I’ve had lots of work published in September, including writing on sexual health, mental health, work, and lots more. But I wanted to share this article separately, as it’s one I’m especially proud of. After writing for The Guardian about my godson and his refugee mother back in July, I went on to write a feature for them about an incredible project, Bread and Roses, which I also discovered through my work with Women for Refugee Women (WRW).
Bread and Roses is a social enterprise that teaches refugee women floristry and employability skills, helping to boost their confidence and get them back into work. I’ve seen firsthand the difference it’s made to the lives of women from WRW’s network, so it was a real privilege to chat to them and some of their newly trained florists. There’s a snippet below, and you can read the article in full at The Guardian.
I’ve never had the chance to build a career. I was a student when my traffickers brought me here and then, as an asylum seeker, I wasn’t allowed to work,” explains 37-year-old Monica from Ghana. “Now I’ve got leave to remain, I’ve felt anxious about throwing myself straight into full-time employment,” she adds.
It’s a challenge facing many refugees in the UK who, regardless of their professional backgrounds, often find themselves up against language barriers, loss of confidence, CV gaps, and a lack of UK work experience.
But one all-female social enterprise is aiming to overcome all that, providing refugee women with the practical and emotional skills to blossom in the workplace. Hackney-based Bread and Roses offers a seven-week floristry programme, teaching trainees how to create everything from floral bouquets to Christmas wreaths.
It is inspired by the principle of Rose Schneiderman’s 1912 feminist speech of the same name, which argued that low-paid women need more than just practical necessities to survive, but also dignity, respect and the opportunity to flourish.
For women such as Monica, its benefits go far beyond the practical skills: “I loved working with the plants, particularly calming lavender and stimulating eucalyptus. But I also learned social skills like networking, working as a team and not being afraid to ask for help,” she says.
“I was already interested in floristry, but I’ve never been green-fingered so I didn’t think I’d have the skills. Building my knowledge, and being prepared to make mistakes and learn from them, has made me realise that anything is possible if you put your mind to it and have the right support network around you,” she adds.
In July I wrote for The Guardian about two very special people in my life. I made so many wonderful friendships during my time at Women for Refugee Women, but this one has definitely had the most impact on me as a person.
A moment that changed me: becoming godmother to a refugee’s baby – for The Guardian
“Here, go to Auntie Sarah,” Lucy said, as she thrust her four-month-old baby into my arms – not leaving me any time to panic or protest. I’ve never felt particularly maternal. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to have kids of my own, and other people’s babies make me nervous. Like sharks, they can usually sense my fear, and scream for their mother as soon as they come into contact with me. But with Tom it was different. Neither of us cried or screamed in terror; instead, I looked down at this little boy and fell head over heels in love.
It was March 2016 and I was six months into my communications role at Women for Refugee Women (WRW), which I left earlier this year. I’d travelled 100 miles to interview a case study as part of our research on the detention of pregnant asylum seekers in Yarl’s Wood. But Lucy was already so much more than just a case study – and I knew from that moment that “Auntie Sarah” was a job for life.
Tom and I were sitting on the bed in Lucy’s dark, cramped asylum accommodation, while she microwaved the lunch I’d bought for the two of us. It was only the second time I’d ever met him in the flesh, but I’d never before felt so invested in someone’s future.
I had first met Lucy the previous October, when she was eight months pregnant and homeless. After coming to the UK from Ghana to seek asylum, she’d been detained in Yarl’s Wood for a month, before being released with nowhere to go, and left to rely on the kindness of strangers for the remaining three months of her pregnancy.
Creativity is sacred, and it is not sacred. What we make matters enormously, and it doesn’t matter at all. We toil alone, and we are accompanied by spirits. We are terrified, and we are brave. Art is a crushing chore and a wonderful privilege. Only when we are at our most playful can divinity finally get serious with us. Make space for all these paradoxes to be equally true inside your soul, and I promise – you can make anything. So please calm down now and get back to work, okay? The treasures that are hidden inside you are hoping you will say yes.
