Tuvaluan migrant Frayzel Uale's first encounter with Australia left him gripped by culture shock.
The traffic and skyscrapers in his new home city of Melbourne were unlike anything he had seen on his tiny home island in the Pacific.
But that wasn't the hardest part about moving from Tuvalu in 2021 as a teenager.
"It was fitting in … especially in school," he says.
"It was hard to make friends due to the language barrier."
Four years later, the 19-year-old has found his niche at a community hall near Melton, in Melbourne's north-west.
On a Saturday night in June, he keeps the beat as the voices of more than 30 young people rise in song at a monthly youth event held by the Tuvaluan community.
They're performing a fatele — a traditional dance song that brings Frayzel back to his childhood in Tuvalu.
"It's the closest thing to home," he says.
"Living in countries like this you can feel very isolated from home … you miss your homeland."
Organisers say the youth events, known as Youth Connection Day, are about to grow more important for Tuvalu's small but vibrant diaspora.
Up to 280 Tuvaluans a year will begin moving to Australia soon, under a new visa letting them escape the impact of climate change on their islands — agreed through the between the two countries.
It's proving popular, with more than 4,000 people already having entered a ballot for the first batch of visas.
The low-lying atoll nation is in peril from rising seas, and scientists say it could become uninhabitable within decades.
Tuvaluans already living in Australia say they are determined to keep their culture alive in their adopted new country.
"We need to hold on to something that is uniquely ours, in order for us to continue to survive," Youth Connection Day organiser Losa Sogivalu says.
Frayzel says events like the youth night will help migrants settle in as they arrive under the new treaty.
"We can help them slowly fit in, help them through the culture shock," he says.
"It brings them a sense of belonging."
Island pride
Many of the young people gathered at the youth event have never seen Tuvalu.
Ms Sogivalu says she didn't want to see them grow up outside of their traditional culture, as she did as a young person in New Zealand.
"I want the kids to have what I didn't have," she says.
At Arnolds Creek Children's and Community Centre, kids and teenagers play games teaching them Tuvaluan language and songs.
The venue buzzes with energy as they compete in group singing contests and other team activities.
Ms Sogivalu says the mood is "crazy" — in a good way.
"It's loud, it's messy. But we wouldn't have it any other way," she says.
"That's what we want. We want the kids to be their true selves."
Latasi Monise, 16, was born and raised in Australia but is learning more about his Tuvaluan heritage at the events.
"I get to come here and interact with people who are just like me," he says.
"I just love being here. It brings me closer to my roots."
Later in the night, he joins Frayzel in keeping the beat as the group dances in the fatele.
Several young men tap the wooden box at the centre, while young women, girls and boys dance in a circle at the edge.
After only two Youth Connection Day events, organisers have seen the young people grow in confidence as they dance.
"I've also seen pride in their culture," Ms Sogivalu says.
"As a young Pacific Islander, as a minority in this big country, you get lost.
"And this is an opportunity for them to get connected, through their roots, to who they are."
Homelands, and hope
Youth Connection Day is one of a growing number of events run by community organisation Kaiga Tuvalu Victoria, as it prepares for the arrival of new Tuvaluan migrants.
The group's president, Niu Boland, has seen the diaspora grow since he moved to Australia 25 years ago.
When he arrived in Melbourne about 10 years ago, he found a small diaspora of Tuvaluans there who had moved from New Zealand.
"There was still a bit of a community thing going on, but it's nothing like it is today," Mr Boland says.
He estimates Melbourne's Tuvaluan community now numbers a few hundred.
"Over the years, we seem to have a lot more numbers that attend our social functions."
Many now meet weekly at a church service at Melton's Baptist Church, where the congregation sings and hears sermons in Tuvaluan language.
But Tuvaluans who have already moved from its islands say starting a new life in Australia can be hard.
Mr Boland says without a rental history, it could be hard finding a property in a tight housing market.
"They'll just have to depend on the [Tuvaluan] community for support, a lot of community support," he says.
"And the community will have to back that up, just for while they get their feet on the ground."
Latasi says the reality of life in Australia could be harder than anticipated for some Tuvaluan migrants.
"Most Pasifika people … they'll say 'it's freedom from what we know now, we just move there and there's so much opportunity,'" he says.
"It's not exactly like that. They might come here and then not find a job, and then they'll have to just live with relatives who are already here.
"I think it's great [they can move to Australia], but I don't think it's without its cons."
For now, Melbourne's Tuvaluan community is ready to welcome more people, including at its youth nights.
"We've started something that hopefully they'll be able to join, and they can help us as well to maintain the culture," Ms Sogivalu says.
Learning Tuvalu's language also gives the community's young people hope they can see their homeland, despite rising sea levels.
Latasi plans to finally make the trip one day — and speak Tuvaluan there.
"I want it to be there, so me and my kids can visit, my grandkids can visit," he says.
"I don't want it to just be gone."
