Nasif*, 24 years old, from Sudan
I left Sudan because of conflict in my village, located in the Nuba mountains. Militias burned down houses and accused us of being from gangs because Abdulaziz al-Hilu, a leader of a prominent movement against the government, lived in the same village.
One day, while I was out herding cattle about a kilometre away from home, I heard planes bombing my village. I could see from afar that it was on fire. When I arrived, people were screaming and everything was on fire. I couldn't recognise my own home. I found out that I had lost my mother and my older sister and father were injured.
On the second day they started bombing us again and we fled to hide in caves. Sadly, my sister died from blood loss and the lack of medical aid. Unable to bury the dead amidst continuous bombings, we fled to another village as we heard an organisation was there offering medical assistance. We transported my father on the back of a donkey and I carried my younger sister.
The following day, the militia surrounded the area and took us to a military camp, where they beat us and accused us of being on the side of Abdulaziz al-Hilu. Men and women were separated and I haven’t seen my sister since; I still don't know if she is alive or not.
At the camp, we were tortured and told that if we tried to escape, they would kill us. They called us slaves. We were there for four months before managing to escape. One day during Ramadan while the militia were breaking their fast, we ran away. I had no shoes on and I bled because of thorns in my feet. When the militia members saw us escaping, they started shooting at us. We kept running and hid in the forest when we needed to rest.
Reaching El-Obeid province three days later, I went to the market, scared. I got in a truck heading to Darfur and there I was advised to go to Kouri Bougoudi, an area in the borders of Libya, Chad and Sudan. I found a job in the gold mines, washing tools for the workers in exchange for food. At this time I was around 16 years old.
While I was working there, the place was raided by Libyan militants and I was taken as hostage. Those with money were released but because I didn't have any, they detained me for a year and a half in Bani Walid detention camp. They would give me a phone, demanding I call my family to pay a ransom so that I could be released.
They tortured me, setting fire to plastic bags and letting it melt onto my skin. When I resisted their commands, they locked me alone in a cell for six months. They tied my hands and feet together and hit me with a metal rod. I hoped that this was the end because I was tired of everything and I had lost hope. When I was finally released, the authorities took me to Ajdabiya for medical treatment. Some of my friends died, because they had been shot in their feet or were burned so badly while being tortured.
I found some work in Tripoli, but it was not possible to get some kind of status or residency in Libya, and the police presence made things difficult. I left for Misrata and stayed with other asylum-seekers for about a month in a camp, waiting for the right time to set off across the sea towards Europe. The day we decided to travel, as we were about to get into the water, we were caught and imprisoned, but I managed to run away. I went back to Tripoli and tried my luck getting on a boat straight away.
We were at sea for about two days before the boat broke and people started to drown. The boat was over capacity and there were strong tides; we were stranded in the middle of the sea, helpless.
I have a terrifying memory of being deep underwater and trying to come to the surface, but there were many people above me. As I tried to come up, they pushed me down with their feet, deeper underwater. I panicked. When I managed to get to the surface, I saw people clinging to each other, even to those who had died. I held on to a cord for about 3 hours before we were rescued and taken on to a big American military ship. I looked for some people I knew and couldn’t find them; about 9 of my friends had passed away.
We stayed on the ship for a few days before they put us in a camp in Ragusa, in the Italian mountains. I was exhausted and coughing up blood. I kept requesting a doctor because I was very sick, but I didn’t receive any help during the two months I stayed at that camp.
I decided to go to France. After claiming asylum in Paris and being deported to Italy due to the Dublin regulation, I spent two and a half days walking back to France. I stayed in the Calais Jungle for a long time, making many unsuccessful attempts to reach the UK. In July 2020, I managed to reach Dover by boat. The journey was so difficult after my experiences before.
The Home Office took me to Folkestone, in a place that looked like military barracks. As soon as I got inside, I was locked in and couldn’t go out. It resembled a warehouse that they divided up with bedsheets to sleep 50 people.
At this point I was 20 or 21. After being detained so many times, I was convinced that safety didn't exist, that maybe it was just in my imagination. Life felt more and more difficult. I was trying to see a doctor for the leg and stomach pain from the torture and unclean water in Libya. I repeatedly told the accommodation staff about the pain I was in, but they kept saying I had to be patient.
When I finally got my refugee status, I felt sad and I remembered everything from my past. I was happy and unhappy at the same time, because I was reminded of my suffering and my struggles. Nothing had been easy. Now, I want to have hope and I want to be able to help people who have gone through difficult times. I hope to find my sister. I don't know if we would recognise each other, but I hope to find her one day.
*All names have been changed to protect participants.