At the risk of tempting fate, July has been a bit of a game-changer for me. After a shock to the system early on in the month, I’ve spent the rest of July learning to practise more compassionate acceptance. (Hello, can you tell I’m almost 10 weeks through therapy?!) It’s bloody hard work. I’ve got so used to wallowing in a cocktail of self-pity and white wine, endlessly ruminating about the past or panicking about the future – or, more often, both! – that living mindfully in the moment has proven to be a real stretch. But, after months of demanding reasons and answers that no one could give me, it feels like the best option I’ve got left.
One of the big frustrations I wrote about last month was feeling that I’d been shoved off course so forcefully that I was struggling to even make it back to square one. Like falling down a snake that wipes you off the board entirely, and then scrabbling about in the dark for any ladder that might help you back on track. Lots of the things that happened early on in July forced me to accept that there’s no point trying to get back to square one. I am where I am, it is what it is, and all I can do from here is keep moving forwards. I have to start from where I am now, use what I have available to me, and build something new.
But I’m not going to write much about the emotional journey this month. Instead, I want to focus on the doing: how I spent July tapping back into my creativity, and gently nurturing the things that bring me joy.
Big Magic, Elizabeth Gilbert
If June was 2017’s month of sun, sand and sea, then July’s theme was – without a doubt – Big Magic. So let’s start there. There really aren’t many books I describe as life-changing – although I’m conscious that this is the second I’ve described as such in as many months! – but Elizabeth Gilbert’s Big Magic really was exactly what I needed to read this month.
The timing of what happened in January – coming so hot on the tails of my restful week of goal setting and planning ahead – has left me feeling really lost and directionless ever since. I started the year with so much creativity, inspiration and passion but, after the crash, fear has blocked pretty much everything in my life. I’ve coasted through the last six months, torturing myself and putting my plans on hold. Big Magicwas just the kick up the arse that I needed.
Gilbert is so straightforward in her discussion of creative living, and of the courage, enchantment, permission, persistence, trust, and divinity required for “big magic” to happen. It really highlighted so many of the obstacles I’ve been putting in my own way, and helped me rediscover the inspiration that’s felt so lacking since 27 January.
Voices from the ‘Jungle’: Stories from the Calais Refugee Camp
I mean, nothing puts your own struggles in perspective quite like a book of stories from the Calais refugee camp! But, beyond my personal journey, this book is wonderful on so many levels.
Created as part of a project by the University of East London, it centres the voices and experiences of a group of refugees who otherwise feel voiceless, misjudged and maligned.
But, unlike many of the refugee stories that have come out of Calais, Voices from the Jungle also succeeds in presenting each author as a whole person. Warm, happy memories of home are presented alongside tales of extraordinary hardship and persecution. The struggles of ‘jungle’ life are described in parallel with each author’s hopes and dreams for the future. And stories of abuse, violence and deception sit side-by-side with fond recollections of camaraderie, friendship, support and compassion.
My full review of Voices from the Jungle will be in Wasafiri International Journal of Literature’s asylum-themed issue, which I’ll share here once it’s published.
It’s All In Your Head: A guide to getting your sh*t together, Rae Earl
When the TV adaptation of My Mad Fat Diarycame out it was (and I think probably still is) the first, best, and most authentic representation of teenage mental health struggles that I’d ever seen on television. So I was really excited to receive an advanced copy of author Rae Earl’s forthcoming book for teens, .
is a comprehensive mental health guide for young people – covering everything from eating disorders, self-harm and OCD, to parents, friendship, drugs and alcohol. Like My Mad Fat Diary, it’s packed full of Earl’s trademark wit, no-nonsense advice and raw honesty. It might be written for teenagers, but it also helped me no end!
July has been a bit of a nostalgia-fest in terms of my listening habits. Years since we last went to a gig together, this month my husband and I went to see both Green Day and Blink 182 – bands that were giants on the musical landscape of my teens. In fact we were at the O2, waiting for Blink 182 to come on stage, when I heard the devastating news of Linkin Park frontman Chester Bennington’s suicide.
