Young refugees tell Sarah Wellard how it feels to be strangers in a strange land.
Children who come here as asylum seekers, either alone or with their families, are among the most marginalised children in the UK. Fleeing violence, war and persecution, they may be traumatised after witnessing the killing of relatives or neighbours. Asylum seekers usually have to survive on incomes below the level of state benefits and rarely have any choice over where they live. While their applications for asylum - or those of their parents - are considered they exist in a no man’s land, not allowed to work or travel outside the UK and not knowing whether they will be sent back.
Two young women who came to the UK as children with their families talked to 0-19 about the racism and other difficulties they have encountered, and also about their friendships and their hopes for the future.
Louise, who is now 17, came to Britain in 1997 to escape war in her native Congo. "I don’t know much about why we came or how we managed to come here. I was only 10 years old. I know that my parents were trying to protect us. We had to leave our house in the middle of the night because the soldiers were coming.
"We’re still waiting for our decision [on the application for asylum]. We have to wake up every day not knowing if we’re going to be able to remain here. What am I going to do if I go back? Half my life is here. All my life as a teenager is here.
"When I went for my national insurance card they said I had to bring my passport but I have no passport. It’s to do with my parents’ status. I’m not allowed to work. At the moment I am studying media, communications and sociology. When you start college you should be able to get £30 a week, but I can’t get that."
Louise experiences double racism, as a black person and as a refugee. "People look at you differently when they know you’re a refugee. They think that you don’t pay for anything. I’ve had very difficult white people saying to me, ‘Do you think people will give you money, give you a house?’ I said to them that for some of us to leave our country was really sad. Our parents left our country to try to find a better life for us.
"I don’t like the words refugee and asylum seeker. [People think] every refugee or asylum seeker is the same. We try to go about things the right way but we’re still labelled.
"I don’t smoke or drink or smoke weed, but the way [the media] show black people all the time is as dangerous, like only black people smoke weed. How can I set about my life without being judged?
"I look at myself as a teenager, not as a refugee. It doesn’t matter where you’re from. We all face problems in our teenage lives.
Despite Louise’s daily experiences of racism, several of the people she is closest to are white. "My best friend is white. It wouldn’t matter if she was Chinese or black - what matters is that we have personality in common. She suffers racism too because she’s Russian and hangs around with black people. My mentor is British. I love her very much. She doesn’t care that I’m black and she’s white. She treats me like her daughter."
If she is allowed to stay, Louise wants to continue her studies and to work in the community. "I want to give back everything good I’ve received from the community, like as a mentor or social worker. I’ll try not to let the next generation suffer."
Martha, now aged 19, fled to London from Colombia at the age of 12 with her mother, older brother and cousin. Her father, a prominent trades unionist and former deputy leader of a left-wing political group, stayed behind and continues his work from hiding. "I always knew we were under threat. In Colombia we were always moving around. Then my mother got a letter saying she should tell [the paramilitaries] where her husband was or her children would be killed. We packed our bags.
"I didn’t really understand what was happening. I packed two changes of clothes and my Barbie - no sweaters. We went to the Red Cross in Bogota and stayed in a refuge for two weeks. From there we flew to London - the Red Cross bought the tickets.
"The man who sent us was Swedish and didn’t know about asylum application procedures in the UK. In immigration they split us up. We didn’t know what we should say so I said I wanted to study and my mum said she was a tourist. They said we were liars. They gave me a personal examination. I was very scared. After seven hours - and no food - they let us go and gave us an appointment to come back."
Once in London, Martha’s mother was able to contact other Colombians living in exile, who helped her find a lawyer. "At the beginning you are afraid to go outside because you think someone might speak to you in the street. It just terrifies you. You feel the isolation and depression that comes from not really understanding, and the clash of culture.
"At school absolutely no one spoke Spanish. In the playground someone came up to me and told me I was stupid. So I said, ‘Thank you, you too.’ I’d been told that was a polite thing to say. I didn’t understand why people were laughing.
"As a foreigner you encounter racism, but as an asylum seeker or refugee it’s different. It has all these negative connotations. There’s this idea that people are just here to get benefits. I don’t think that people understand that being a refugee is hard."
Martha’s mother took her to a community centre in Bethnal Green, east London, that offered information and advice for refugees. "At the community centre I saw a lot of young people in the same situation as me who were depressed and angry. We started a group to share experiences. We didn’t speak English so we just painted what we wanted to say. Then we started silent drama. Art gave us a voice that we didn’t have.
"The first paintings I did were very violent, all blood and people dying. In Colombia you would be playing in the streets and you would have to run because you saw a shooting. I saw people being picked up after being shot. The art allowed me to leave something behind and let me get on with my life. Otherwise what’s in your heart pulls you down and down."
After five years of waiting, Martha’s family finally received leave to remain last year. "Someone told me that being an asylum seeker is like being a bird in a golden cage. When you’re an asylum seeker you are not allowed to travel so I couldn’t see my relatives in Argentina. I couldn’t go to university because they won’t let you in.
"Now I have hopes and dreams for the future. At the moment I’m raising money to study dance. I give workshops for children. I want to work in the community and work with dance."
