How a Day of Fruit Picking in Kent Brought My Childhood Back to Life By Michelle

There are moments that reach across time and return something to you that you did not realise you had lost. Standing in the middle of a farm in Kent on the fifth of July, surrounded by cherry trees and strawberry plants heavy with fruit, I felt something stir inside me that I had not felt in years. It was the particular happiness of childhood. Simple, uncomplicated, and completely free.

Growing up, climbing fruit trees was one of the greatest joys I knew. Guava, santol, mango, we climbed them all without hesitation, racing each other to the branches with the most fruit, laughing when someone nearly slipped, triumphant when we found the perfect cluster hanging just out of reach. And then we would sit underneath the tree together and eat what we had picked with salt and vinegar, the sharp tang of it mixing with the sweetness of the fruit in a combination that only ever tastes exactly right when you are young and carefree and the afternoon stretches endlessly ahead of you. Those memories are among the most beautiful I carry from home.

I cannot climb trees anymore, at least not the way I once did, with the fearlessness and agility of a child who has not yet learned to be cautious. But standing at Felderland Farm with cherries and strawberries within easy reach, picking them directly from the plant and eating them right there in the open air, something of that old feeling returned to me completely. The fruit was sweet and fresh and honest in the way that only food eaten at the source can be. And the joy of reaching out and taking something good from the world with my own hands, without ceremony or complication, was as pure as anything I have felt in a long time.

I wandered around the farm with my friends, taking photographs, filming TikToks among the fruit trees, laughing at ourselves and with each other in the way that comes naturally when you are somewhere beautiful with people you genuinely love. There was no clock to watch, no employer waiting, no invisible weight of obligation pressing down on the day. There was only the farm and the sunshine and the fruit and the company of people who make even an ordinary moment feel like something worth celebrating.

That freedom to wander, to be present, to simply enjoy a day without fear or restriction, is something every domestic worker deserves and something not every domestic worker currently has. The right to change employer without restriction is rooted in exactly this kind of freedom. Because a worker who is bound to one employer with no legal way out is never truly free, not on their days off, not in the spaces between duties, not even standing in a sunny orchard with cherries in their hand. The worry follows. The right to change employer means the worry does not have to follow anymore.

After the fruit picking, we made our way to Ramsgate, and the day opened up into something even more joyful. We arrived at the beach in our swimsuits and walked straight into the sea, the water cold and clear and absolutely welcome after hours in the summer sun. We swam and laughed and floated on our backs looking up at the sky and let the waves do what waves do best, which is remind you that the world is vast and generous and full of good things if you can find your way to them.

The beach at Ramsgate felt like an extension of the farm in spirit if not in geography. Both places offered the same essential gift, the gift of nature met on its own terms, without agenda or performance. Just presence. Just the salt water on your skin and the sun on your face and the sound of your friends laughing nearby. For domestic workers who spend so much of their time enclosed, tending to the interior world of someone else's household, that kind of open outdoor joy is deeply restorative. It is not a luxury. It is a necessity. And the right to renew the Overseas Domestic Worker Visa is what ensures workers can keep accessing that restoration, that they are not cut off from the community and the life they have built here simply because a piece of paper says their time is running out.

I thought about the organisers and fundraisers who made this day possible as I stood in the sea, water up to my waist, completely happy. The work that goes into creating these experiences for VODW members is not small or simple. It requires dedication and care and a genuine belief that domestic workers deserve more than survival, that they deserve days like this one. That belief is the same belief that drives the campaign for the right to settlement, the conviction that people who have given years of their lives to this country should be able to put down roots here permanently, should be able to plan for a future rather than always wondering whether they will be allowed to stay long enough to see it.

The children I once was, racing her friends to the best mango tree in the neighbourhood, could not have imagined the life that lay ahead of her. The ocean crossings and the years of hard work and the sacrifices made quietly in the name of family and survival. But perhaps she would also not have imagined this, standing in the sea on the south coast of England on a warm July afternoon, surrounded by women who have become her chosen family, laughing about nothing and everything at once. Perhaps she would have looked at this moment and recognised it as the kind of happiness she used to climb trees to find.

The right to British citizenship is the fullest expression of what that happiness deserves to rest upon. It is the recognition that domestic workers who have made their lives here, who have found community and joy and belonging on British soil, are not temporary visitors to these shores. They are part of this country in every way that matters. Citizenship would simply make that truth official, permanent, and protected.

Thank you to the Voice of Domestic Workers for giving us Kent and Ramsgate and the cherries and the sea and each other. Thank you to every organiser and fundraiser who believed that a day like this was worth making happen. It was worth it. It was more than worth it.

And to the girl I used to be, climbing guava trees with salt and vinegar in her pocket, I want her to know that the joy she was chasing back then is still here. It followed me all the way across the world. And on the fifth of July, standing in a strawberry field in England with the people I love, I found it again.

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