Mehdi Savari imagined life in the United States would be easier.
“I thought when I come in USA, I can work like everyone. I can drive, do anything,” he says.
He reached Philadelphia in July 2019, nearly six years after he left Iran, took a boat to Australia and was sent to Papua New Guinea’s Manus Island.
Detention on Manus was not easy for anyone, but for Savari it had unique challenges.
He is just one metre tall.
The detention camp was not built for people like him. He could barely reach the sinks in the bathroom. Despite his constant requests, nothing was done. It would be five years and two months before the PNG government provided a bathroom suitable for Savari – and even then it happened only after his lawyers took legal action.
At first Savari, who is now 36, delighted other Manus detainees. He’s an actor, comedian and magician and once hosted a children’s television program in Iran, where he belonged to the Ahwazi Arab minority.
On Manus he put on shows with other detainees. Many in the processing centre were unhappy, worried and angry, and he wanted to do what he could to improve their situation by making them laugh. He became well known in Australia, and the actors’ union started a campaign for him to be brought onshore.
But security guards told him to stop the performances. This is a prison, not a party, he was told.
“After that, I also got sick like everyone,” he says. He developed problems with his eyes, stomach and bones, serious depression and other mental health issues. He started chain-smoking.
“I lost all my teeth and everything,” he says. “I lost all my life when I was there.”
In January 2017 he was moved to Port Moresby for medical treatment. He continued to perform when he could. One of his happiest memories is a magic show he put on for orphans in a Port Moresby church in 2018.
“All of them said thanks. I was happy,” he says. “That day was special.”
But Savari also remembers the bad times, like when he was abducted, assaulted and interrogated by PNG police during the Apec conference in Port Moresby in 2018.
In July 2019, after being accepted for resettlement under the US deal, he left the country that had caused him so much pain.
But his first year in the US was full of challenges he had not foreseen.
Caseworkers in PNG told him he would finally get good treatment for his medical issues. But some things, like the thousands of dollars in dental care he needs, are not covered by his insurance. His other problems require long-term attention: a specialist recently told him his body looks like that of a 70-year-old. He still finds it difficult to sleep, and the stress from the 2014 riot at the detention centre stays with him.
Because of his height he has been unable to find a job.
“When I go for job interview, no one accept me,” he says. “All of them said to me: ‘You cannot work with us. You are not normal person.’ ”
But the US government rejected his application for a disability pension, saying he’s not disabled.
A settlement agency supported him and provided accommodation for the first six months, but after that he sometimes had to rely on friends and a volunteer group of Australian expats called Ads-Up USA to help him to cover his rent.
Recently he moved to Sacramento, California, where the weather suits him better and he has a community of Ahwazians. California is the country’s entertainment capital, and although his English is not yet strong enough to work in that industry, he hopes he’ll be able to in future.
Things are slowly improving, he says. He has learned to drive and got a licence last month. An Ahwazian friend gave him a 2005 Toyota which has been adjusted for his height. It means he can earn money delivering food through DoorDash.
He doesn’t feel safe while driving, he says, and he’s not earning much: about $40 or $50 a day that also has to cover his petrol and meals while he works.
But it’s something.
“Thank God, now I am working,” he says. “Doing DoorDash I cannot make big money, but I feel OK because I am busy.”