In 2011, at the age of 19, I fled my hometown of Soran in northern Iraq after powerful individuals threatened to kill me. Believing the UK to be a safe haven for refugees, I embarked on a perilous journey across Europe by lorry and arrived in October of that year. I claimed asylum, feeling fortunate to be in a peaceful country. At the time, David Cameron was prime minister, and over the years, five others succeeded him. To me, they all seemed alike—each one brought immense stress into my life.
A Decade of Uncertainty
I hoped to rebuild my life in the UK, but just a few months after my arrival, my asylum claim was rejected. I endured a lengthy appeals process and lived in Home Office-provided accommodation across various parts of the UK for more than ten years. During this time, I learned skills like barbering, but my main obligation was to report regularly to Home Office centres. These visits were terrifying because I never knew what would happen: I might be allowed to return to my accommodation, or I could be arrested and sent to a detention centre.
Initially, I had to report every three months, but the frequency increased to once a month and eventually once a week. Although I love the UK and consider it my home—having spent nearly half my life there—I never felt treated as an equal or shown any humanity. As asylum seekers, we are prohibited from working or opening a bank account, among many other restrictions.
The Fear of Deportation
I lived in constant fear that it was only a matter of time before I would be detained and deported back to Iraq. To avoid this fate, I decided to smuggle myself out of the UK to mainland Europe. An acquaintance connected me with smugglers who could transport people out of the UK in lorries. He paid them a few hundred pounds on my behalf.
In January of this year, I met the smugglers in Dover at a prearranged time and location. Another man was also there. We were instructed to climb into a box inside the lorry and lie still until we reached France. Once the box was sealed, it could not be opened from the inside—a death trap. I had never been so terrified in my life, crammed into that tiny, freezing space, unsure if it would ever be opened. I could barely breathe and lost all feeling in my feet.
Smugglers do not care whether you live or die after they have your money. I carried only a small backpack with a spare T-shirt, trousers, shoes, and my phone—so we could call the police to rescue us if the box remained unopened. I kept thinking that if I died in there, my body might never be found. The other man and I were locked inside for approximately 12 hours.
The Escape to Italy
Time passed excruciatingly slowly. We could not eat, drink, or urinate. When the lorry finally stopped in Calais, the driver unlocked the box. By then, I felt near death, my feet completely frozen. I vowed never to hide in a lorry again. The driver urged us to leave quickly, and we did. The other man went to stay with relatives, but I knew France was not safe for me because some smugglers there have ties to the people who threatened me in Iraq.
I walked through a village searching for a train station to reach Paris, then took another train to Italy. I had heard that in the region where I now reside, it is easier to obtain papers granting the right to work legally—which is all I desire. Since my arrival, my home city has been attacked with drones amid the conflict between Iran, Israel, and the United States, making it even more dangerous to return.
Struggling for a Normal Life
Life has always been difficult, and I suffer from depression—yet I still cherish being alive. I do not yet have a work permit and am struggling to survive here. My dream is to return to the UK and find a way to live safely, legally, and normally: to open a barber shop, pay my taxes, and take my first holiday.
As told to Diane Taylor
