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Almost half of all homeless Australians are born overseas. Bwajojo Nunu* recalls how finding her way in a new country was impossibly tough.

It was a confusing time. I was separated from my young son for the first time. I felt naked, empty and lost without him. Being in this new country, I felt powerless; I didn’t even know where to start. I felt immense relief at having made it to Australia – but also anxiety.

I made a to-do list. At the top was find safety in Australia and then get my son who was still in Uganda. I knew it was going to be tough but nothing prepared me for the reality. I’d been in Australia for one month, jumping around from hostel to hostel trying to find somewhere safe to stay. I’d met other people seeking asylum at the Asylum Seeker Resource Centre (ASRC). They were from places like Syria and Iraq and had been trying for 10 years – I couldn’t believe it! These people were still in limbo, still being told they were lying. I thought if only someone could hear my case, they would give me a visa.

My list became much bigger after this. It was going to be harder than I had imagined. Tomorrow the hostel was going to throw me out because I couldn’t afford to pay another two weeks’ board. So the bigger picture quickly faded and all I could think about was where I was going to sleep tomorrow. Once I had a roof over my head, I would be able to think clearly. Then I’d know what to do.

I walked to Southern Cross train station with my belongings. I had not much more than a suitcase. Having fled my country in haste I didn’t get a chance to pack much, just some clothes for warmth and a few books to keep me sane on the long winding road to asylum.

I reached the platform for the train to Footscray. I overheard someone speaking on the phone about how excited he was for the long weekend. Hearing that sent shockwaves through me. This weekend? How could it be? What does that mean for me? Two thoughts started screaming in my head: closed offices everywhere and I am going to be homeless. How could I not have known? But then again, why would I? I had no job, was new to the country, and spent my days learning names and maps to various places. Most things were new and foreign, yet not much came with instructions. It dawned on me that I was going to be homeless that night and probably the whole weekend.

My head went blank. I was terrified but I wasn’t shocked. I’d seen many flyers about homelessness so I knew this is what happened to many people seeking asylum. I was prepared for things to get worse.
I reached Footscray. And, yes, there was a big sticker on the ASRC office door: “Sorry, closed until Tuesday for public holiday. Call 000 if it’s an emergency.”

My heart sank. With tears rolling down my face and my feet numb from the cold, I sat on their doorstep as I collected myself and tried to figure out what to do next. Here I was on a cold day wearing light clothing and open shoes; with a one-day travel ticket for a three-day weekend; no friends or family; no place to go; and no credit on the phone. But even if I did have credit, who was I going to call? Maybe I should call Triple Zero? But then what’s my emergency? I don’t think they would help me in this situation because there wouldn’t be any homeless people on the streets if they did that. All these thoughts back and forth formed a cloud in my head and I started to feel dizzy.

I was hungry, cold, tired and frustrated… I decided to go back into the city since I still had a valid travel ticket. On the train back, I started to shake, perhaps from pangs of hunger. Or fear. It made sense: I was alone and frightened. I walked to Bourke Street Mall and sat down in misery. I was terrified, exhausted – but above all – homeless. I counted the cars and trams that passed by, and stared at all types of people moving about the streets like bees at work. Slowly it started to get dark, the lights dimmed and my eyes finally gave up and closed.

That spot would be my home for the weekend. One night a soup van parked nearby and a kind lady brought me a blanket, sandwiches, biscuits and a coffee. I was so grateful. I walked the streets by day, returning to my corner at night and waiting for the soup van for a feed.

You never know how strong you are until being strong is your only choice. Life had pushed all the buttons and broken me. I had nothing left. Not even fear bothered to give me its ugly company for very long that weekend.

Anyone can become homeless. I realise that now.

First thing on Tuesday morning I was on a train back to Footscray and the ASRC. This time I had no valid travel ticket but I couldn’t care less after my weekend on the street. I finally met with my caseworker. I was very lucky, she had found a place for me to sleep that night.

This article first appeared in The Big Issue. Find out more at thebigissue.org.au

Bwajojo Nunu* (not her real name) is from Uganda and now lives in Melbourne with her son.