You don’t ever really move on from the music that defines your teens, because it’s the first music that really seeps into your heart and soul. It’s the soundtrack to all the best and worst of those tempestuous and formative years. There are songs, like 57 – Biffy ClyroorThe Middle – Jimmy Eat World, that can instantly transport me back to some of my happiest memories. Equally though, albums like Hybrid Theory and Meteora undoubtedly got me through some of my darkest times growing up.
As a literature graduate it feels almost sacrilegious to admit, but the first poetry I ever truly loved, engaged with, and felt understood by was the poetry of men like Chester Bennington. It felt raw, honest, vulnerable, and authentic. Back then, it touched parts of me that couldn’t yet put my own feelings and experiences into words. It made me feel in the way that all great literature should. RIP Chester, I hope you knew what a difference your words made to the lives of so many noughties emo kids like me. We must keep this conversation going.
(If you’ve been affected by Chester Bennington’s suicide, please call the Samaritans’ free, 24/7 helpline on 116 123 or visit mind.org.uk. Talking saves lives.)
For creative people, not creating is destructive. I’d never really thought about it that way until I read Big Magic, but Gilbert is exactly right: when I’m not channeling my energy into creating I, like her, am usually channeling it into destroying something instead. And lately that something’s been myself.
It’s not that I’ve stopped creating this year. I haven’t – far from it. But I have put limits and restrictions on myself. I’ve focused on the necessary – creation for survival – at the expense of the joyful. I need creativity to do more than simply pay my bills. I need it to nurture me, guide me, and keep me open to inspiration. So rediscovering the “just for the love of it” side to my creativity has been an important part of rediscovering myself this month.
An unexpected side effect of everything that’s happened this year is that, in July, I picked up my camera again. I’ve had my Nikon D40 DSLR for nearly ten years, since my 18th birthday. During so many of my most difficult periods since then, it’s got me out of the house and out of my own head. In my late teens, during my first year of university, and during my year abroad in Paris, photography provided an outlet to literally reframe the world around me.
Between September 2010 and September 2011 I completed a Project 365, documenting daily my life in Paris, my summer adventures, and the start of my final year. And then I stopped. Just put my camera down and didn’t ever pick it up again. I’m not really sure why. Admittedly I’d been looking forward to not having to lug a heavy camera around with me all day every day, but I quickly got out of the habit of taking it out at all. Final year took over. My Flickr account started collecting dust, while iPhone photos and Instagram became the extent of my relationship with photography.
Almost six years later, this July, I picked my D40 back up again. Thanks partly to an unlikely muse, and partly to a night time photography course with my mum, photography has again become an important creative outlet in my life. It’s also got me walking lots – which is especially great now that I’ve finally accepted running is just too high impact for my back right now. I’m excited to see where it takes me!
My latest article for Broadly looks at the horrifying experiences of pregnant refugee women, many of whom have no access to antenatal healthcare.
‘There was only one thing on my mind: to get to the UK, to reach a safe place where my baby and I could have a good chance at life’
Eritrean refugee Helen* was two months pregnant when she left Calais refugee camp in France, hidden in the back of a lorry. But when she arrived in London, she immediately knew something was wrong. “I was in pain, and when I got up I saw that I was covered in blood.”
Having boarded the lorry with 29 other desperate migrants, Helen was the only stowaway not to be found when police searched the vehicle at the border. “I was hiding under the flooring so they couldn’t find me. It was a dangerous hiding place; unknowingly, the police were walking on top of me. I didn’t think about the pain I felt. All I thought about was getting to England,” she says.
On arrival though, the pain and panic kicked in. “The lorry driver shouted at me when he saw me, but I begged him to show me to the nearest police station,” she says. Later, in hospital, a doctor confirmed that Helen had miscarried her baby.
As difficult pregnancies go, the circumstances don’t get much more grim than preparing for a baby while fleeing your home in search of safety—and, for Helen, this pregnancy really was traumatic from beginning to end.
