baby ghazal\'s got a new name: no. 390
The guard closely watched the old girl.
Chris Goddard wrote that the crime of her parents was to demand freedom.
The journey home with her first child was something she had imagined for a long time, but it is terrible now.
Ghazal is a C- section and has been born two weeks in advance. Although it is very small, it is very healthy.
Ghazal\'s mother recalled her journey home five days after she was hospitalized.
The nearby hills reminded her of the country she grew up in, although the soil around Shiraz was never so red.
Their home is air.
The website shows its function proudly.
They have \"camera, microwave motion detection system and chain fence\" at the back of their room \".
There is a \"dynamic system of detection and deterrence (EDDS)
\"And\" smooth non
The site says \"corrosive high-strength wires\" are designed to \"be short, sharp and harmless to anyone touching the wires \".
The gate opens to allow Ghazal, her mother, two guards and their driver to enter the Baxter Immigration Reception and Processing Center.
During her stay in hospital, there have been two guards outside the door, and now there will be more guards.
She carried the garzar Baxter.
390, enter their room, a compound in blue.
The door and door closed behind them.
The last part of my own trip to Baxter was along the old Viala Road that Ghazal and her mother took with their guards.
However, from the newer Road to waiala, their home is the best option, where you can clearly see the salt clusters and mountains for miles, baxter looks and is now a steel cage in a completely mountain background.
In addition to the small parking lot, there is unlimited open space, the red heart of Australia.
However, through the windshield, we can see only steel gray and straight, wires and poles.
The sky is not even seasonal Gray today.
There is a small door near the huge steel gate that greets Ghazal.
Not familiar with the process, we press the intercom, the lock is released.
We went through a wire tunnel to the next door.
We went into a small room like a tiny gate at the airport with metal detectors and X-ray machine.
Here, we were told politely that we did not enter as per the required procedure.
We were sent back.
Ironically, we almost lost it.
Go through the steel door behind us, go back to the wire tunnel, and go back to another steel door that brings us back to the outside world.
We missed any signs that let us report to the visitor center.
We provide photo ID and they provide lockers for wallets and keys.
We signed a form that allowed us to give cigarettes and nuts as a gift to the people we were visiting.
They gave us the receipt.
We put fresh fruit in plastic bags.
We have wristbands and stamps on our hands that are only visible under UV light.
A guard escorted us to the wire. Door. Intercom.
Wire tunnels, EDDS and raw gravel. Door. Intercom. Metal detector. Our fruit is X-rayed. Door.
We found ourselves locked inside again.
The last door opened and we were in a big room.
Another guard sat on a glass screen.
We finally met Ghazal and her parents here.
They are health workers from Iran.
Lazar, eight months old, was born in Australia but not Australia.
Her parents\' journey here is also symbolic.
They arrived at Ashmore Reef on Christmas 2000.
Three years later, they moved from Curtin, a detention center, to another.
Now they have a daughter.
Under review, we talk about Iran, Islam, their religious changes and their flight.
We are talking about how children in detention centres are slowly released, at least on the Australian mainland.
They told me that the company in the management center has changed and the guards are more friendly.
I asked them if they changed guards.
No, they told me they had told the guards to change their clothes.
A blue compound even changed its name to a blue gum compound.
With the end of the visit time, they were very grateful for our arrival.
We were embarrassed to thank them for allowing us to visit.
We apologize for the house they built.
We are ready to run away and collect the fruits that they have barely touched and we cannot leave.
When all the tourists left at the same time, we were taken to the area between the locked doors and squeezed together.
Access to the terminal, metal detectors, X-
Through the door leading to the wire tunnel, the shooting machine, UV stamp lighting, and the wristband are cut off.
Before taking the keys and wallet from the locker, I stood and took a deep breath.
The huge steel gate slides open allowing the car to enter the center.
That\'s how Ghazal and her mother came home.
The two parrots flew across the mountain in the center.
When she comes back to the blue gum compound, maybe Ghazal will see them.
Baudelaire\'s book The Forest of Symbols.
There are very few trees here, but they are very symbolic. rooted, old-growth forest.
I have seen prisons and security units as part of my work.
I have seen children die from child abuse and have too many broken bones to count.
I saw the children torn apart by sexual abuse.
I see what I have to see, what I will never forget, what I find unintelligible.
This time I saw something I shouldn\'t have seen.
I went to see an eight. month-
The young girl, smiling at her parents, was about to leave soon, and her every move was watched by the guards.
I saw a baby behind a gray wire and an electric fence, on a high
Security prison on the brink of death in Australia.
I saw her parents convicted of wanting freedom without trial.
I saw my parents proud of their first time.
But so close to despair.
I saw a baby give a number.
I saw a little girl in a cage.
I drove hundreds of kilometers to my home.
I drive through towns and small settlements eager for medical workers and through places built by refugees who want more families and more children.
I drove most of the night, eating fruit that we couldn\'t leave for ghazal and her parents, desperately trying to end the journey.