In November 2024, after sixteen and a half years of being stuck in the asylum system, our friend and migrant justice organiser Mariam Yusuf, was finally recognised as a refugee in the UK.
In our new blog series, On The Record, she spoke with Migrants Organise CEO Zrinka Bralo. Mariam and Zrinka met in 2015 when Mariam was nominated for a Woman on the Move Award. Together they have been on a journey of disrupting the hostile environment through solidarity and grassroots organising for dignity and justice.
Mariam’s Story
“I first met Mariam in 2015 when her community nominated her for the Woman On the Move Awards (WOMA).
The WOMA awards were an annual celebration of the power of migrant women and the relentless work they do in standing up to injustice. Every year we received many nominations and selected a Woman of the Year and a Young Woman of the Year.
Mariam stood out to me. We met when she came for an interview, having been shortlisted, with the awards panel. A softly spoken and determined woman, she travelled from Manchester, where she volunteered with Women Asylum Seekers Together (WAST), a grassroots group of women surviving the hostile environment of the immigration system with resilience and solidarity.
By 2016, Mariam had already become a ‘refused asylum seeker’, further complicating her situation. At that point, Mariam was supported by The Boaz Trust. She had a safe room to live because of the help the charity provided, but due to hostile rules on ‘unsuccessful’ asylum applications, she had no right to work and relied on a tiny £10 per week to live.
Before that, Mariam was forced into destitution on two occasions. Despite everything, it was clear to all who met her that she was a huge source of support to others around her, and her community at WAST adored her.
Within minutes of the interview, it became apparent to all of us on the panel that Mariam was our 2016 WOMA Woman of the Year.
Nine years later, in Spring 2025, Mariam and I spent several hours in conversation, retracing our friendship and celebrating a much more significant win.
After sixteen and a half years seeking protection in the UK, Mariam has finally been recognised as a refugee! This means she is free to live like the rest of us, make choices about her future. She wanted to acknowledge the solidarity she has received from the our community:
“I want to thank everyone who has supported me over the years. I want people to know that £5 or £10 they donated to my legal advice crowdfunding appeal in 2022 made a huge difference. They all made a huge difference and they should know that.”
Mariam’s ‘story’ has been shared on various platforms, from the publicity of winning her award and articles in the Guardian; however, none of these truly cover the survival strategies and grit needed to survive the relentless cruelty of having to flee from home and face a punishing asylum system.
“Mariam, you need to write a book, “ I said.
“Yes, “ she replied, “ it should be called Sixteen and a Half Years! “
In the absence of a book deal, we’ll start with this blog. We tried to retrace her journey, and even though I knew most of the chronology, the many details Mariam experienced shocked and enraged me. Mariam, as always, reflects on all of it with the grace and calm of a saint.
“What was the first thing you did, Mariam, when you got your full refugee status? “ I asked.
“I went to open a bank account, but the person working there was very confused about my papers because I don’t have any papers to show them, just a code, “ said Mariam. “ I tried to explain what refugees are, who I am, and that I can now work and open a bank account, but I left without it, because they did not understand what I was talking about.”
Like everyone seeking protection, Mariam had to survive without a bank account. This is one of the measures in the “Hostile Environment” immigration system. Most of us take it for granted, but try to imagine how you would manage without one. Now, Mariam, along with all refugees and migrants, must obtain an E-visa, a digital proof of her immigration status that is very complicated to set up. Many service providers in both the public and private sectors still don’t understand what it is and are asking for documents as proof of immigration status. This is all part of the policy, which has ushered in internal border controls across all spheres of human existence, making life impossible for all immigrants. The policy was called the hostile environment by the government because it was designed to make life so difficult that people would leave the country.
2008: Day One
Mariam’s journey in the UK starts in immigration detention. Mariam landed in London in 2008 and was taken by her handler to Liverpool, where she was left in front of the Home Office building. Her father in Somalia made all arrangements and told her she would be safe. Alone, and without a word of English, she entered the official-looking building, thinking it was the Red Cross.
Despite being a Bajuni-speaking Somali, Mariam was interviewed by a Kenyan Swahili speaker who asked her to perform an Islamic prayer and sing a song from her childhood. Although Mariam could understand some Swahili, regional differences in the language made communication difficult. She felt exhausted and confused, but still believed she would be safe. “I found it very odd because we don’t pray just like that, because you have to prepare to pray”.
“I didn’t know the word for train; I had never seen or taken a train, and I was struggling to explain to the caseworker and interpreter in the Home Office how I travelled from London to Liverpool. They both laughed at me.” Mariam remembers.
