum Seeker Resource Centre (ASRC) to consider representing John.

I went with John to a regular Case Manager meeting at the Department of Immigration & Citizenship (DIAC). This was just before Easter of 2010. We explained that the ASRC was in the process of preparing a S417. Both John and I are honest, we can’t help ourselves! Perhaps we should have said nothing! A S417 is a submission directly to the government minister responsible for immigration. I asked would we have time to finalise that submission and specifically asked would John be snatched away in the middle of the night. I was assured we had time. This was after I had pushed for confirmation that John was indeed on a removal pathway as advised by the Ombudsman’s office. I asked why neither John nor his pro-bono migration agent had been advised of the removal plans as required by the regulations. In my view the answer was not satisfactory. Another meeting was scheduled for April 7, the week after Easter. In a later meeting with the ASRC it was agreed the ASRC would attend that meeting with John. I saw no reason for me to also attend.

When we left the building, John said to me, That was a good meeting. I looked at him in sorrow and frustration. When under stress not only did his English expression skills plummet, but also his comprehension skills. People like John, battling with the local nuances of the English language, depend greatly on facial expression and vocal tone to understand the message. Bureaucrats are well trained to deliver news in a neutral tone with a neutral face. No, I replied sadly, It was a terrible meeting. You are to be removed unless the ASRC can act fast enough. I knew, but didn’t believe it would happen, that DIAC staff can decide not to put an S417 before the Minister, so I believed the S417 would be our reprieve. We had worked for many, many hours on the details. We had refuted the RRT Decision Record decisively. I had interrogated John for hours to make sure I had everything documented correctly.

I tried to make sure we got some time away from the pressures of the situation. We went to Daylesford to have a mud spa. The mud isn’t really mud, but it turns the spa water almost black. The ingredient is the root of an African tree and a very powerful relaxant. I love it and hoped it might bring John a short period of calmness. I discovered that being naked in a bath of bubbling water is not necessarily so relaxing for some people!

Driving home we talked about his ex-wife. Despite how I felt about him, if there was any chance of a reconciliation it would be the best thing for the children. He was adamant. Sad, but adamant. There could be no reconciliation as she was already living with a new man. She will become pregnant, he said. He was right. We talked about a future together, as we often did, but even now we kept it to the plan. 1) Be granted the visa; 2) get a job; 3) official relationship. Of course, neither of us was in any rush. John had much to resolve about his life. Once he was granted his visa, he then needed to organise bringing his children to be with us. He needed to get a job. I wasn’t in any rush to do anything as I realised this man had an awful lot on his plate. We spent most of our time together anyway and we both knew where we were heading if things continue to go as well as they are now between us.

Fast-forward to April 6, 2010. I was working from home. At about 9.30am I received a conference phone call. I was retrenched. I worked for a large, global, American based company; the Global Financial Crisis was hitting American companies hard. I was just a number and they needed to reduce numbers. I was pretty shaken up. I had given Arthur notice so that John could move in with me. We were about to discuss the practicalities of this with his Red Cross Case Manager. We had been speaking about it for some time. I still believed the removal would be averted. Now, all of a sudden, I had no job!

The next day was the fateful day: April 7. John rang me from outside the DIAC building to tell me the ASRC lawyer was not there. I was sure he would turn up and told John to go upstairs to the meeting. I frantically tried to find the lawyer. I couldn’t. I left messages on voice mails. The first of many tears started to flow. In what was just another bungle in two years of bureaucratic bungles, his legal representation did not turn up. I do not blame the ASRC. They had planned on rescheduling the appointment. I’ve felt guilty about that ever since, although realistically, what else was I going to do? Hide him in my basement?

John called again. They are taking me into detention now and that is exactly what they did. I was now part of the nightmare. Cupid had shot his arrow straight and true.

Now back to where it all began ................. why was John here at all?

1968 to 2004: A Life Destroyed

1968 was the year John was born, third child of a politician, Chief Samuel, and his wife. John’s father wasn’t a front of party politician; he worked at getting the party established. Nigeria gained independence from Great Britain in 1960. The Nigerian Civil War raged from July 6th, 1967 until January 15th, 1970. John was born during this war, in which it is estimated 1,000,000 Nigerians died.

