Tiny dancer
Three’s Aziz Al-Sa’afin came to New Zealand as a refugee from Kuwait in 1991. He’s pictured aged 1, at his aunt’s house, a few months before he arrived here with his family. His mother, Sabah, and cousin Noor are in the background.
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A couple of months after I was born, the Gulf War hit. We had to go into hiding for a lot of the time during that. Saddam Hussein had come into Kuwait and tried to claim it as his own. Mum was an official at the Lebanese embassy; she was automatically on that hit list. This is one of the first photos taken after all that. It was taken about March 1991 when the Gulf War had subsided. The first year of my life, we spent a lot of the time in a bunker. We had a staircase whose entrance was covered with a tapestry. You couldn’t tell there was a door there. The whole family hunkered down there for months. From time to time, my uncle would go out to gather as much food as he could and come back.
I was obsessed with biscuits and I still am. I remember going into a bin and finding a packet and being really super excited. I picked up the packet and it was empty. I started crying. Fast forward a couple of days, Mum had tasked my uncle with finding some biscuits for me. He came back with his supplies and there was a packet of biscuits.
This photo was taken the first time the whole family had got together – making sure everyone was alive.
If there’s one thing anyone knows about me, it’s that I love to dance and sing. There was a Middle Eastern popstar by the name of Fifi Abdou – apparently I was head-over-heels in love with her. Every time her music would come on, I’d start singing and dancing.
They decided to have a little party, and put on Fifi Abdou. They put me on the table and there I was, in my element.
Your parents make sure regardless of what’s happening, you just notice the good stuff. So here we are in this wartorn country and my distinct memory is of my family all gathered around in a little lounge the size of maybe a single garage and we’re dancing, singing. It was, for my mum, the first time she could truly celebrate and be happy we were all safe.
I always say to my mum: “Of all the clothes you could have possibly put me in, why did you make me look like a girl?” Back in those days, what you had was essentially what you were able to hold onto before the war. We didn’t have much at all. I’m fairly sure the clothes belonged to the neighbour’s child, who was a girl. They don’t even fit properly.
When I look at this, there’s a bit of mixed emotion. Obviously you think about those times and how hard it was for my mum and my whole family to get through it. But then it’s gratitude. The expression on my mum’s face... She’s such a strong part of my life. If it wasn’t for her we certainly wouldn’t have got to where we are now. It makes me feel happy, ridiculous, but also proud. It’s a photo that grounds me. Here I am in New Zealand – which I regard as paradise. It’s a good reminder of my roots and where I came from.