Escaping
Home
By Jemma Sullivan
As
Freya stood on the stand up the front of the room, she felt slightly
nervous. Speaking in front of all these people, telling them her sad
story, all she hoped for was that she didn’t cry.
“Ah,
attention everyone, we shall begin.” Freya stood there looking at
the people with sadness in her eyes. For what she saw back was only
hatred. How could she have been talked into this? These people would
never be able to understand her, and what she’s been through.
What’s the point in trying? She gets enough trouble from people as
she walked down the street.
She realised at the very moment that
she was doing this so that some of the people that walked down the
street with different coloured skin, these people here might think
differently of them, hoping that they wouldn’t be as rude and
understand that some of them have had a hard life.
Everyone was
now seated and waiting for her to begin. She took a deep breath,
shuffled her papers and was preparing to make her first speech in
front of so many people.
“Hello my Australian name is Freya
Vegter; I changed my name when I left my home country of Africa. My
African name is Faraja Vegter. In my country Vegter means warrior. My
family was considered as royalty, but we still were not treated like
it, far from it actually.” she paused for dramatic effect, letting
everyone take in what she was saying.
“I was just 13 years old
when I left Africa. I always wrote in a diary, expressing my
feelings. I had to keep it safe and concealed from other people, in
fear that if I showed them I would get abused. I am going to read to
you what I wrote. I shall not feel offended if you choose to leave at
any point in my reading. If you find it too horrific you may step
outside. I read to you today for one main reason; the next time you
walk down the street and see someone who is not of the same colouring
as you, look into their eyes, you may not see the pain that they
hold, but they do. Not all of us have a story to be told, but most of
us do.”