Facing threats after starting a charity for young LGBTQ Peruvians, Marianella (left), 42, and Ana Claudia Casmon, 36, came to Australia in 2018. They’ve since built a life around respect, patience – and teardrop trailers. Marianella: I met Ana in 2012 at a party in Lima. She was so beautiful I said to a friend of mine, “I’m going to marry that girl!” I flirted with her and we danced and, at the end of the night, I dropped her home. I was expecting a
kiss, but she didn’t kiss me. A few days later, we went out to dinner. We were both shy at first, but she made me laugh, which is good because I’m kind of a serious person. We also discovered that we had similar dreams: to travel, to be free, to have adventures. The day after our dinner, she came to my place and, basically, never left. We both worked in entertainment: I was a TV producer and she worked in music. At the time, I
was writing a semi-fictional blog about my relationships. It became very popular and, in 2014, Ana helped me turn it into a TV miniseries, with me as the lead. I soon started receiving lots of messages from women who had been raped or thrown out of their homes for being gay. I related because when I was 17, my dad threw me onto the streets for a year. We set up a charity to help these women, but it was stressful. My car was smashed
with rocks and people tried to burn down our office. I took it all onboard, but Ana took care of me. She made me green juices with spinach and every other greenery you can imagine, plus carrots. They were horrible but healthy. I was also smoking too much, and she got me to quit. At that time, my mum, who had divorced my dad, was living in Sydney. After our offices were attacked, she said, “You can’t go back to Peru.” So we applied for
a refugee visa and got it. We arrived in 2018 with $80,000. We bought a kebab caravan at Flemington Market [in inner-west Sydney] – despite the fact we’d never eaten a kebab in our lives. It was a disaster. The other food vendors hated the idea of two Latinas making kebabs. One guy threw a corn cob at my head. We cried, but we didn’t fight. After a few months, we were broke. Ana’s sneakers were sticky-taped together, we constantly smelled of lamb and were
covered in burns and cuts from cooking. One night, we came home late, exhausted. It was Ana’s birthday. She told me to close my eyes. When I opened them, she was holding a wedding ring. She said, “You are the best birthday gift I can have” – and proposed. In the end, we sold the food truck and became disability carers. We also started a business together, making high-end, teardrop camping trailers. It hasn’t been easy. I love risk, but Ana has lots of doubt
and is a perfectionist. Also, she has no family here. When she gets sad, I try to clown around; I speak in silly accents, but it’s hard because we live and work together. In the past year, we’ve been to therapy three times! We’ve learnt to let things go, and we’ve never given up on each other. We’ve also decided to keep the business small. That way, we can deliver each trailer ourselves, which is what we originally dreamt of: just the two of us,
on the road, free to be who we are, together.
Marianella, Ana Claudia Casmon, LGBTQ Peruvians, refugee visa, Australia, Flemington Market, disability carers, teardrop camping trailers, charity backlash