My name is Hamed …

… I was a Cattle Herder in Darfur where I was born thirty years ago.

In 2003, I was arrested by the police as they thought I was in opposition to the Sudanese Government. They also took my father and beat him even though he was an old man over sixty five years old. I denied being a member of the group but they repeatedly stabbed me anyway with a bayonet. We were shackled with chains around our wrists and legs and were hauled up into the air. A number of times we were tied to a tree and repeatedly beaten and kicked-severely injuring my back. After six and a half months I was released and went back to my work as a herdsman in the village in Darfur where I lived with my father, mother and sister.

On March 12^th 2004 I was in the scrubland with my cows when I heard the village had been attacked by the Janjaweed. The whole village, over 300 people, had been slaughtered, the huts burned to the ground, and the ground torn up into big holes by shells. All my friends and my whole family were dead. I was paralysed with shock, it is hard to describe the feeling.

I fled into the forest with my cows, where six of us lived, moving around with the herd. We comforted each other and helped each other to carry on.

One night, we had gone to sleep when we were attacked by men with guns. My friend sleeping next to me was killed and I ran for three weeks, hiding away and sleeping during the day, because of fear of the Janjaweed.  Eventually I reached Port Sudan, even though I ran blind and didn’t really know where I was going or what I would do.

When I arrived in Port Sudan I asked an agent to help me. I had some money that was for my sister’s dowry-but he refused. I sat crying in the street and other people begged him to help me. He agreed and I was put into a wooden goods container on a boat-at that time we did not know where we were going. I was the sixteenth person to be put into the container.

We crouched with our knees pressed against our chests unable to move. Each evening we were given a sandwich, a bottle of water and told to keep quiet. Over the next four weeks the boat would stop at different ports and people would be taken from the container.

Eventually, after four weeks, I was the last one left in the crate. The container was opened by one of the first white men I had ever seen – I don’t know who was more frightened! I was in Liverpool (although I didn’t know it). Physically I was totally devastated, I could barely move and I was afraid of everyone. I had never seen so many white people or cars!

The police came and calmed me down. I spent two days in the police station but I didn’t know what was happening. I refused food because I was frightened.

They took me to the Home Office who asked me how I had come here, and about the reasons why I had to leave and the torture I had been through.

They sent me to Rochdale where I shared a house with other asylum seekers. I felt safe at last. The people who were working in the hostel were kind to me, they took me to the doctors and when I began to suffer more from my conditions they took me to the hospital. I could hardly move at this time, and had to be helped to the toilet and to go to bed.

When I had an appointment at the asylum court I didn’t understand asylum law. I had seen my solicitor only once and he was not able to come to the hearing.

The hearing was over three hours long. The Home Office were there but my solicitor wasn’t.

Three weeks later I had a letter saying I was refused asylum and that I could go back to Khartoum because it was safe there.

This was unbelievable to me, it was not a part of my imagination. The Sudanese authorities had my fingerprints so I knew as soon as I arrived I would be killed.

One day some people came to my house and said the Home Office have said your file is closed and now you are out. I told them how I was very sick, they could see my condition and it was cold and raining outside.

They said sorry, but this is the resolution of the Home Office. Lifting me from my bed, they carried me outside, and sat me on the street with my bag of medication.

I crawled to Rochdale Town Hall. I slept there outside for a week on a piece of cardboard, living on water and bread I had bought from Lidl with my last few pounds. To go to the toilet I had to ask strangers to lift me up so I could go to the public toilets.

Nobody talked to me. I was under some cover so people from the town hall did not see me. The cover kept the rain off me.

When I had been in the house I had dreamt about the future, about learning a trade, maybe becoming an electrician and getting a nice family. Now all my dreams left me.

On the Sunday, a man stopped and asked me “why aren’t you at home?” I said, “I haven’t got anywhere to go”. He bought me a sandwich and a bottle of water, and gave me the address of the Red Cross and £5 so I could catch a bus (I don’t know who that kind man was). I got the bus to Manchester Piccadilly but when I got off the bus I collapsed on the ground and a passer-by called the Red Cross. The Red Cross arranged for me to stay with two students for a week.

On the Thursday I went to the Drop-in at St Bride’s Church where I met the Boaz Trust. They arranged for me to stay in someone’s spare room a week. They looked after me and helped me.

Then Boaz found me a space in one of their houses with other destitute asylum seekers from Darfur.  I lived there for several years.  Without Boaz I would never have survived. They are very kind and helpful to me.  Boaz also gave me a weekly food parcel worth £8 a week, toiletries and clothing.  I began to volunteer to give food parcels to other asylum seekers in my situation.

I was interested in why Boaz were helping me and realised that the were motivated by Christianity.  I wanted to find out more and talked to the staff about it*.  They offered me a New Testament in my language and other literature that explained more.  During December 2006, the Lord Jesus appeared to me on three separate occasions. On the first evening I was frightened and hid, but on the two following evenings Jesus spoke and prayed with me.  I was physically healed from the trauma I had suffered. The nightmares I had suffered every night stopped and I became a Christian receiving Jesus as my Saviour.  The next year I was baptised and since then I have been involved with my local church.  They have been a great support for me.

The Boaz Trust also helped me to find a new solicitor and she put in a fresh asylum application for me with new  evidence.  I was then able to access support again.  I was given a place to live and some Asda vouchers each week to buy food.  I was also able to get a place at college to learn English.  But I have been waiting over a year now for them to process my application. 

Recently the Home Office decided that it is unsafe to return non-Arab Darfuri’s back to Khartoum so I should now receive leave to remain.  My solicitor wrote to the Home Office, but I have been waiting for 4 months and have not yet received the neccessary documents.  But I now have hope that I will soon be able to support myself and to build a life here.

*All of the Boaz paid staff are committed Christians  and believe that all people are created in the image of God and that Jesus died for them. Therefore all people are of value and should be treated with dignity and justice.  Although many of the Boaz volunteers and supporters are of other faiths or have no faith stance.