Later that night, Mariam was taken to a hostel and given a bed. Three days later, Mariam was picked up in the morning and taken to the Home Office offices in Liverpool. She was put in a room with a Pakistani woman for over four hours. After they were placed in a van that drove around for a long time and picked up another woman
“We finally arrived at an official-looking place late at night, and I remember many locked doors. I did not understand what was happening. We were booked in and taken to a room, and I shared with the woman. The next day at breakfast, I saw two Somali women, and they spoke Somali. I did not understand their dialect. I told them I spoke Bajuni, and they spoke in Swahili and told me that I was in the detention centre. What do you mean by jail? What have I done? So all these people are in jail, including me? They said nothing, they saw I was confused and told me “don’t worry, somebody will explain better. I did not speak a word of English and could not understand what was happening, and followed what the other women were doing.”
“The next day, I was called to go and collect clothing, and they gave me a tracksuit to change into. I shook my head, as I had never worn trousers before. Then, they provided me with a skirt and a scarf, which I appreciated. I became friends with some Somali women, and one of them gave me a hijab to wear.”
Yarl’s Wood
While in Yarlswood Immigration Detention Centre, Mariam saw a male legal advisor and an interpreter, who were allocated as advice providers. It is hard for her to remember who they were or what was happening, as the interpreter was again a Swahili speaker. She now knows they were submitting her initial asylum claim.
“I just felt like, maybe this is how it is done. I felt uneasy, but I felt if I do this, I’m going to come out of the jail – the jail was the only thing on my mind.”
After two weeks in detention, Mariam was released, put into another van and taken to designated accommodation in Croydon. She was sharing a room with a refugee woman from the Congo and another refugee from Uganda, who gave birth to a baby two weeks later.
“When I arrived in the room, I started crying”.
Mariam paused. Throughout the years I have known her, Mariam has never cried or even mentioned crying. She never despaired or even complained about anything. I said this to her.
“ I was crying because I was out, and free, and I was crying because I did not know what is going to happen to me”.
Enfield
After three weeks, Mariam was moved to an accommodation administered by the National Asylum Support Service (NASS). It was a house in Enfield, London, shared by eight women waiting to hear about their asylum claims. The house was not great, and Mariam does not remember who the provider was. These houses are run for profit by private companies. For example, currently, in London, Clearsprings Ready Homes makes hundreds of millions in profit from substandard and overcrowded accommodation for vulnerable people like Mariam.
“None of the women in the house spoke my language, and I got a letter from the Home Office and a lawyer, but I had no idea what they said. One of the refugee women from Congo called someone she knew who spoke my language. They translated the letter for me, letting me know that my lawyer transferred my case elsewhere because they no longer work. The letter from the Home Office said I did not have to report to immigration authorities.” Mariam remembers.
With the help of her housemates, Mariam started settling in. “Women who were here longer took me on the bus for a week until I could find the way around on my own. They also took me to buy some clothes in the market as I was still wearing the same clothes from detention.”
In college, Mariam began learning English and fell in love with it. She found the library close to her shared accommodation and would spend every day there until closing time at 8 p.m.
She was making good progress and was encouraged by her college tutors to start other subjects, such as math and social care.
Mariam’s asylum claim progressed with another interview, featuring a new solicitor whom she had only met during the Home Office interview. Once again, the interpreter did not speak her language. Mariam described the interviewing officer as unfriendly. She struggled to understand what was happening to her and why. Even legal advisors struggle to keep up with the almost daily changes to the rules. People with little to no English can hardly cope when an interpreter is present. The whole system is dehumanising. Mariam’s asylum claim was refused for the first time within a year, and she only discovered this when she was informed that she had to vacate the NASS accommodation, of which she was no longer entitled.
A friend she made at the college was granted status, and she offered Mariam a place to stay; otherwise, she would have been homeless. She had also lost her “section 95 asylum support” which at that point was £36 per week for food and travel, and her solicitor told her they could no longer represent her.
Even though I knew this was what had happened to Mariam, I still paused to take it in, thinking back how lucky I was when I arrived to seek asylum in the UK after escaping the war in Bosnia in the 90s. The situation was different back then, and people seeking asylum had many more rights than they do today. Even though my claim for asylum was initially refused, I could still work and study, and I had access to legal aid and the right to appeal. I often reflect on how all these basic rights have been stripped away, and wonder with dread what I would do in Mariam’s situation.
“Were you not worried, Mariam?” I ask.
