The Waikato refugee and Muslim community lost one of its prominent leaders, Ismail Dirye Gamadid, to Covid-19 last month. We look at the legacy of his life. Produced by Kadambari Raghukumar.

The Covid-19 pandemic claimed Waikato's much-loved and prominent refugee leader last month. Ismail Diriye Gamadid passed away in Mogadishu, Somalia on 25 May after a three-week struggle with Covid-19. He was on a humanitarian visit to flood victims in an area also affected severely by Covid-19.

At the time of his death, he was serving as Minister for Agriculture in the region of his birth - Puntland, an autonomous province in Somalia.

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At the Hamilton Gardens on a sunny day in June, nearly 100 people have gathered to remember and commemorate the life and legacy of Ismail, fondly known as a 'gift to Hamilton'.

It's an emotional farewell to this popular Somali leader. Ismail arrived in New Zealand as a refugee from Somalia in the mid-1990s. For 20 years he served his community as President of Waikato Muslim Association and Waikato Refugee Forum.

There's a cross-section of people at the gathering. Politicians, community social workers, government representatives from the Ministry of Social Development and people across the Muslim, refugee, immigrant and many African communities from Waikato, Auckland and even Canterbury.

Ismail was clearly loved by everyone whose lives he touched.

Dr Mustafa Farouk originally from Nigeria, leads FIANZ, the Federation of Islamic Associations of New Zealand. He and Ismail shared a close friendship over the years.

" was definitely larger than life. Ismail loved to tell stories - he always had a proverb, a story for everything. Some stories that only an African person could appreciate. You'd never be bored if Ismail was around. When you travelled with him he always came prepared. You knew there'll always be a lot of coffee, food and you'd always be entertained," Farouk says.

"But most of all, he cared for people. No matter who you were, Ismail was always there for you. He also had a strong command over Somali language and history."

Ismail's love for Somalia drew him back there a year and a half ago to serve in the regional government of Puntland, in the northeast of the country. …

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Melana Khabazi's love affair with dance helped the 26-year-old Russian discover her spiritual home half a world away from where she was born.

Melana Khabazi's passion for dance has seen her travel the world and helped her find her place in it - Aotearoa.

"I think dance is amazing and an outstanding way of expressing yourself. The plan wasn't to go and stay here, the plan was to study, and go back to Russia, but obviously that didn't happen."

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Ten years ago, Melana Khabazi and her sister Marika moved here as teenagers to study. Melana was just 16-years-old.

The youngest of three girls, Melana was born in Georgia in 1993, two years after the country broke away from the Soviet Union.

"Our parents never told us much about what happened but from what I know it was a tough time. It's almost an unspoken something that we didn't really talk about," says 26-year-old Melana.

Her mother is a lawyer, and her father used to be a dancer and a choreographer in Georgian National Dance.

"Georgian dance is quite powerful and strong, basically a folk dance that is quite famous and popular," she says.

Compulsory military service saw her father Guram move from Georgia to Ulan-Ude, a city in Russia's Siberia, and where he met Melana's mother, Olga.

"My mum left everything and she moved to another country with my father which is quite amazing because obviously it's a whole different culture, different people, different language. She was on her own. She has to adjust and live there, but I know that it was quite tough times," she adds.

But in 1995, when Melana was two-years-old the family returned to her mother's home in Ulan-Ude, in Eastern Siberia. It's where the deepest lake in the world, Lake Baikal is.

"Ulan-Ude is part of Siberia. If you want to do the Trans-Siberian railway, you will go through my town," says Melana.

It was a melting pot of nationalities in Ulan-Ude, and Melana was no stranger to being around people from diverse backgrounds and ethnicities.

"Growing up it was a norm for me - so many different people, so many different cultures..' it was interesting and I accepted it all," says Melana.

The joy she got from expressing herself through music and movement began when she started school.

"Me and my sister we went to a gymnasium, which is not a normal school, it's basically like an arts school, so you learn dance, you learn music and you learn theatre," she adds…

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A Filipino photographer's new life in Aotearoa was turned around after he discovered a new way to grow connections with community and land. Produced by Kadambari Raghukumar

"When I started growing, it was crazy how my neighbours started reacting. I started to make a lot of friends with them. I had passersby saying thank you for growing these sunflowers!" I had 30 sunflowers extending their heads over the fence at one time."

"It's all about extending your love - not just to your family, but beyond - your neighbours, friends, extending your love to all living organisms."

That in a nutshell pretty much sums up Charles Buenconsejo's attitude in life - both in his garden and outside.

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Charles and his wife Grace - who he says is his 'first garden', moved to New Zealand four years ago. Settling in was far from easy for the couple. Struggling to find work while making do with low-cost, cramped accomodation shared with neighbours who ranged from ex-prisoners to prostitutes, gang members, addicts and struggling migrants all in the mix, was an anthropological insight, as Charles calls it. It was a rough landing into New Zealand that was a result of a Google search that pointed them to the cheapest accomodation in Auckland - which in hindsight Charles describes to have felt more like a 'correctional institution". It was a picture they hadn't quite seen in the brochures they were given in Manila about migrating to New Zealand.

