With a group of approximately 200 people, led by smugglers, we tried to enter Iran by the South of Afghanistan, in the province of Nimrooz. We were stopped at the border. We then made a long detour through a desert area in Pakistan. We were totally dependent on the smugglers, who demanded more money. In Pakistan, we were arrested by the police. To escape imprisonment, there was only one solution—to pay!

We managed to get to Iran. It took us about a week to cross the country by bus, truck, and sometimes on foot. Just before reaching Tehran, we were arrested. Once again, we had to pay in order to buy our freedom. From telephone conversations I overheard, I am almost certain that the smugglers were in cahoots with the police and that they shared our money.

We passed through Turkey without any problem. During our journey toward the eastern part of the country, we were arrested by the police, who released us without asking for anything in return. We reached Istanbul, then the Mediterranean coast. There, for 10 days, we tried to take a boat to Greece, again and again. After secretly embarking for Greece, we failed every time, either because of the weather or the Turkish coastguard. I was thinking to myself that we would never manage. And then one day, at four o’clock in the morning, we boarded a small boat made for 40 passengers. There were more than 70 of us aboard. There were Afghans, Iraqis, and Syrians. There were men, but also women and many children.

After about 6 hours of sailing, the waves were very high and it was foggy. I was terribly afraid of drowning.

We were incredibly lucky to encounter a fishing boat that took us aboard. The fishermen notified the Greek coastguard, who escorted us to the docking area.

It was the 25th of February 2010. For seven days in a row, we were parked in a sort of warehouse without light or hot water, and with only a few cold-water taps. We were entitled to two meals a day, almost always pasta, even for the children. Then we were transported in buses with wire grid windows to the Paranesti camp in the Drama. There, we were locked up.

The camp, surrounded by mountains, was completely enclosed by wire fences topped with two rows of sharp barbed wire. We were guarded by police officers who were systematically accompanied by dogs. Early in the morning and in the evening, we were grouped together to be counted. I lived in a long, prefabricated building with 5 dormitories. Each dormitory had 14 beds, toilets, and showers. There were 5 buildings like mine in the camp. The rooms were not overcrowded; each of us had a bed, but we suffered from the contemptuous, even hateful attitude of the guards who spoke to us rudely, insulted us, and trampled on our prayer areas with their shoes.

I wondered why we were locked up when we hadn’t done anything wrong. All we did was flee our war-torn countries. What crime did we commit?

One day, an association organized a solidarity demonstration on the hill that overlooked the camp. People displayed a banner on which I could read the word, “freedom”. They were eventually chased away by the police. For 6 months, the only living spaces we had were our bedrooms and the small street that separated our building from the next one. We were not fed enough and access to medical care was long and complicated. It was a harsh detention, without the possibility of communicating with the outside. I constantly asked myself this question: How is this possible in Europe, the continent of human rights?

After six months, we were released. I refused to apply for asylum in a country that treats refugees so badly. A pass was given to us, and we were transported by train to Athens, where we were released. I secretly passed the border into Italy from the port of Patras. I stayed locked in a lorry trailer for ten hours so that I could pass into Italy on a ferry.

From Northern Italy, I tried to cross the French border twice to get to Calais and then England, my final destination. But both times, the French police in Nice stopped me and handed me over to the Italian authorities.

I was brought back to Turin, where I was imprisoned—first for 48 hours, then for 72 hours in a filthy, overcrowded cell. .

My third attempt to pass into France was successful. I had to stay a whole night in a police cell in Paris. Then I reached Calais by train. There, I tried, on six occasions, to hide in a lorry trailer at night, but each time I failed. Then, in early November, (2016 editor’s note), the police destroyed our living quarters. We were put on buses that would take us to different cities in France. For me, it would be Lyon, where I was housed in a reception centre for asylum seekers (Cada). Today, I am still waiting for an answer to my requests for refugee status.

Read Kwakya // 1 // Along the way…