I looked forward to her 3 a.m.-ish emails.Īlthough she’s far more multi-talented than I am, in many ways, she reminds me of the best parts of my younger self. We just kept writing to each other as we discovered how much we had in common, and, I began calling her my friend in the night. But she was only a two-hour time zone away in Texas, and, like me, was seduced by the serenity of working at night. “Do you live in England?” I asked thinking the time difference would make it mid-morning for her. Her reply was so warm and interesting that it prompted a reply from me. Middle-of-the-night communiques are not unusual for me, but getting a response about 15 minutes later was a surprise. when I emailed a writing submission to TELEPHONE, an international arts project. This would then mean that I now had to apply for asylum.My friend in the night, Katelyn Watkins, and I met two years ago at about 2:30 a.m. For over 20 years, I had been under her file, but they decided to remove me and told me that I needed to make my own file. This was odd because my mother is the reason I am in South Africa in the first place. We went to renew our section 22 permits and I was told that I am now too old to be under my mother’s file. My mother and I have been in South Africa for a total of 20 years.įor me, things took a turn for the worst in March 2020. This means that for a total of 14 years, she has been under the “Booked for Appeal Hearing” and was always being given a six-month extension on her section 22 permit.’ Since then, the Refugee Appeal Board has not called her for a hearing. She was asked to re-submit it, which she did. In 2017, a refugee status determination officer called her in and informed her that the notice of appeal she had submitted in 2007 was lost. She was given 10 days to submit a notice of appeal, which she did. On 28 November 2007, six years after applying for asylum, her application was rejected. Since I was accompanying her as her child, I was placed in her file. As soon as she arrived here, she applied for asylum.

In that year, my mother immigrated to South Africa from the Democratic Republic of Congo.

I could not talk, I had no social or cultural understanding and I had no ability to make decisions. In the year 2001, I was only two years old. My name is Ndoji Manika, I am 23 years old. I know that you are a very busy man, so I will get straight to the point.

Sahrawi Arab Democratic Republic (Western Sahara)ĭear Aaron Motsoaledi, please give me South African citizenship.

Dear aaron