Last week I finished my 12 month sabbatical-cover contract at Women for Refugee Women (WRW). After a year of cramming my freelance work into two days a week, I’m now officially a full-time freelancer again – but I’m not the same freelancer I was this time last year. It’s an easy phrase to throw around, but this year out with WRW really has been nothing short of life-changing. I cannot thank the staff, trustees and refugee women enough for welcoming me with such warmth, and allowing me to contribute to the amazing work they do.
Although words are how I make my living, I’ve struggled to find the words to sum up this experience. I simply cannot do justice to the strength, courage, resilience, humour and compassion of the women I’ve had the great honour and privilege of working with. I thought I’d try and keep it concise – short, sweet and to the point – and I have totally failed. I just can’t write about a job like this in 700 words or fewer. But, in keeping with the whole ethos of WRW, I’m going to start by letting the women themselves do the talking.
Campaigning to Set Her Free
Looking back over the last year, the majority of my work has centred around WRW’s fantastic Set Her Free campaign. I’ve protested outside Yarl’s Wood, I’ve visited women there on a monthly basis, and I’ve spoken at events alongside ex-detainees, raising awareness of the campaign and sharing their experiences. The things I’ve seen, and the stories I’ve heard, are both horrifying and heartbreaking. I have nothing but awe and admiration for my colleague Heather Jones, who has been visiting Yarl’s Wood for more than a decade and still has the most phenomenal capacity to be shocked and outraged, as well as compassionate, loving and giving beyond measure.
One of the most powerful stories to capture the trauma of Yarl’s Wood is told by the Set Her Free animation, which WRW commissioned before I joined. In August we premiered it at the London Feminist Film Festival, and the response – both at the festival and online afterwards – was incredible. Margaret’s story really encapsulates why the Set Her Free campaign exists, and why it’s so vital. It has been such an incredible movement to work at the centre of, and I’d urge you all to find out more and get involved.
Celebrating and demonstrating with 99 women
There’ve been so many memorable moments during my time at WRW that it’s hard to condense it all down. One of my proudest achievements though was working with so many inspiring women, including many of my personal heroes, on the 99 women action. In March, for International Women’s Day, we asked 99 women – campaigners, celebrities, writers, businesswomen, politicians, performers, NGO leaders, healthcare professionals, and academics – to write a message in solidarity with refugee women. Each woman reflected one of the 99 pregnant women who were detained in Yarl’s Wood in 2014.
The list included Malorie Blackman, Mary Beard, Noma Dumezweni, Charlotte Church, Yvette Cooper, Pragna Patel, Romola Garai, Juliet Stevenson, Nimco Ali, Yasmin Kadi, Caitlin Moran, Bridget Christie, Valerie Amos, Caroline Lucas, and so so many more amazing women. The action was covered by Guardian G2, the Evening Standard, and even Germany’s leading women’s magazine Brigitte, and WRW’s social media channels lit up in ways that I’d never seen before. But my favourite part was delivering those 99 messages to the Home Office, on International Women’s Day, as part of a loud and proud gathering of music, speeches and poetry that we held outside the building.
IWD 2016 was not just another protest, but a passionate celebration of women who cross borders, and a defiant demonstration against the policies that harm them. We were joined by more than 50 refugee women from around the UK, as well as Juliet Stevenson, Stella Creasy, Natalie Bennett, Kate Osamor, Shami Chakrabarti, Zrinka Bralo, Caroline Lucas, Nimco Ali, Sophie Walker, Gaggle, Lips Choir, London Klezmer Quartet, Sabrina Mahfouz, Demi Mseleku, Sula Mae, Sajeela Kershi, and (my personal highlight) the absolutely incredible African dancing of Nyakaza.
The detention of pregnant women
Our particular campaign focus, for the year I was there, was on the detention of pregnant women. Some of the political conversations that happened around this were such a testament to WRW’s lobbying work, and proof that change really is possible. Conservative MP Caroline Spelman hosted a Parliamentary event on the subject. Labour peer Baroness Lister put forward an amendment to the Immigration Bill, which would have ended the detention of pregnant women. That amendment passed in the House of Lords, but was later defeated in the House of Commons. The Government did, however, introduce a 72-hour time limit on detaining pregnant women which, while not the total exclusion we’d hoped for, did represent a significant step forwards.