There was really no political stability after the war. In some ways, there still isn’t. I am not attempting to write a history of Nigerian politics, I am merely providing a background to later events in John’s life. By 1999, Nigeria was entering a fourth attempt at democracy, after essentially 16 years of military rule, much civil unrest and political instability.

Chief Samuel had been active in the original Unity Party of Nigeria, founded in 1979. As children, John and his peers had been involved in distributing political posters as members of a group of young supporters called Young Shall Grow. The children were groomed for later political involvement.

Chief Samuel was involved in politics until his murder in 1986. John was just 18.

Below is a table of the various names and the year of establishment of the party that John’s father and, later, John were members of. I would like to point out the years given are to the best of John’s recollection.

Further, below is a table of the party names that relate to the current ruling party, which has the agenda to eliminate the above opposition, or at the very least minimise its popularity in Lagos State and elsewhere in Nigeria.

The above acronyms will be used for the parties from here on in this book.

John’s mother died during childbirth when he was seven and his father later re-partnered. While not officially married, Samuel’s new partner has always been known as John’s mother. John’s childhood was happy. He had loving parents, his father was a successful businessman and his stepmother was and still is a loving and much-loved figure in his life. He had two older sisters. He attended private school and completed high school, with every intention of going to university.

John remembers his father with great love and respect. Chief Samuel worked tirelessly for the betterment of his people, yet John remembers they always had a body guard. They lived in a large house and never wanted for anything. Life was good.

Chief Samuel’s murder in 1986 set John on a different path. University was now not possible as his father’s assets were taken control of by a half-uncle. This man was politically opposed to Chief Samuel and John. John went to work instead of university, eventually establishing two small businesses. He married in 1994, fathering four children between the years 1994 to 2002. While John missed his father, life was good. His children were healthy and happy; he and his wife were happily in love, his businesses successful.

John voted for the first time in the 1992 State Election and joined the Solidarity Democratic Party in 1993, although he was not heavily involved at this time.

Nigerian culture is very much one of tradition and responsibility handed down from father to son, generation to generation. Chief Samuel had been an effective political organiser and his supporters saw John as the natural successor. In 1998 John was approached to take up where his father had prematurely left off. John was not keen to become a politician, but the sense of duty is strong amongst his people. He became a mobiliser (recruiter) and was very successful in this role. By the 1999 Governorship elections, his father’s enemies had already decided they did not want him to be successful and attacks on him started, small at first. He was given a physical warning by two of the opposition’s henchmen, but managed to leave unscathed on that occasion.

The ever changing political landscape in Nigeria during these years is confusing. I am not at all sure I have documented it correctly, even now! By the time John was becoming more actively involved, the political parties on all sides had undergone several rebirths. The Alliance for Democracy party was formed in 1998.

Although the civil war was over, thousands were still being killed due to political friction. Thousands still are. Whilst I was fighting the Australian Government to bring John home, there were regular bombings and incidents of civil strife that left many dead. I lived each day in fear.

John had the opportunity to stand for election in 2000 but to do so he needed additional funds. He approached the half-uncle for some of his father’s assets. Accusing John of wanting the funds to further his political career, he refused. He had refused before, in 1989.

While John did not stand for that election, his political career continued to grow. His father’s opponents continued to attack him. In 2001 his mechanic’s workshop was attacked. All the windows of John’s commercial bus, which he used in his political work, were destroyed. John had gone there to meet his driver. That same driver was later killed.

In 2003 John was approached to stand for election in the local council elections to be held early in 2004. On June 8th, 2003 he became the endorsed candidate.

His opponents ramped up their attacks. John was not yet a high profile politician. This meant there was nothing about him reported in international media. This counted against him when he was seeking asylum in Australia. Were his opponents even fighting him, or fighting the spectre of his father? I suggest it was possibly the latter: the political opponents of his father did not want to see him reach the success they had successfully prevented his father reaching by his murder.

In 1999 John had undergone