In her mid-20s, she was diagnosed with depression, high blood pressure and diabetes.
This happened after Ethiopian asylum-seeker Bethlehem Tibebu made an attempt to reach Australia from Indonesia in a small and overcrowded boat.
To borrow from the official Australian jargon, she was an "illegal maritime arrival".
The medical diagnosis that came in the aftermath of her arrival was a turning point for Ms Tibebu’s mental health and wellbeing.
In 2015, Ms Tibebu was transferred to an onshore detention centre in Brisbane for medical treatment, where she remained for two years, taking psychiatric, blood pressure and diabetes treatment.
She makes strong and serious claims about the treatment that asylum-seekers and refugees in detention like her have received.
The Australian government used our bodies as a human fence to send a strong message to other incoming asylum-seekers and stop their boats.Bethlehem Tibebu
From strife to struggle
A bright accounting student at Ethiopia's Haramaya University, Ms Tibebu left her homeland due to the ethnic conflict there.
She received a scholarship to study in Indonesia.
Once there, she was suggested by her friends that there was "hope for a better future in Australia".
Ms Tibebu says she managed to escape strife but her struggle had just begun.
Choppy waters
in 2013, Ms Tibebu says she borrowed US$2,000 from her relatives living in the US to take the journey of a lifetime.
“Sailing from Indonesia to Australia by boat means taking a life-and-death decision,” says the former asylum-seeker, now a ticket inspector with Melbourne Metro.
After 10 years in Australia and offshore detention centres, life took its own course and Bethlehem became Betty, a woman who had survived some of life’s toughest journeys, literally and figuratively.
She recalls the arduous sea voyage that was not only a trip across geographies but also a transcendence in the journey of her own life.
In this photograph provided by the Department of Home Affairs, two launches from HMAS Launceston (not seen) intercept a boat believed to be carrying 72 suspected asylum seekers on 29 April 2009 near Bathurst Island in the Arafura Sea north of the Northern Territory. Credit: HO/AP/AAP Image
The wooden boat’s capacity was 15 passengers, 20 at most, Ms Tibebu recalls.
“But people smugglers forced 63 Somali and Sudanese nationals on it,” she tells SBS Amharic.
“I was the only Ethiopian national seated on a tiny, leaky boat full of people without life jackets.
Looking at the rise and fall of the waves and circling sharks was terrifying.
“Surviving that horror and being alive today feels like I was born again,” Ms Tibebu says.
She says the boat's passengers were promised "a comfortable big ship" by the people smugglers which would carry them to Australian shores in two days where they'd "all be able to seek asylum".
That never happened.
Rather, it took them six agonising days to reach Australia’s international maritime border.
To start with, the passengers protested against travelling by that small boat.
But they had been warned that if they didn’t jump on board, the Indonesian police would arrest them. The passengers panicked and boarded the boat as quickly as possible, she says.
The boat's driver lost direction as they sailed towards Australia, exacerbating the already dire circumstances the passengers were in.
Supplies onboard dwindled rapidly, leaving them in need of food and fuel.
The vessel began to crack and water seeped in, Ms Tibebu recalls.
Passengers were instructed to throw their clothes and luggage overboard to lighten the boat, further heightening their distress.
Fearing for their lives, they prayed fervently in their languages to Allah, God and whoever else they believed in, to save them from perishing in the ocean without a trace.
A woman in the ninth month of her pregnancy was also in the group "sailing for safer shores", intensifying everyone's concerns, Ms Tibebu adds.
Ms Tibebu says her physical and mental health deteriorated significantly during the journey.
She suffered from dehydration, hunger and most significantly, fear.
Ms Tibebu adds she remained disoriented after she found herself on Australian shores, looking up at the Australian Border Force (ABF) patrol boats while lying on the ground.
The ABF transported her and others to Darwin for five days for medical treatment.
From asylum-seeker to detainee
While recollecting her experience in this interview, Ms Tibebu's voice cracked, and she struggled to stop her tears.
The passengers of the boat had now become detainees.
“After resting and being medically examined in Darwin, an ABF representative asked me, ‘If you go to Nauru, you will get an education, and your case will be processed. Do you want to go to Nauru'," Ms Tibebu narrates.
