A refugee's story. Escape from the Hell that is Afghanistan and Iran.

Nightmare memories of a refugee/asylum seeker.

A young Afghan refugee in Iran.

Being raped in The Islamic Republic of Iran.

Hostility to Afghan refugees in Iran. Iranian police brutality.

The decision to escape from Iran and seek refugee abroad.

The perils endured by a refugee.

The refugee's journey to freedom.

Safety at last for the young asylum seeker. God save The Queen.

A whole people longing for freedom.

Sometimes even to just remember things from our lives can be more painful than we really feel we can bear. The soldier who has fought his way to victory often doesn’t want to attend the commemorative parades. The recollection of the fear he felt during the conflict, and the memory of fallen comrades, is often something that he would prefer to keep at a distance. There are times when such people would just rather forget. The miner who gets rescued after being entombed alone for weeks is likely to feel the same way. Sometimes it is survivor’s guilt that tortures. Other times it is the remembrance of the sheer naked terror felt when in a perilous position that sends the refugee off to shiver in corners, when the rest of the world seems only to be getting on with things.

There were days when all of those feelings seemed to fall like cataracts of soot into the mind of young Behnam, our asylum seeker. He hadn’t fought in a war, but he had been born in a country that was being devastated by a series of conflicts that had been going on for longer than his nineteen year old life had lasted. Our young hero had never been buried alive in a mine, nor had he survived a plane crash. But he had endured days and nights hiding under a tarpaulin in the back of freezing trucks, without even so much as a drop of water to drink; and he had been obliged to hide up trees, and in caves on snowy mountains, while he prayed to his God that he would not be found by border guards. If he had been, the least he might expect to happen would be a severe beating. But he faced a real possibility of being murdered. Then his body would become food for the wolves and the vultures, and his bleaching bones would be scattered among the tree trunks and the scree. Such has often been the funeral rites given to displaced persons throughout history.

Behnam, (the name means “good and honourable”), had been born in Afghanistan, a country that had been torn apart by war for many years before he had been born. His father was a commander in the Hisbi-Ilami who was in conflict with the Northern Alliance. His mother was Iranian, and had met his father when he had been working at the Hisbi-Ilami office in Iran.

When Behnam was about eight months old, his parents and his father’s parents fled Afghanistan, to seek asylum in Iran, because the trouble between the factions in the country of his birth were endangering the lives of the family.

After seeing that his family were safely established in Iran, the father returned to Afghanistan. He died there in the fighting against the Northern Alliance in 1993. Behnam’s paternal grandfather also died shortly afterwards in Afghanistan.

His mother remarried and left her infant son in the care of her own parents, when she went to live in a different location with her new husband.

Because the young boy was a refugee and did not have papers to live in Iran he was unable to go to school there. His childhood was spent in his grandparents’ house. His sole education was studying the Koran.

When he was about eleven years old it was proposed that he go to work in a garage, in order to learn mechanics. The garage owner was reluctant to employ him, because of his lack of residency rights. But when his grandfather went to see him to plead the case, the man relented and young Behman was given a job. This mainly involved sweeping up and other menial tasks. But he did gradually learn some basic car mechanics.

I think it best to post this section predominately in the words of Behnam himself. It relates to an episode that occurred in Iran when he was about fourteen years old. Apologies for the poor grammar.

“When I was working in the garage it was the only garage, nearest were to my house. Were everyday I used to go by walked or by bike were to get to the garage, we are finished worked sometimes early and sometimes until to the late times in the garage. Where it was day like were same other days we were finished working in the garage. Then I was start walking to where to get home. Back this day I were without bike as well on my own way I used to go to every single days to the garage and back to my house. Where it's quite dark already was this evening.

Then I was keeping going where to get home such as much I could. So there I saw were two persons. They are were sitting on the side of the road, then were I got closer to them to cross where this two persons is. I was thinking with myself if they are were asking me for money or they are going to beat me,

I really scared of them. Because I had a problem before with fey boys were quite long times ago. They was the village guys were on my way to garage they are disturbed me. Were I shocked.

Then they were asking me questions Where are you going and where you been?

When I told them I am going home, and I been to work, then were I continued walking too fast. When it’s for one or two minutes later were they are following me, there was only one thing I imagine to do. I decided with myself to run if where someone save my life or where I get to the nearest village if there someone save me, Where they are is without anything dangers.

They are were 10-15 yards far away from me back when they are called me to stop. I was crying whole my body were shaking. And when I didn't stop to what they are saying to me.

