My Voice Is Power

Right To Freedom Of Expression/Your Stories

Raw Stories

Walk with me, please

Someone called me
And I answered yes hello 
The question was, are you  Angel’s mom
And I said yes I’m Angel’s mom 
Again she asked have you been trafficked?
My heart freezes 
And I said again yes 
She asked again when did you came here 
I said January **** 
OK, she said, home office is going to ask you again 
And I said I know that I have been asked million times for that .
I asked her from where she is calling me 
And she said I’m health visitor 
I was blocked and I couldn’t ask for her name because she didn’t introduce her self 
I know I’m young mummy I’m growing up my baby girl she loves me she’s angel is innocent and she doesn’t know nothing how she came on this life 
I’m human I’m not criminal 
It’s not the first time that I feel prejudice 
If she is health visitor than she is a professional 
And if she knows about my dark past then she should think as a health visitor that this person have suffered a lot 
This person is depressed and sad.
Why then she as a health visitor didn’t find another better way to asked me those questions if she needed to 
Or to find a better way to speak to me first as a women or as a mother.
But not she asked me on wrong direction 
After this call I felt so low 
At night I couldn’t sleep 
Angel felt that And she didn’t slept well also.
I feel myself that even if I want to forget my past, a phone call Is always to remind me 
I’m writing because I have to do that for my child 
I don’t want that my child tomorrow to feel same as her mom 
Please professional people don’t be racist 
Don’t discriminate 
Don’t prejudice 
And I asked for help but to have your help to have your hand do I have first to be prejudiced for what I am or for my past 
Can someone come and sit on my position 
Thanks if someone sits and understands my position 
Angel”s mom

Jemi Unike

Gri, erresire, bubellima. Te gjitha egersite e motit ishin mbledhur ne shpirtin tim. Era e furishme frynte ne te gjitha drejtimet duke lekundur ne cdo moment qelizat e mia.

 Cdo dite me tumbonte ne vesh nje ze I ashper, I eger e I ftohte qe me thoshte:‘Je e imja’, ‘Je prona ime’, ‘Duhet te besh ate qe dua une, ‘Je e pavlere’ ‘Je e padukshme’ ‘Je e shemtuar’. Une urdheroj dhe ti zbaton.

Cdo dite e imja niste me friken qe e nesermja nuk do ekzistoje dhe me mendimin qe edhe e sotmja me mire te mos ekzistonte. 

Trafikimi u be jeta ime e erret, u be frika e diteve te mia. Por me ne fund diteve te trafikimit ju erdhi fundi. Ne shpirtin tim mbeten shume plage te hapura, shume te nxira te dukshme dhe te padukshme.

 Kisha frike te kerkoja ndihme, kisha frike ta ngrija zerin, kisha frike ti thoja ndalo mendimeve negative qe me kishin pushtuar.Por serisht nuk mund ta injoroja ate zerin e larget qe me therriste per zgjim, qe me therriste per shprese me therriste per jete. 

Jam shume e re, jam ne moshen me te bukur. Jeta po me therret. Ka akoma shprese qe dite me te bukra do vijne per mua, gezimet do zevendesojne plaget , dhe lumturia do fshije te nxirat.Duke menduar ne kete menyre ne rruget e jetes time hyri nje psikologe e cila me miresine dhe mirekuptimin e saj ndryshoi jeten time. 

Cdo dite fillonte me nje mendim pozitiv, dhe cdo mendim pozitiv ushqente qelizat e trurit, te trupit, ushqente ato qeliza qe ishin ne kerkim te jetes. Arrita te ngrija koken, arrita ta shihja dhe vleresoja veten per ate qe jam. Jam padiskutim nje femer unike ashtu sic do njeri eshte unik ne llojin e tij.

Me siguri ka shume femra shqiptare qe do ta gjejne veten tek historia ime: 

Deshiroj qe ta ngrini koke lart dhe te mendoni qe asgje dhe askush nuk do tju beje me te ndiheni te pavlera. 

Ne jemi unike! 

Ne jemi forca e pashtershme e ketij universi!

A mother who dreams of her mother

I’m Stela’s mom, and a mother who dreams of her mother. 

Yeah, that’s true!

I dream of my mother. I dream like I’m smelling her, and putting my head by her feet 🦶 

Wake up Stela’s mom, you are dreaming. 

You are here in this country far away from your mother, alone, and scared of revenge, and scared of everything. 

I did not ask to come here, but here I am!

Sacred of losing my mind.

Scared of losing this little angel girl.

Scared of losing my power to look after her.

With these problems, I feel lucky that I have not lost my mind. 

But this is because I had emotional support from my therapist, and love support from this little angel, Stela. 

I’m pretty sure I will have Stela’s love, but this love, right now,  needs to be combined with emotional support.

I really feel as a single mother, in a unknown country, living in fear and uncertainty,  I need this support for another better day.

I need this support, this given hand, to move forward with my little angel.



Stela’s mom is asking for this support to continue because, I need it.

Please do not stop this! 

Even a criminal needs support 

Imagine a mother…

Stela’s mom.

Life is always surprising us...