"I had no idea what he was saying, but I said, ‘okay' ".
“Nine other women and I were then shipped to the Nauru Australian Immigration Detention Centre.
“We arrived on 16 November 2013. We were told four-to-six women will live in a tent during Nauru’s hottest season of the year,” she says.
Tents accommodated asylum-seekers in offshore detention centres. Credit: Refugee Council of Australia.
Because of the hot weather, we could take a two-minute shower daily. Washing my hair and body in two minutes was not enough. So, I decided to cut my hair.
“We shared one pair of slippers while showering and going to the mess to eat," Ms Tibebu adds.
“I had one garment on my back, so I sewed my bed sheet by hand and made a dress,” she says detailing the prelude of her struggle to settle into Australia.
She also mentions detainees were allowed a 10-minute international call every 10 days.
"If we couldn’t reach our families over the phone, we had to wait another 10 days to get a chance to talk to them. Suppose I couldn’t get them on the phone again, bad luck. That was a painful experience in itself,” Ms Tibebu says.
'Treated with respect and dignity'
When SBS Amharic queried the Department of Home Affairs on the aforementioned living arrangements of Nauru detainees, a spokesperson said that the government of Nauru is responsible for the management of individuals under regional processing arrangements.
Consistent with the memorandum of understanding with Nauru, transitory persons are treated with respect and dignity and in accordance with human rights standards, with access to various services, including welfare, health and mental health services.Department of Home Affairs
"Australia supports Nauru to implement regional processing arrangements by contracting specialist services providers, who deliver a broad range of services including welfare, health, transport, security, facilities management and reception services," the spokesperson stated in response to the queries.
"Transitory persons under regional processing were accommodated in a range of accommodation arrangements, including dormitory style or shared accommodation.
"All transitory persons residing in regional processing centres received clothing and footwear, personal care and hygiene items, which were renewed regularly, and weekly Individual Allowance Points to purchase various items through a canteen arrangement. Individuals residing in the community received a fortnightly income support payment to meet living expenses.
"Water preservation measures are used in regional processing centres from time to time, including reducing shower times," the response from Home Affairs added.
But an advocate for asylum-seekers' rights strongly disagrees.
A supplied photograph shows mould inside tents at the family accommodation section at Nauru Regional Processing Centre on 21 February 21 2018. Source: Supplied / AAP/Supplied with request of anonymity
In the words of Ian Rintoul, a founding member of the Refugee Action Coalition, "Nauru was a detention hellhole".
The mistreatment suffered on Nauru doesn't end when someone is transferred to Australia; people are scarred for life. It was heartbreaking to see how detention crushed Bethlehem's hopes and dreams.Ian Rintoul, Refugee Action Coalition
"There were endless indignities.
"The restrictions on visiting became worse as the detention centres became more and more like prisons. There were sometimes overwhelming fears of being returned to Nauru," he tells SBS Amharic.
Mr Rintoul adds that it took a prolonged battle for Ms Tibebu to establish contact with her Orthodox Christian community.
"Bethlehem still has no future," he says.
She has been robbed of the best years of her life. And even after 10 years, the uncertainty hasn't ended. She is still being told she cannot settle permanently in Australia.Ian Rintoul
He goes on to say that despite her experiences, Ms Tibebu has become "a fierce advocate" calling for freedom and permanent visas for all refugees and asylum-seekers who were sent offshore and also for an end to offshore detention.
Bethlehem Tibebu speaking with the Australian media about the suffering of refugees in Melbourne on Refugee Day. Credit: Bethlehem Tibebu
There is a slight discrepancy between this number provided by the Australian Border Force on 14 July 2019, and that (4,177 people)
According to the Refugee Council of Australia, since 19 July 2013, when the Australian government changed its policy so that those transferred offshore can never resettle in Australia.
Such people are called ‘transitory persons'.
Operation Sovereign Borders
Explaining the rationale behind the regional processing of transitory persons, the Home Affairs spokesperson says the government remains committed to it in Nauru as a key element of Operation Sovereign Borders, the name given by Australia to the procedures involved in protecting the country's maritime boundaries.