My role in this part of the campaign included working with two women who were both detained in Yarl’s Wood while pregnant. I’m so grateful to them both for working with me to tell their stories to the media, to politicians, and to the UK’s biggest online parenting network Mumsnet. I’m also incredibly grateful for the generosity of WRW’s supporters, who donated mountains of maternity clothes, baby clothes, nappies, bottles, toys, and accessories to support them both.
Of all the things I wrote during the year, the piece I’m most proud of is this interview for The Pool with a brave woman who, for media purposes, I referred to as Lucy. She and her gorgeous baby boy hold such a special place in my heart. Long before I left WRW I’d already made plans to visit Lucy for her son’s first birthday later this year, but I was so honoured and moved when she recently asked my husband and me to be his godparents. I never imagined, a year ago, that I would leave this job with new lifelong friends.
Sisterhood at its best
I’ve long suspected it, but at WRW I learned definitively that sisterhood is one of the most powerful forces in the world. On Saturday, just three days after my final day in the office, I was proud to march alongside WRW at the 2016 Refugees Welcome march, where one woman – a refugee from the DRC, who has been waiting 12 years and counting for asylum in the UK – summed up the spirit of the organisation so beautifully. “In our hopeless condition, we give each other hope.” WRW is a place that embodies sisterhood, friendship and compassion, where relationships are nurtured, and women are both supported and empowered – in the truest sense of the word.
At WRW I have truly been privileged to work with some of the bravest and most inspiring women in the world. Women who, having been through more horrible circumstances than I can even imagine, dedicate so much time and energy to supporting one another. It’s one of the things the most struck me about the women I’ve met in Yarl’s Wood – for all the trauma and depression that place breeds, it also forges unshakeable bonds of friendship and solidarity between the women who are locked up there. Their determination to speak up, both for themselves and each other, has been a constant source of inspiration to me. The London Refugee Women’s Forum, who I’ve seen perform the Set Her Free poem countless times, never fail to move me.
As part of WRW’s Women at the Borders project, I also visited women in the Calais ‘jungle’ refugee camp, and was heartbroken to meet a 17-year-old Sudanese girl and her husband, who had spent months making the treacherous and exhausting journey across Africa and Europe in search of safety. My colleague Rehab Jameel, herself a Sudanese refugee and now a British citizen, did such a wonderful job of speaking to her in their native Arabic about the trauma of their experiences and what they hoped for next. It felt like such a small thing to be able to offer women in such a desperate, bleak situation. Just a few hours of solidarity, sisterhood, support and sympathy. But this year has taught me that those small things are often all you can give, and often mean more than you realise.
I’m proud to call so many of these women my sisters and my friends; to have laughed and cried, both with them and for them. As I’m writing this from my office, at the end of a day of freelancing, the photo of our recent trip to the seaside stands pride of place on my desk, alongside my other proudest achievements – my BA and MA certificates, the first book I edited, my first national newspaper front page story, and a copy of the beautifully designed WRW annual review.
Women getting sh*t done
In another recent conversation, Afghan refugee Rahela Sidiqi described WRW as a place where refugee women’s knowledge and skills are recognised, valued, and used, and where their voices and experiences are at the forefront of everything they do. It’s also, she pointed out, an organisation that makes far more efficient use of its limited resources than many much bigger and better-resourced charities manage. People are constantly surprised to learn that WRW is made up of just five part-time staff – all of them amazing women, who get sh*t done and have a huge impact.
Which brings me to the final (I promise!) moment that I want to write about. The night before my last day with WRW, we held an event in partnership with CARE International UK. The event, Listen To The Women, was an inspiring evening of refugee women’s voices and stories. Held ahead of the United Nations refugee summit, the idea was to ensure that refugee women – so often unseen and unheard in coverage of the refugee crisis – are not forgotten.
