Conversations With My Immigrant Parents

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 hereBoth 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.Go to this episode on rnz.co.nz for more details

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 hereHương 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!"…Go to this episode on rnz.co.nz for more details

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 hereHương 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!"…Go to this episode on rnz.co.nz for more details

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 hereTooba 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…Go to this episode on rnz.co.nz for more details

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 hereIn 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…Go to this episode on rnz.co.nz for more details

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 herePalestine 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."…Go to this episode on rnz.co.nz for more details

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 hereAdel 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…Go to this episode on rnz.co.nz for more details

Immigrant whānau across Aotearoa have frank conversations covering love, ancestry, home, food, expectation, and acceptance.NEW SERIES 3rd APRIL, 2023Immigrant whānau across Aotearoa have frank conversations covering love, ancestry, home, food, expectation, and acceptance. Series 3 | Trailer: Conversations With My Immigrant Parents - Series 3Conversations 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.Watch here| Twitter: @saraiddesilva & @juliezhuu | Instagram: @convoswithmy | Facebook: whereareyoufromreally |Go to this episode on rnz.co.nz for more details

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…Go to this episode on rnz.co.nz for more details

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 hereArriving 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.Go to this episode on rnz.co.nz for more details