Were unfortunate I wasn't enough strong to run away or fight with them to survive my life from they are. Were they are attacked to me they are grab my hand,

Were they are kicked me down and they are put handkerchief on my hands.

I was screaming and I trying to say to them please stop and leave me alone what do you are wanted from me?

Then I was saying to them I haven’t got money at the moment please let me go home. Were the one is told me we are don't need your money just stop crying and be quiet or we kill you with this knife what we are saying you have to do it easy or we kill you. Where I crying and saying please leave me.

Then they took me to the where they are wanted. It was quite old place nobody was there. Were quite far away from villages. I was really don't know what it's going on with me, were at this time night. Then were they are raped me what they are wanted they are done to me were nobody to hear my screaming to save me.

Where I never thought to be that kind happened to me when they are tried to rape me.

Were they gave me warning if you go to police station we are will kill you . Where I had horrible feeling with lots pains on some parts my body, because where I wasn't know what is going on with me. I felt looks like I am injured where they are beat me and I had bleeding on some part my body. My clothes were bloody where what they are done to me. Then they left me.

Where I didn't wanted to go home to see me someone or my family. Then I went home it was quite early morning. My grandfather he was searching me were whole night when he saw me at home

I was alive but it was too late for him to safe me.

Were my grandfather told me” there is not justice for you to we go to the police station in this country. Because if you go to the police station for complaint about this case, police will arrest you. Because your living illegal in this country then you were get will more terrible from the government as well”.

Were my grandfather he told me the only things we are can do, that we have to keep this happened private he was saying to me. And we are never leave you alone again in the evening times when you coming from garage every day.

Then when I been at home for few days I was sick where that happened to me.Then my grandfather made a decision for my journey to the garage. In the morning were I usually used to go myself and in the evenings with my grandfather or very often with my mechanic teacher.

But I am still suffering with myself where that happened to me and why they did this kind of horrible things to me.

I didn't told anyone yet but there is only one person knows that my social worker. When I told him he was my social work, because when I felt to talk with him he was sensitive man”.

This has been one of the most difficult parts of this story to write. It was made all the more traumatic because I believe every word of it to be true.

Iran is not a great country to live in if you are a foreigner, especially if you are from Afghanistan. In the Islamic Republic there is great hostility towards those who seek asylum from the neighbouring country. Afghans frequently get beaten up on the streets, and they are constantly subjected to shouts of “Go back to your own country”, from the local Iranian population. This hostility displays itself in the behaviour of the police towards all those who hail from Afghanistan as well.

On his way to work Behnam used to, every day, pass a tall building that was under construction. There were a lot of foreign workers engaged in building it. Some of them were from Afghanistan. There was one particular man who was from the same part of the country as our young hero. They became quite friendly. The worker used to tell young Behnam stories about the country where he was born, but could not of course remember. One morning however, when he was passing the building, he heard screams and cries for help coming from the roof. He was horrified to see that there were several Iranian police beating up his friend. Suddenly they just threw him off the high building. When he crashed at his feet, it was obvious that he was dead. In shock Behnam ran all the way home. He didn’t leave the house for eight months afterwards. It was fear of the Iranian authorities, as much as anything else, that kept him confined to home.

One day however he decided to take a walk outside. He hadn’t gone far when some police pulled up in a pickup truck. They jumped out and demanded to see his papers. When he admitted that he had none, they dragged him into their vehicle and proceeded to beat him up. They were kicking him about the head and other vulnerable parts of his body. The assault was so bad that he actually fell out through the doors of the pickup and landed on the hard road. The police continued the beating while Behnam lay helpless on the hard tarmac. They accompanied the kicking with some choice Iranian curses, and some name calling like “Afghan dog”. Eventually blessed unconsciousness overcame the young assualtee.

When he woke up he was in hospital. He was in great pain, with a terrible headache, and there were drips going into his body. A doctor told him that he had been brought there by the police, and that they would be returning in six days to take him away for deportation to the country of his birth. Rather than risk falling into the hands of the local constabulary again, Behman escaped from the hospital by jumping out the window when he was feeling a bit better, but before the six days were up.

When he managed to make his way back to his grandfather’s house, his aged grandparent explained to him that if he were returned to Afghanistan he would be killed by the Northern Alliance. They were certain to do this, just because he was his father’s son. There would be no possibility of allowing him to live. They would fear that he would want to avenge his father; therefore his pre-emptive murder would be certain. If he stayed in Iran, and fell into the hands of the Iranian authorities again, they might murder him just like they had murdered his friend on the building site.

