A few days before Australia’s population ticked over 28 million, a neighbour and regular cricket mate invited me along to his citizenship ceremony. We arrived early, a little unsure of what the morning would hold.

For him, it had been a long road. More than four years of forms, waiting, interviews, setbacks and that quiet, stubborn kind of hope you don’t always talk about. Back in his home country he’d been educated and settled. Here life had taken on a different shape, driving a cab by day before night shifts on a forklift in a factory, trying to piece together something steady.

Sitting near us were an Afghan Hazara family. Two young girls were watching their father closely, their faces lit up in a way that only children can manage. He was speaking softly in Hazaragi, explaining things as they happened. I caught fragments: Aao Stralia keshwar-e hama-gi maasta ke enje zindagi moonem … enje kas ba kas gharaz nadra … (Australia is the home of everyone who lives here … People here mind their own business). He spoke simply, almost casually, but there was something careful in the way he chose his words. On his hand, a turquoise stone set in a silver........

© The Guardian