I was a police officer in Sierra Leone's eastern province, where I was married with five children. On the 6th of January 1999, I was on duty when the police station was attacked by a group of rebels, just like what happened in Martin Place. We were surrounded by rebels at 2am, we fought until 1pm when we were able to escape. I was rescued by the boats of the peace keeping force. That day was declared "the police calamity". I was separated from my three youngest children, though my two oldest children joined me in Guinea, where I sought asylum.

The UNHCR could not secure urban refugees and told me that if I don't go to Australia, they will throw my case out of the window. When I looked at the map, Australia was far away, I thought 'how am I going to find my three children?' So I refused the first referral. I said. 'I don't like Australia, I don't want to go. If I go, who is going to look for my children?' I was really confused and highly traumatised, I had already lost my husband in the war.

They said, 'OK, if you go to Australia, they will assist you to help trace your children.' In 2001, October 20th, I arrived in Mirrabooka, WA. I relocated to Sydney in June 2002 and my three kids were found in Guinea, they arrived in Australia on 23 January 2003. I became an Australian in 2004.

Australia means to me a lot which I cannot even express - I have a lot of opportunities, I'm happy to be here where there is no war and freedom of speech. We exchange values, respect other religions, have a health care system and look after our citizens.

Australia Day is a very big and special day in the year for me and my friends, we show our sign of appreciation to the government and people of Australia for what they gave to us in the time of difficulty.

Waqas Ahmed, 30, from Claremont Meadows. Arrived from Pakistan in 1995

There are laws in Pakistan that make the lives of Ahmadiyya Muslims in Pakistan difficult. The older you get, the harder it gets. You live a life of always finding shelter, being very careful about how you choose your words, how you show emotion. We can't openly defend ourselves. We cannot call ourselves Muslims over there, if we do, we can potentially go to jail. We believe in the same Prophet, we say the same five prayers, we declare the same kalima. But, while there are a lot of good people there as well, we have to live a secret life.

My grandfather was martyred in front of our house in Nawabshah two years ago. He was 70, he was Australian and was visiting his hometown, he was a businessman and a strong supporter of the Ahmadiyya community. He was gunned down. My cousin was hit by the same bullet, but he survived.

I was 10 when I came to Australia. I still remember the day we landed, there were stairs out of the plane and as we stepped down onto tarmac, I turned to my father and said 'goodbye Pakistan, hello Australia.'

I entered year 6 in Penrith Primary School. The biggest change is the cultural change, it was challenging at a young age. I remember the citizenship ceremony very well, it was 1997 or 1998, we had the ceremony in Penrith Council Chambers.

In primary school at Penrith, we went to a camp, this was my first excursion as a muslim child in this country and my teacher asked my parents what my dietary requirements were. My teacher would be there at every meal, he would make sure I knew which meat I was eating, he would make sure I was comfortable doing prayers five time a day. I was accepted straight away.

On Australia Day, when we fly the flag, it just means home. It reminds you of the freedom you have, of all the good things you have. There's freedom of speech, education, expression.Love of one's country is part of our faith, a direct learning from the Prophet Mohammed. We highlight that and reiterate that.

Sean Choolburra, 45, from Marrickville. Arrived from Townsville in 1990

I grew up in Townsville, in a family of seven brothers and four sisters, and Mum and Dad come from Palm Island. I couldn't get any work at Townsville, I studied at the Aboriginal Islander Dance Theatre (now NAISDA) - it was similar to the movie Fame. I did three years and was very lucky to be asked to join the Bangarra dance company. I moved to Sydney and in the last couple of decades I've worked as a performing artist and stand up comedian all over the world.

I've always been over the top optimistic about rising above racism or anything like that. Even though all those things may seem very, very bleak in small country towns and communities and sometimes, not all the time, in terms of employment and career, I always rise above that situation, I don't buy into it, I don't let myself be a victim. I just get on with the job, I shrug it off. A lot of it has to do with my upbringing, my family and my adopted white brother.

Ultimately we see ourselves as Australians, but for some reason, our ethnicity, our heritage, sometimes becomes a tricky issue. As far as I'm concerned, it's home to all of us. If you're happy here, this is it. At the same time, we would love to be known as Australian, not as "our next singer is an Aboriginal singer". When I first started out as a performer, I was a bit tired of it, but I said you know what, that's how they see me, so I hold it as a banner, and I am proud of it. It's a funny situation because even a lot of Aboriginal organisations, you have to prove that you're Aboriginal and get an Aboriginal certificate from your community.

Australia Day means a great deal: we're here as a race, we're still here. You realise, 'wow, it's survived, and it's still surviving.' I guess, in some way, we all want to get on with it, we all want to be be one. We want to meet halfway and change Australia Day to a more suitable date that all Australians can celebrate, under one flag.

Giselle Cohen, 89, from Glebe. Arrived from Berlin in 1938

Giselle Cohen, who is now 89, photographed in Parramatta in the early 40s.

I'm in my 77th year in Australia. I was a schoolgirl when I arrived and I must say the experience of the voyage to Australia was wondrous. As a 13-year-old, it was an adventure, even though the reason for coming was a very, very dire, sad experience. It was heartbreaking leaving girlfriends, let alone family, uncles, aunts, to a world that was utterly unknown to me, but I think my compassion was aroused because I witnessed the suffering of my parents. They just went ahead with enormous courage.

My mother went to Canberra to try to obtain interim permits for her mother and brothers. But it was all too late. I do know that my grandmother died in her own bed but my grandfather and other relatives were lost in concentration camps.

When we first landed here at Woolloomooloo wharf, it was a very hot day asphalt melting under foot and I thought where the hell are we? Honestly, it seemed much more primitive than the Berlin I had left.

Our very first address was Bondi Beach. The surf was something I had never seen in my life. I went to school at OLMC Parramatta and I was the only European girl there and was warmly received, which was terrific, I felt wonderful, I very soon felt part of the community and made lifelong friendships. I became an Australian some time in the 40s.

I travelled back to Europe and revisited Germany, but I was never so happy as when I came back here because I felt this was home. I felt the camaraderie, I felt at ease, it was more leisurely, the opportunities we all have to this day - despite the meowing that goes on in society - are enormous and life here is generally enviable to many other nations.

For me, Australia has become home. The essence of Australia is in me. I welcome Australia Day in the sense of being happy to be part of a country that has been so generous. We should always feel a sense of celebration.