It was after while when they slowly started saving some money and made some contacts that they eventually moved to a home in a suburb in west Auckland. A home with a backyard. But a shadow of cultural dislocation and depression followed Charles. Unable to find work, trapped at home while the building sites next door drove him further into his isolation and sense of displacement. He found himself caught in a vortex of Youtube algorithms that peddled fear of a "dystopian future". Working as a self-employed artist and photographer, each day became a hustle to find work.

Charles came upon Stone Soup, a community run magazine by Aaron Mclean - an ardent advocate of connecting community through food, a passionate gardener and a photographer himself. The two became friends quickly. Aaron spoke of the ideas of 'changing the algorithm' and learning how to 'engineer paradise' simply by getting out and getting one's hands dirty by planting…

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Raising funds to help those in need during Ramadan can be even harder in lockdown. That certainly isn't stopping three people from across the world who call New Zealand home. Produced by Kadambari Raghukumar

Lockdown and Ramadan make for a very unusual combination. The month of Ramadan is distinctly marked by gatherings - for prayers, the cooking and sharing of meals at the end of a long day of fasting. Beginning 23 April this year for most Muslims in New Zealand observing the fast in lockdown has been more challenging than otherwise. But this month is also about reflection and generosity - two things that remain unchanged despite lockdown.

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Tariq Habibyar was born in Afghanistan during the war. Arriving as a refugee in New Zealand and having built a life for himself and his family here, he set his mind on helping uplift the lives of children and families back in Herat, his birthplace.

This past month he's been determinedly running an online fundraiser for children in Herat, a hotspot of Covid-19 in Afghanistan. He intends to send the money raised here to help feed kids and families struggling during the lockdown, most of whom survive on daily wages. Habibyar aims to send - through his network of trusted volunteers - food packages comprising basics like rice, lentils and oil.

"I'm just trying to bridge my two homes, New Zealand and Afghanistan," he said.

Habibyar is a career counsellor at Massey University and an ardent advocate for educating youth back in Afghanistan. Over the years he's been involved in several projects to help raise funds for school children there. "We don't just want them to survive, we want them to thrive," he said.

It's a belief that Mariam Almasri shares. Almasri, originally from West Bank, Palestine, is passionate and unwavering in her sense of purpose. She comes across as someone who has a mind for business while driven steadily by empathy.

Importing produce and products from Palestinian farmers, craftsmen and women's cooperatives, her social enterprise 'Preserved Identity' has been donating a percentage of the proceeds to help uplift families in Gaza, provide Ramadan food packages and fund uniforms for kids. …

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141 years ago on 14 May, the Leonidas arrived in Fiji - the first ship carrying indentured workers from India. Reflecting back on that day, what significance does that painful history hold for the community navigating challenges of their unique identity as Fiji Indians? Produced by Kadambari Raghukumar

'Girmit Day' is marked on 14 May each year by the Fiji Indian community in New Zealand as a day to reflect on their shared past - the British colonial indenture system in Fiji. It's also a day that celebrates the birth of the community's identity and their uniqueness as a diaspora.

The years between 1879 and 1916 saw over 60,500 people transported on ships to work on plantations in Fiji. On board these ships were men and women from India lured by promises of a better life - one which they were told by recruiters, lay at the end of a short journey. Many were recruited from so far inland in India that they'd never seen an ocean. Most were poor farmers who left drought and hardship hoping to return home to their villages in India after a while.

The first of these ships, The Leonidas, docked in Fiji on 14 May 1879 - the short journey the emigrants were told about turned out to be a long and arduous journey across continents.

Over the following years ships specifically fitted out to carry large numbers of human cargo plied the route regularly. Labourers were taken to the Indian ports of Calcutta and Madras from where ships left. The Indians that went to Fiji were among the several thousands who travelled from British India to work on plantations in the Caribbean, islands in the Indian Ocean, Guyana, South Africa and Malaysia amongst other colonies over a period of about 100 years, starting from 1833 when slavery in the British empire was abolished. The indenture tenure system was to make up for the loss of labour caused by the 1833 abolition.

The Indian workers under contract came to be known as Girmitiya - a Hindi take on the the word 'agreement'. The workers were bond to a five year agreement, the Girmit, which was extendable. On finishing five years, they were permitted to return to India at their own expense, or serve ten years and return at the expense of the British colonial government. Some people returned at their end of the indenture but most stayed back as they either couldn't afford the journey back or lost virtually all ties to their homes and families in India and stayed on.

Life on the plantations was cruel - mistreatment was rife and living conditions were harsh. First-hand accounts both oral and written, as well as songs called 'bidesiya' in Fiji Hindi composed in those years lament the loss of their homeland, displacement, deceit and the harshness of life as workers on the plantations…

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