We had an incredible line-up – musician and Sierra Leonian refugee Yasmin Kadi, who opened the night with a burst of energy and passion; campaigner Helen Pankhurst and comedian Shazia Mirza; actresses Tanya Moodie, Juliet Stevenson and Anne-Marie Duff, who read powerful testimonies from refugee women who couldn’t be there to speak for themselves; the London Refugee Women’s Forum with their Set Her Free poem; a Sudanese refugee, who spoke with a translator about her experience of Calais; a panel discussion, chaired by Jane Garvey and featuring MPs Yvette Cooper and Heidi Allen, CARE’s Howard Mollett, and Iraqi refugee Ghada Alnasseri; and finally Scottish-Sudanese singer-songwriter Eliza Shaddad, who beautifully closed the evening.
The power of women’s voices
We sold out. We filled every chair, and more guests, staff and volunteers stood around the edge of the room, all there to hear from refugee women. The testimony readings, the poem, the music, and the speeches were so powerful, poignant and moving. There were moments of heartbreak and despair, and moments of inspiration and insight into what refugee women can achieve when given a chance. Most importantly, the Set Her Free poem received a standing ovation, led by Tanya Moodie. That recognition was so well-deserved, so beautiful, that it brings a tear to my eye and a lump to my throat even just thinking about it now. At the time, I felt like I could burst with pride at what the London Refugee Women’s Forum have achieved, through their own words and their passionate, confident performances. They are quite simply amazing and, as their biggest fan, they can expect to keep seeing me crop up at their drama classes and performances for the foreseeable future! I so look forward to seeing their confidence continue to grow.
Finally, we closed the event by asking attendees, and our supporters on social media, to share the following short film. It’s just one minute long, with a simple message for the UN and the UK government: please, listen to the women.
Refugee Week is a nationwide programme of arts, cultural and educational events celebrating the contribution of refugees to the UK and encouraging a better understanding between communities. We need this now more than ever, says Sarah Graham from Women for Refugee Women.
“I suffered rape, trauma, torture. I don’t remember names, dates, evidence. I am refused, abused, misjudged. I am disbelieved, detained, deported. I came here to seek asylum.”
No matter how many times I see this poem performed, those four lines never fail to affect me.
The theme for this year’s Refugee Week (20-26 June) is ‘Welcome’, reflecting the outpouring of compassion and hospitality much of the British public has shown those refugees seeking shelter in the current crisis. But what does ‘Refugees Welcome’ really look like?
At Women for Refugee Women (WRW) we work with hundreds of asylum-seeking women – from across Africa, Asia, Europe and the Middle East – who have faced experiences like those described in the poem. Their stories are all different, but disbelief and detention are common features of the welcome they receive from the UK Home Office.
Women for Refugee Women runs the Set Her Free campaign, calling for an end to the practice of detaining refugee women, the vast majority of whom are survivors of torture, sexual or gender-based violence.
Grace* – a Ugandan lesbian who had been imprisoned and sexually assaulted for six months in her home country – told me the Home Office had asked her for the dates her abuse took place. “Locked in a dark, windowless room for six months, I didn’t even know if it was a Friday or a Tuesday – and they wanted me to give the exact dates when prison officers assaulted me,” she said.
Despite having the legal right to claim asylum she, like 2,000 asylum-seeking women each year in the UK, was locked up indefinitely in Yarl’s Wood detention centre – an institution managed by private company Serco, and recently described as ‘a place of national concern’ by the Chief Inspector of Prisons.
A 2015 Channel 4 investigation into Yarl’s Wood uncovered what women have been telling WRW for years: high levels of self-harm, poor standards of healthcare and sexist and racist abuse from staff.
“I am so depressed that they think I am going to kill myself here, and I am watched by men and women night and day,” Margaret*, a survivor of rape and torture from the Democratic Republic of Congo, told WRW for our 2015 research report I Am Human. “I feel full of shame about what happened to me and what is happening to me. Being in prison here is a torture in my head.”