Behnam’s grandfather rejected either of these fates for his grandson. The only real prospect for him to survive and prosper was to get him out of the country. They would miss each other dreadfully. But there was nothing else for it. He would have to seek asylum in another land. Perhaps in some foreign country he would be granted the peaceful existence that it was impossible to find in either his homeland, or his adopted country.

The first thing to be done was to raise some money to pay for the journey. People desperate to leave the Hell that is Iran can’t just get on a plane and fly out to settle in some welcoming western country, especially if they don’t have proper papers. If your family are very wealthy, and they can afford about $15,000, it is possible to reach a destination within Western Europe, by a roundabout route. First you fly to Africa, (Kenya is a popular transit point). Then you have to get on a flight that will connect you with Western Europe. But you will have to run the gamut of Immigration officers from the various European countries, who will be watching out for anyone, refugee or otherwise, who might have false papers. If you are caught, hope you get sent back. You don’t want to spend any time in a Kenyan prison.

If you cannot raise that amount of money, but you can scrape together around $9,000, you will have to travel by land. This will involve journeying through about six different countries, sometimes going by bus or train, but a large part of your time will be spent walking across icy mountains, or crouching down in cramped compartments built in to the bottom of trucks. You can expect to be freezing cold, and roasting hot. There will be times when you will not have eaten or drank for days, and if you get caught by the police in the wrong country, and you don’t have the money to pay the bribes, they will sell you as a slave, to work in some back street sweatshop, until you have raised the money to buy your onward journey.

The worst place of all to end up in is Albania. In this country the local gangs make a good living smuggling people to Italy. The refugees are normally carried on the decks of small fishing boats. The skippers have a very effective way of getting rid of the human evidence if they run into the Italian coastguard. They just violently swerve the boat, and the human cargo is tipped into the sea. The slave ships, on the Atlantic crossing, used a similar trick to get rid of their African captives when they were being pursued by The Royal Navy. The value of the boat is greater than the value of the passengers. At least that is how Albanian people smugglers see it.

It was the overland route that young Behman was taken on. He was passed from one agent to another. Sometimes he was carried on the backs of trucks. Other times he had to walk for long distances through forests or over mountains. He didn’t know what countries he passed through, or how many. Since he had no knowledge of the languages, how could he? The only thing he knew was that he had to obey the agents at all times. They were the only people who seemed to know what they were doing. There were times when he had nothing to eat for several days, and other times when he had to hide in caves, or up trees, while he waited for the agent to return for him. . There was one period where he had to sleep for three weeks in a stable with some sheep and goats. It wasn’t so much a stable really, as a roofless type of byre. The woman of the house, who was pretty kind, used to bring him some food to eat. Otherwise he would have starved. Many refugees did. He ended up with a permanent scar, as a souvenir of this place, when he was attacked and savaged by a dog.

It is strange the thoughts and memories that can float through your mind when you are alone hiding in a basement, or crouching down in a hidden compartment above the exhaust pipe of a truck. Behman remembered the time his paternal grandmother pointed out a woman, who she said was his mother. It was during a visit to the hospital about a month before the death of the old woman. She may have been mistaken. Age and illness can cloud the memory for faces. He did not approach the indicated woman to ascertain if she was his missing parent. The memory of the hurt he had felt, when he realised that she had deserted him, was too painful to allow him to make himself known. Besides this, his grandmother forbade him to speak to her estranged daughter in law, if that even was her anyway.

In addition to the privations he endured during a journey that took almost four and a half months, Behman also was in constant pain from his leg, which he had injured when he jumped from the hospital window, and he also suffered from headaches and sudden nosebleeds. These were a legacy from the severe beating that he had received from the Iranian police.

Eventually he was arrested in a country far away from either Iran or Afghanistan. He was discovered hiding in the back of a large truck. The country where this happened was The United Kingdom. He applied for asylum straightaway.

As of going to press with this article, Behman is waiting for his asylum application to be judged by the UK immigration authorities. He has no relatives in either Afghanistan or Iran, except possibly his Iranian mother. All of his grandparents are now dead. To go back to either of these countries would be a death sentence.

He is getting treatment for the head injuries he sustained in Iran, and he is gradually starting to build a life for himself in the kingdom of Her Britannic Majesty. He has even managed to discover that he has a cousin living in the country as well. His knowledge of the language of his new country is growing fast.

He still suffers from headaches, and nightmares disturb his sleep very often. Hopefully, if he is allowed to stay in his new safe country, they will gradually fade away.