Ismahan

At the height of the war in Mogadishu Ismahan spent more than a year in Kenya and Ethiopia trying to get out to Europe. Her family made a number of attempts at the airports to get her out, initially without success. When she finally arrived in Sweden, she had become a different person:

The agent gave me a different name and age, and even told me the street where I should say my home was. I learned my story over two days. He left me at the door of a police station, and told me not to talk about him.

With support from her teachers and relatives, Ismahan has made a life for herself in Stockholm - but would like to return to Somalia:

My relatives tried to get me out in 1992. I was the only girl, and they were fearful of what might happen to me. I was brought up by my grandparents, as my mum was only 16 when she had me, so I knew her as a member of my family rather than my mother...

I didn't know I was coming to Europe. I didn't want to leave my grandmother - I loved her, she was the whole world to me. He [the agent] came and took me from home, but no-one told me exactly where I was going. He gave me a different name and age. I was 14 at the time, but he told me to say I was 11, and gave me a different name, and even told me the street where I should say my home was. He left me with someone and I learned my story over two days. Then he collected me and took me to the airport.

Here [Sweden] we went through the passport control together. Then he took me to his relatives and I slept there for one night. The next day he left me at the door of a police station, and told me not to describe his face or talk about him, and that he would be in contact with me later. I never heard from him again.

The police asked a lot of questions, in English: Where were you born, how did you come? They took fingerprints, my picture, and took me in a police car to an asylum centre. I was there for two days, then they took me and told me I would be allocated a guardian in the asylum process...

I hadn't met any Somalis at that point, and I was miserable. I regretted leaving home. I expected a better life to come instantly, but I found instead the people very cold, and the weather awful. I didn't trust anyone; I couldn't really speak. I ended up in Carlslund refugee centre. With my own room, at first it feels a bit like detention. There are many rules, what time to get up and have breakfast, what time to go to sleep, what to do. But at last I met lots of Somalis.

Then I started to move more freely, and I found it a nice atmosphere. There was a group of us that kept tightly together, like a family - Somalis, Iraqis, Bangladeshis, and people from different countries. If someone was in trouble we would protect each other. If someone was outside, we would look out for them.

Everything was fine, but I missed my grandmother too much. I felt neglected and sad. Later I was able to contact my grandmother, and eventually I also contacted my mother in Italy. I took my own apartment, but it was tough. I was alone, at 17, dealing with the bills and trying to study. You are encouraged in Sweden to be alone, that is the idea here - your classmates are always talking about moving out, and some leave their families by 16.

My aunt went to my teacher and said I needed support, which I was given. I had a good relationship with my teacher and I liked my independence. But I didn't have such a good relationship with the Somali community. I went to Italy in 1997 to see my mother. That was great, but I remember my mother as being tall, but when I saw her she had shrunk and she had become just like granny. I now live in an apartment in Stockholm, and I would like to go back to Somalia.