You know? Recently I’ve encountered an internal conflict that I cant get over or seem to resolve. I keep telling myself Nima you should be happy. Nima you are in England. Nima u have a chance. Nima u have friends here. Nima England is multicultural and u wont stand out as a refuge. But no. Nima you are in a camp. Nima u have to start the whole process again. Nima u don’t know if u will make it. Nima u may not get asylum. Nima nima nima. Who have u become? Truth is I didn’t feel happiness when I crosses the channel and arrived in English territory. I didn’t feel relief. Relief for surviving. Relief for being alive. Happiness for achieving something and for seeing doors open to a new opportunity to build a future I will be proud of and become the person I’ve always wanted to become. I wasn’t happy. I felt empty. I couldn’t feel. Surviving or not didn’t make a difference. Being in England or any other land felt indifferent. It was scary. After all, was this really what I always wanted? I crossed the border on a Monday with my best friend. Well after all this time he has become my brother and certainly one of the most important and crucial people in my life. He means family and it seems like I’ve been stripped off my own family for the second time. First Iran. Now England. I guess our future is a repetition of our past. And if it is, why should I even dream of something different and better?!When we arrived they called my name and said they’d send me somewhere. and of course the only thing I asked for was for Omid to come with me. Don’t leave me alone amidst chaos disorder and uncertainty. Don’t leave me alone with my hopelessness. Please. I didn’t let my eyes close cos I thought had come with me. We made it this far, together. Why wouldn’t we continue together? Its not my journey. Its our journey. And doing it without him translates into emptiness. An emptiness that doesn’t fit inside me. They moved me somewhere. Somewhere is the only word I can use. I have no idea where it was, that the name of the place, town, village or city was. I was in the middle of the unknown and had no way of reaching answers. I had no wifi, no phone, no Omid. I didn’t know what they’d do with me. After all they could do whatever they wanted to. No one would ever know. Were faceless people stepped on by those who have documents and live in arrogance and pride. I wanted to tell my family I am alive because they hadn’t heard from their son for more than 20 days. But I couldn’t. Again. Causing them pain. Suffer. Torture. One more time cos once is not enough right? The only thing I remember doing in the first day I arrived was pushing doors. Pushing doors, harder and harder. Stronger and stronger. But all of them were locked. Just like my future, my dreams and my hope. I wouldn’t leave that place. That would be the end of me. I couldn’t breathe anymore in such despair. eight days after they moved me to London and I could finally find happiness. It was the best time I’ve had since I’ve reached the UK. It was in London where I was give. The freedom and opportunity to feel normal again. After all this time I felt like a human no different from every other human. I could ask strangers about addresses. And they could answer me politely because I’m not just a refugee and documents don’t define who I am or aim to be.

Nima sent us his story, with a request to share it.  

I just wish they could be good surprises.

U know? I never realised I got trauma from Samos. I built a life there. I created long-lasting meaningful relationships. I worked and I had a bed. But I soon understood that I never felt normal there. In London I kept telling myself Nima u are a refugee why are people nice to you?! It doesn’t make sense. U are someone they don’t like. Because for 3 years in Greece I thought I had no rights. Entrance to places and restaurants was forbidden for people like me. I was a refugee and i thought being a refugee means you’re not human and u cant talk to strangers and strangers will certainly not want to talk to u.

I was in London for two weeks and I could find myself. It only took two weeks to feel in the right place, gain direction and sense of life. I wanted to be helpful by helping homeless people through NGO I found that accepted me as a volunteer. But guess what?! After my first day there I was moved to the camp in Folkestone. And here we go again. The spiral continues. I lost everything. Again. One more time. My best friend and the NGO. 

When I arrived in the camp I saw someone being beaten up by racist people who started shouting at us yelling that we should leave England and go back to where we came from. Were not welcome. Were unwanted. And people are repulsed by us. So it seems. I lost my self confidence and my hope – the crumbs I had left – in humanity. One more time. I started feeling I’m not human. I’m not worth a human life. I’m not worth a dream. Ill never be proud of myself. I don’t know what will happen to me.  Maybe ill be the one being beaten in public tomorrow and losing the dignity I have left – if I have any left. So I decided to sleep for a week and praying that one day ill wake up from this nightmare in Iran with my parents eating the food they always cook for me and feeling their smell. came and started. I gave up. For a week I quit. I couldn’t think about university and all the plans i had. I couldn’t try one more time. I cant accept failure anymore without resenting it and myself. I don’t want to hate myself even more its enough and too heavy to seal with already. 

I don’t know what to say about this camp. Its true, the UK didn’t invite me to come reside there. I am here illegally and so I have no right to manifest myself. No one has the obligation to accept me or welcome me onboard. But there are around 400 people living here under Corona circumstances and each salon provides shelter for around 20 people that have to wait for food for 30 mins – if lucky. Were surrounded by fences. Its another form of a concentration camp. Its a trap. 

But its evidently not as bad as Samos. At least for me. For other people I cannot talk. There are those who have started to embark on self harm. The other day for example, someone claimed he’s hang himself soon unless he wasn’t granted a transfer in the near future. I had to translate his words and listen to his devastating story. It hurt me and the worse is I could understand his deeper frustrations. He magnified my hopelessness and lroved me life is not worth living to all. 

I don’t know for how long ill be here. I don’t know if ill ever leave this place. I don’t know where I will go. UK, Greece, or maybe somewhere else? I don’t know. I don’t know what’ll happen to me today so I cant even imagine how my life will turn around in the next 24 hours. Life is always surprising us. I just wish they could be good surprises.

Nima sent us his story, with a request to share it.