Like more than three quarters of those who were detained, Margaret and Grace were later released to continue their asylum claim in the community. Less than a month after her release Grace attempted suicide, haunted by nightmares and flashbacks of her time in Yarl’s Wood. Detention had forced her to relive the traumas she endured in Uganda, and for a long time after her release she regularly woke in the night hearing the sound of the officers’ keys.
Both women now have refugee status in the UK – the mental trauma of their detention was not only cruel but also ultimately pointless. According to the Home Office’s own figures, just 15 per cent of those asylum-seeking women who were detained in 2015 were actually deported; so-called ‘immigration removal centres’ like Yarl’s Wood aren’t even serving their stated purpose.
At an event we hosted in March, another former detainee Sophia* said, “I came to the UK to seek asylum because I had heard the UK was a place that champions human rights; I was wrong.” She was detained for six months of her first pregnancy, before also being released to continue her asylum claim in the community.
In the recent Immigration Bill, the Home Office responded to pressure from WRW and others by introducing a legal time limit of 72 hours on detaining pregnant women. Immigration minister James Brokenshire has also pledged reforms, which “the government expects… to lead to a reduction in the number of those detained, and the duration of detention before removal.”
The question for Women for Refugee Women is how long will that broader reform take? This Refugee Week, join us in pushing the government to ensure women who have fled violence and persecution are not welcomed by locked doors and barbed wire fences.
Originally published at The Pool: Lucy was 23 when she fell pregnant, following a brutal gang rape by three men in her home country. After receiving threats on her life, she fled to the UK, believing she would be safe here – only to find herself locked up in Yarl’s Wood detention centre at five months pregnant. This is her story, as told to Sarah Graham.
After the attack, I knew people were after me. I was getting threatening letters, I saw men in front of our house, and my mum and I knew the police would not help. I told her it was too much for me; my life was in danger and I had to leave. We sold almost everything we had for me to escape, and friends and relatives contributed to the cost.
I didn’t know what to expect from England. I never thought in my life I would travel, so when it happened I didn’t think of anything except that I had to find somewhere safe for myself and my baby.
When I landed in the UK, they started interrogating me at the airport. They took my bag and my phone, so I couldn’t contact my mum, and the guy told me that if I didn’t tell him the truth, he was going to lock me up. I was really scared.
They took me to Colnbrook [detention centre]. I was really distressed and didn’t know what was happening to me. I wasn’t eating or drinking, just pacing up and down. That whole night I didn’t sleep, and I was crying throughout. The next morning they let me call my mum, and she was crying with me. “All that we struggled for, all the money we spent, everything was in vain,” she said.
I met a Ghanaian lady in Colnbrook, who told me how to seek asylum, and I started making calls to lawyers. Then the escorts came to take me to Yarl’s Wood.
Lucy* was 23 when she fell pregnant as a result of brutal sexual violence. Her mother bought her a plane ticket to the UK, thinking she and her baby would be safe here – but she was detained straight from the airport. She arrived frightened, alone and pregnant, and was locked up.
Lucy spent four weeks in Yarl’s Wood between months five and six of her pregnancy. She told me that she couldn’t believe places like this existed in the UK.
Her pregnancy had been painful, Lucy said. At one point, things got so bad that her solicitor had to intervene to ensure she was taken to the nearby hospital for medical attention. The staff at Yarl’s Wood were dismissive of her complaints; there’s a prevalent culture of disbelief, and women are often accused of pretending to be ill to strengthen their asylum case. Concerns have repeatedly been raised about the quality of the healthcare provision at Yarl’s Wood, and Lucy had no idea what was going to happen to her or her baby.
About a month after she was detained, Lucy was released. She had nowhere to go, and had to rely on the kindness of strangers until her baby boy was born. Her son is now three months old and they are living in the community, but their asylum status is still in limbo.
About a month after I first met Lucy, I also met Priya* in Yarl’s Wood, where she’d been for about six weeks. She was 25, and around five months pregnant; her story is also told in this video.