"Regional processing is an important measure to deter people smugglers from exploiting vulnerable persons from attempting irregular and dangerous maritime voyages, thereby reducing the risk of the loss of life at sea," the DHA spokesperson states.
The spokesperson also clarifies in no uncertain terms what the future may hold for such transitory persons.
Transitory persons do not have a settlement pathway in Australia and are encouraged to engage in third-country migration options.Department of Home Affairs
"These include resettlement in the United States and New Zealand, private sponsorship in Canada, a voluntary return home or to another country in which they have a right of entry," the spokesperson adds.
Reacting to the news of the Nauru detention centre being vacated of detainees earlier this year, Ms Tibebu says, “I welcome the government announcement to bring the last refugee from Nauru to Australia, but I want the detention centre to be closed down permanently.”
Refugee sorrow
Ms Tibebu refers to the difficulty of opening up about such intensely personal experiences.
I had never experienced such suffering and tasted refugee sorrow for the first time.
“I was the only Ethiopian national who spoke Amharic and practised the Orthodox faith in the detention centre. I had no one to share my problems with," she says.
A rally in Sydney on 20 July 2019 to mark six years of offshore detention on Manus Island and Nauru. Rallies took place in Canberra, Melbourne and Brisbane too. Source: AAP / JEREMY PIPER/AAPIMAGE
Due to my weak English, I wasn’t fully aware of why I was there and what was happening in the centre. I lived in fear and torment.
Ms Tibebu says the agony was too much for her and others to bear.
She even witnessed some detainees harm themselves.
“I saw an Iranian detainee burn himself to death before the officials,” she says.
“My tentmate, a Somali woman, who told me to look after her brother and sister when she is gone for good, set herself ablaze and burnt 75 per cent of her body,” Ms Tibebu adds.
Mothers are not lucky enough to give candy to their children in that place.
Taking life head on
While in Brisbane, Ms Tibebu started to build herself for the future.
She registered for online courses in disability support and childcare by trading cigarettes in the detention centre.
She even began to learn 10 English words daily from the security guards.
Bethlehem Tibebu, pouring traditional Ethiopian coffee in her Melbourne home. Credit: B.Tibebu
I thought a few times about taking my own life, but I convinced myself I had four younger brothers to live for who needed my support and a country to think about.
“My body was imprisoned, not my mind. That’s why I was determined to live and learn,” Ms Tibebu tells SBS Amharic.
In 2017, she was released from the Brisbane detention centre.
Life in Melbourne Metro
After walking free, she was unsure where to go and what to do with her newfound freedom.
I was taken aback when I became free to leave the detention centre. ‘Where am I going? I asked myself.’ I have no family or relatives here.
“After I absorbed the reality, I thought of my family – my refugee brothers and sisters.
"Australia is a good country for its people, who are unaware of boat people and how much they are affected by its offshore immigration detention system. Such thoughts were coming to me,” Ms Tibebu says.
She used a mobile phone, switched on a TV, wore the clothes she liked and experienced the fear of using knives (as she hadn’t cooked for long) after four years.
Ms Tibebu started off with house cleaning jobs.
Once again, while struggling with my tears, I told myself that it does not matter if I have to clean people’s homes. I had decided to live life, no matter what.
Like many refugees before her, Ms Tibebu learned to adapt to the Australian way of life. She learnt to drive a car, look for work and study to improve her lifestyle.
In 2019, she moved from Brisbane to Melbourne.
Bethlehem Tibebu, a ticket inspector with Melbourne Metro Trains. Credit: B.Tibebu
Now, I work as a ticket inspector at Melbourne Metro trains.
“I have many dreams,” Ms Tibebu says.
“I want to be a human rights activist – to be a voice for the people who have burned themselves to death, who have been robbed of their lives in detention centres, who are struggling to live by taking medication daily and suffering from poor mental health.
Bethlehem Tibebu speaking at the refugee rally in Melbourne. Credit: Bethlehem Tibebu
Ms Tibebu wonders “why there is no African member in the Australian Parliament.”
“God willing, I want to be a member of parliament to contribute to a better refugee policy,” she says.
Ms Tibebu's visa status still remains unresolved. She continues her life in Australia on a Bridging visa and nurtures the hope of becoming a citizen one day.
