My name is Guinah Houssein, and I am 19 years old. I’ve been living in the UK since 2003, having fled my homeland of Togo in fear of my life. At the time I was a student, and wanting to change the world I spoke out against government corruption. But people who talked about political issues were automatically classified as anti-government, beaten or given prison sentences.
The president of Togo was doing anything to secure his own power. He made sure the people were too scared to talk or vote against him. We lived in fear of the police, who would administer beatings and shootings indiscriminate of age or sex. If you stood next to a police car you’d get shot. If you touched a police officer you’d be arrested for breach of the peace and sent to prison.
I’ve been interested in politics since 1998, the first time I was required to vote; aged just 12. My friends and I decided to stand up for what we believed in and vote for the opposition, but the authorities found out. Immediately we were arrested and kept in prison for three days, released only when it was too late to vote. As the tensions of the 2003 elections grew, my mother was crying and begged me to leave the country for my own safety. I knew from the beatings I’d received that I had no choice but to flee. Initially I looked for safety in Accra, Ghana. Then my mother negotiated with a smuggler to get me out of the country.
When I boarded the plane I thought I was going to America, but the next thing I knew I’d arrived at Heathrow and I was on my own. I was very confused and scared of the situation, unable to speak a word of English. I managed to contact an organisation in Togo that told me about Human Rights Watch (HRW), who advised me to apply for asylum.
My heart sank at that moment. I’d read about asylum, and to me it seemed that people who claim asylum live in exile. HRW directed me to immigration at Heathrow and asked me to find the police there, but I couldn’t find an officer. Eventually I found an empty police car outside the airport. By this point I was very downcast. I missed my mother, I was tired and hungry, and starting to lose all faith. I sat on the police car, assuming that when the officer returned I would be shot – that would be the case in Togo. The police took me to the immigration centre at Heathrow. They gave me some papers and advised me to go to the Home Office the next day. That night I slept in the airport.
At the Home Office I filled out a number of papers and was issued with an ID card. It was here that I first heard about the Refugee Council. When they were telling me, by sheer chance a man overheard and kindly offered to take me there as he was going himself.
The day I walked through the Refugee Council’s door, everything began to open up for me. They immediately arranged somewhere safe for me to sleep, and did everything they could to help me with the complicated asylum process. I visited them every day – it was such a relief to find people who understood what I was going through.
As a child, it was a requirement that I be interviewed by social services. For two weeks, each day from 9am to 2pm, they would ask me question after question – and every day the same set of questions was being asked. I don’t know why they insisted on asking the same questions over and over, as if I was lying. It was like torture. I even asked them, “Why don’t you send me back to be killed?” I felt so depressed that for the first time I considered committing suicide. One afternoon on the way home I was standing at the tube station and I thought, what if I just jumped in front of the train? But something inside me said I hadn’t come this far to die.
Without the Refugee Council I wouldn’t have had any hope. I would have killed myself. They did more than just provide accommodation. They provided a lifeline for everything. They helped me access a solicitor, advised me on all areas of my case. I visited their centre every day so I could learn English. It was speaking about the Refugee Council at a student conference that resulted in a scholarship at Atlantic College. Now I can speak English and I’ve started to study, I really feel as though I’m integrating. I have a much better understanding of the behaviours and cultural norms in this country – as well as everyday things such as the transport system. I want to learn as much as I can as quickly as I can, so I read books, meet people and talk to people, and make new friends and connections. I’ve joined a group that meets to discuss the issues in Togo. By sharing our ideas, visions and worries we feel empowered. Unity is strength.
I would never be in this position without the support of the Refugee Council. They started my life in the UK. Now I’m studying French, English and peace and conflicts at university, as well as environmental systems, maths and European history.
When I finish university I’d like to do something with the poems I’ve been writing since I was in Togo. I’d also like to go back to my home country and see my family – I haven’t been in contact with them since I left. I want to do everything I can to highlight the plight of Togo. People need to know more about what’s really going on – not just in Togo but all over Africa.
The Refugee Council has helped me so much. It has been like a mother to me – a mother in the UK. I pray that my mother is alive and that one day I can tell her that the Refugee Council has been my mother while I’ve been away. It has been my shelter.