I visit Yarl’s Wood about once a month, and always take small gifts for the women I’m visiting – usually nice smellies, body lotions and shampoos. When I asked Priya what she wanted me to bring, she asked for a photo of a baby girl to look at, and I felt so saddened by the simplicity of her request. During her time in Yarl’s Wood, she’d been taken to Bedford hospital for her 20 week scan, so she knew she was having a girl and desperately wanted to imagine what she might be like.
Priya had been taken late for her appointment, escorted by Yarl’s Wood officers, and hadn’t had time to speak to the midwife afterwards. She was clearly frustrated, anxious, and uncertain about what to expect. “I used to worry about myself, but now I only worry about what will happen to my daughter,” she told me.
She also felt very alone. She has no family, either in the UK or her home country, and her partner, like her, is an asylum seeker. Although they spoke on the phone every day, he lived in asylum support accommodation at the other end of the country, and couldn’t afford to visit. At the time, I was the only ‘social’ visitor she’d had. I couldn’t believe how tiny and fragile she looked when we first met, but she told me she felt weak and sick all the time.
She struggled to eat the food that was provided, and had been unable to access proper support for her depression, low blood pressure, and problems sleeping. The experience of detention is immensely distressing, and over half the women we surveyed in detention said they thought about killing themselves. For Priya, pregnancy and the separation from her partner also made her more emotionally vulnerable, but staff were again dismissive and unkind when she sought help for her mental health problems.
Lucy and Priya’s stories are heartbreaking, but sadly they are not alone in their experiences. Over the course of 2014, 99 pregnant women were detained in Yarl’s Wood – despite the Home Office’s own policy that pregnant women should only be detained under ‘exceptional circumstances’.
At Women for Refugee Women we know, from the stories of women like Lucy and Priya, that detention is no place for pregnant women. And it’s not just our opinion – two recent independent reviews, by HM Prisons Inspectorate and Stephen Shaw, as well as medical and legal experts, have expressed similar concerns about pregnant women being detained. Join our Set Her Free campaign to ensure all women who seek asylum in the UK are treated with dignity and respect – sign the petition here.
Originally published at New Statesman, written as part of my communications work for Women for Refugee Women:
On Saturday, hundreds of protestors gathered in the muddy field outside Yarl’s Wood immigration removal centre, calling for an end to the detention of vulnerable women who have claimed asylum in the UK.
Despite the pouring rain, the mood on both sides of the fence was impassioned and defiant, with the women inside apparently buoyed by the support and solidarity of the chanting crowd.
On the way back from the demonstration, message after message reached me via asylum seeker and ex-detainee Karen*, who was travelling with me and taking calls from friends inside Yarl’s Wood detention centre. The news that seemed to please her most was that a hunger strike was being held, with one friend telling her: “We told the officers, ‘We have just come from a huge protest; we won’t spoil it by eating your food!'”
Karen is a keen supporter of these hunger strike tactics and was quick to encourage the friends she’d left behind when she was released from Yarl’s Wood less than two weeks earlier. She personally took part in four hunger strikes during the three months she was detained. The first, in early September, involved about 30 women, while her fourth strike was coincidentally held not long after the release of the film Suffragette.
At the time, as I watched Carey Mulligan’s Maud being force-fed on the big screen, I felt overwhelmed with sadness for the sisters who I’d been calling and visiting in Yarl’s Wood since I joined Women for Refugee Women (WRW) – a charity that works with women who have sought asylum in the UK – six weeks earlier.
There’s no forced feeding in Yarl’s Wood, and the hunger strikes there may at times be more symbolic than sustained – but I couldn’t help feeling an echo of the women’s desperation and defiance in their belief that, if they refuse food, the authorities will eventually have to listen.
At the moment, the Home Office locks up around 2,000 women who have sought asylum every year. A growing movement is speaking up against this unnecessary indefinite detention. Supporters come from across the political and social spectrum, but some of the most inspiring women I have met are those who have experienced Yarl’s Wood first hand.