Odi's Story - Fresh Start in Dublin?

This is the third instalment of Odi's courageous story of his political imprisonment in Iran, his difficult voyage to London, and his struggle towards asylum and a new life for himself and his family in the UK.  This very personal account is representative of the horrors and challenges faced by so many asylum seekers around the world. 

My friend gave me £100 to get to Dublin, and that same evening I went to the National Express coach company and bought a ticket to Belfast, in Northern Ireland, for £70.  The bus was departing the next evening at 8:30.  To get to Belfast, you need to pass over the sea.  I was really scared about this but when I thought about my family in Iran and about making their life safe, I thought I could do it.  The next night, I went to Belfast by bus and ship.  When I got off the ship, another bus was in port, waiting for passengers, and took us to a very big terminal in Belfast.  In the terminal I asked how to get to Dublin and a guy pointed me to the ticket office, where I purchased a ticket for £25.

There is no border between Northern Ireland and Ireland.  I didn’t know that.  When the bus stopped in Dublin, I thought we were stopping for lunch or the toilet.  I asked the driver, “How much longer for Dublin?”  He laughed and said, “You’re kidding me. We’re in Dublin now.”  I asked where border control was and he said there wasn’t a border.  I went into the centre and asked two more times where I was, and people said, “This is Dublin.”  After an hour I stopped a policewoman and said, “I’m a refugee.”  She opened the door of her car and told me to sit.  Her colleague was a man, and they were very lovely and kind.  

They took me to the Dublin immigration centre.  After a half hour, I was called to a room.  A guy sat there behind glass and started to ask questions.  I explained my case to him and said, “You can call England and ask them.”  He was writing, and when I said “England,” he stopped writing and said, “Oh. You were in England.”  I said, “Yes” and that I was telling him the truth and didn’t want to lie.  He said, “I’m sorry, but according to Dublin II immigration law, you have to be deported to the first country you claimed asylum.”  When he said that, I just leaned back, put my hands on my head and started to cry.  He said, “Don’t cry. Maybe it will be good for you when you are deported to England. I don’t know, but it’s the law and I can’t do anything.”
  
They moved me to the countryside, to a hostel called Balseskin Reception Centre.  It was open; you were free to go anywhere and they provided transportation to the city centre.  I spent about three months there.  Dublin was a very small city, and people were amazing.  I didn’t see any racist behavior from immigration, the police, the people, nothing.  They accepted me and were very kind and lovely.  I had the best time in Dublin.  

In Balseskin, I learned that an organisation exists for people who have experienced physical and mental torture.  It’s called SPIRASI.  In England, it’s called the Medical Foundation, now Freedom from Torture, but you can’t go by yourself.  Only your immigration officer or solicitor can refer you.  The psychiatrist at Balseskin gave me a referral, but before my appointment, I was deported.  

Immigration officers came in a van at four o’clock in the morning.  They had my documents, and one of them said, “You ready?”  I said, “For what?” and he said, “For deportation.”  They deported me to Heathrow, and from there I was sent to Harmondsworth detention centre.  

The psychiatrist at Balseskin had given me a lot of tablets to control my sleeping, stress, anger and depression, but they took these in detention and wouldn’t give them to me, no matter how many times I asked.  After a little more than two months, in the middle of the night, an officer opened the door to my cell and said, “Collect your stuff. You’re going to the airport.”  That news was like mental torture for me.  Why were they taking me to the airport?  Did they want to deport me?  I was very scared and started to pray.  

They put me in a van and I wasn’t able to say anything because I was completely shocked.  They took me to a terminal, to a waiting room, and told me to wait until I was called.  After half an hour, a lady came and took me to an interview room.  She told me to fill out a form and they brought me a Farsi interpreter to help me.  The form was to request my emergency travel documents from the Iranian embassy to deport me to Iran.  When I was finished, the immigration officer took me back to the waiting room.  

After an hour, she told me I was being released because it would take time for me to be deported.  I told her I didn’t have anywhere to go or any money to survive and asked her to call her supervisor.  When he came, he said that it wasn't his business and he couldn’t believe I didn’t have anywhere to go.  He said they were trying to send me back to Iran as soon as possible because they didn’t want to see me suffer, and he smiled.  I was really angry when he smiled, really angry.  I thought to myself, “Who do you think you are to make fun of my situation?”  

I explained to him that my wife and father had told me I would be in danger if I returned to Iran.  My family was being monitored, and my name and picture had been passed around to border agents.  My father told me that even if I was suffering a lot in England, it was still better to be patient than to return to Iran.  He said he didn’t want anything to happen to me because my older brother had been given a 15-year prison sentence by the Islamic Revolutionary Court.  

The immigration officer said it wasn’t his fault and that if I didn’t leave the airport he would call the police.  He gave me a letter telling me that I was released and should go to any address and then, after two weeks, to Eaton House reporting centre with my new address.   

In detention you’re not allowed to have a mobile phone with a camera.  They brought me my phone and the female interpreter gave me £10 to top it up and call someone to come get me.  I was very confused.  I didn’t know what to do or where I could go.  I was shy to ask anybody for help.