It was late 2020 when I received the call I had been waiting for – I finally got my asylum status.

I was over the moon, and so relieved. I cried a lot because for 12 years, I had suffered in this limbo. After a gruelling journey, I had finally arrived at my final destination and I felt like my life could finally go on.

I have fond memories of my childhood in Afghanistan. I distinctly remember the generosity of our people, the sense of community within our towns but also the food. The smells of all the delicious home-cooked meals as I walked home from school are unforgettable and there was nothing tastier than the fresh seasonal fruits you’d find in the markets.

But there were bad times too. My family ended up in a dangerous situation because of politics. My dad had made some powerful enemies in his job, which led to us being a deemed a target.

This was the main reason I had to flee my home alone when I was just 15. Sadly, there was only an opportunity for me to go, which meant leaving my family. It was heart-breaking. I still miss them every day.

I left Afghanistan at the end of 2008. I travelled all the way to England by land, by car, walking over mountains and vast fields. I went from Afghanistan to Iran, from Iran to Turkey, from Turkey to Greece, from Greece to Italy, from Italy to France and from France to here.

At such a young age, I saw things no person should ever have to see.

The hardest part was coming from Iran to Turkey. I can still see clearly in my memory the lifeless bodies of people on the ground, just left there – they were the people who didn’t make it past the mountains and had died trying to reach a better, safer life. That was the worst thing I have ever seen.

I was relieved when I arrived in Dover but was unaware the hardest and longest part of my journey was yet to come

I was such a young age but there were a lot of other people, some younger than me. Hundreds and hundreds of people, just walking over that mountain to pass the border and cross into Turkey. Many of us felt our childhood was over at this point.

The journey from Calais was also exhausting. The final push to safety, or so I thought. I was put into the back of a lorry by smugglers on a very cold day at the end of January. There was hardly any space for the six of us, not one person could lie down.

There was a hole in the ceiling of the lorry and it was raining and snowing. The snow was coming down making the floor wet and we were all so cold. We stayed in that lorry for 13 hours and during that time, in my mind, I was just thinking, ‘What is going to happen? Am I going to be sent back to the [Calais] jungle or am I going to cross?’

I was relieved when I arrived in Dover but was unaware the hardest and longest part of my journey was yet to come.

The entire process for getting my status was hard, difficult and stressful. It also felt unnecessarily slow. My first claim was refused but I didn’t give up. I appealed it and I proved my claim was lawful and true.

But then there were hurdles and excuses thrown at me. I went to court 13 times.

I didn’t lose hope in justice but the system was very hard for someone who came to this country as a minor, had been away from family and in a country where they didn’t understand the culture or language.

It was very hard to remain strong enough to cope with the situation. If I was in that situation now, I don’t think I would be able to do it. The process exhausted me mentally, but I am proud of myself because I didn’t give up.

Today, I am happy and I am safe.

Stories like mine, I hope, remind people that refugees and asylum seekers are human and not just a statistic

When I first got here, I felt an instant connection with this country. I thought I must have been here before. That’s why I fought with the Home Office for so long. I’ve been here for 13 years – this is my home now.

I’ve spent half of my life in Afghanistan and half my life here. I spent my teenage years here, met lots of friends and built connections, friends that are going to be with me forever.

Now I have status, I am studying for a degree in electrical engineering at university and I hope to one day become a successful engineer. I am also deeply dedicated to helping those who have shared the same experiences as I have.

Over the past couple of years, I have been volunteering with the British Red Cross refugee support services. Recently, we have held sessions for families from Afghanistan who may need help. We introduce them to the differences between Afghan and British cultures and I regularly share my story to encourage those who are in my situation to not give up.

As for what I think needs to change to support those fleeing their homes: the whole system needs to be kinder and more compassionate to refugees. No one wants to leave their family and motherland – unless they are in danger – and I feel like people forget that.

Stories like mine, I hope, remind people that refugees and asylum seekers are human and not just a statistic.

As the UK Government is in the final stages of the asylum reforms process through the Nationality and Borders Bill, now is the chance to create a more compassionate way of treating refugees and those seeking asylum when they reach the UK.

They need better support and more safe routes to claiming asylum so dangerous journeys like mine can be avoided. The process also needs to be quicker. No one should be waiting 12 years to know they are safe from harm and can start their life again. 

The British public can show support for a kinder and more compassionate way to treat refugees by signing the Every Refugee Matters pledge here.

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