“At that time, I’m not worried. I did not understand what was happening because nobody explained to me what the refusal was and what that meant. Everything is confusing, but I keep thinking, they (the Home Office) did not understand me, and as soon as they find a Bajuni interpreter, they will understand me and everything will be okay.”
Dispersal to Middlesborough
Mariam’s friend helps her find another solicitor, who submits a new claim and secures her some much-needed healthcare support and counselling. They also try to get a Bajuni language expert, but Mariam is being moved into a NASS accommodation in Middlesbrough. This is part of the so-called government’s dispersal programme. The policy is to send people seeking protection randomly to places around the country, with complete disregard for their health and well-being, not to mention social ties and community connections.
Despite the obstacles of the government’s hostile system, Mariam continues to look for community and joins many activities, and she meets someone who introduces her to Woman Asylum Seekers Together (WAST) in Manchester.
At this point, Mariam’s asylum claim is refused, again, and we pause our conversation because I lost count of how many of her applications for protection and safety here had been unfairly denied.
“ So let me get this right, “ I say. ” It is 2015, and this is your third asylum claim and fifth legal advisor or solicitor, and you are homeless again. “
“ Yes, “ says Mariam calmly, pausing to check the count quietly to ensure accuracy. “I need to review all my papers, “ she continued. “I forgot and blocked some of it from my mind because I just gave up at one point and could no longer think about it.”
At this point, I wonder if this conversation was a good idea. I know she is resilient; after all, she is safe now. Still, it dawns on me that Mariam may not have reflected on her journey this way because she was in survival mode, always trying to be there for others and looking to the future. Simply listing the hostility she has faced is a gross understatement of the obstacles and injustices she has had to overcome.
But Mariam quickly regains her usual positivity and continues her journey.
2012: Refusals and sofa surfing in Manchester
“I moved to Manchester in 2012 from Middlesbrough after my case was refused, and lived with a friend who introduced me to WAST. I was sofa surfing at a friends’ houses from 2012 to 2014, where I made another fresh claim in 2014 and was given accommodation by the Home Office. One day in 2015, I returned to my room in NASS accommodation, managed by SERCO, and found a letter stating that I had to vacate the premises. I called the accommodation officer, who informed me that I was moving on because my status had been granted. He was friendly and said that is what was noted in his system.
I felt confused since I had not received any communication from my solicitor. I was very excited, but the next day, I received a letter from the Home Office stating that my application had been refused again.”
The 24-hour rollercoaster is as difficult to imagine as it is to imagine how Mariam recovered from it.
“ I was facing homelessness, and Vicky, who was working at WAST, made an application for me, and the charity Boaz Trust gave me accommodation and £10 per week. The house was nice and I shared it with four other women in a similar situation.”
The Boaz Trust also helped find another solicitor. Mariam had to move so many times, and her case had gone through so many representatives. The new solicitors had to request that the Home Office send her file so they could assess the status of her claim and determine what could be done. As with many things with the Home Office, this took time, and Mariam dedicated herself to community work. Now, surviving on £10 per week and having to report to the Home Office regularly.
“So how do you survive on £10 per week”, I ask.
“You are in survival mode; you make sure that you have £5 for travel to attend activities and then get reimbursed. You rely on charities and charity shops. I was attending many activities and training, especially with the charity REVIVE.”
“After many years in this system, I thought, am I invisible? Can somebody hear what I’m saying, or can somebody feel what I’m going through? But I didn’t know how to tell it to anybody, because I was living with women who are always sad, crying and stressed out, and everybody is feeling sorry for one another.
Strength in Speaking Out
“When I started speaking out to raise awareness, I felt like I didn’t want to sit down. There was something, a drive in me that was telling me, you, you are invisible until you go out and speak to someone. And I thought if I’m going to make a difference, let me join the people who are out there.”
” I volunteered, and the first time we went out with a group from REVIVE, I wasn’t speaking. I was just going to be with the group. I remember when we were invited to speak to children at a local school. And I really felt when, when they were talking to the children, and then the children asking questions, and then we spoke to the teachers – I felt like somebody is listening somewhere, and if you continue to do this, it can make a difference. I felt inspired by speaking to a different audience, who are attentive and they’re asking questions. That really encouraged me, and we kept on going. We went to speak in church. And that, that’s where it started – speaking out. Then I went to the detention centres protests, I loved that. So to me, I felt like somebody was listening somewhere, and I think that is where I got my strength.”
Mariam also volunteered to support other women in WAST, “I realised I’m a good, active listener. When a woman speaks to me, I might not have a solution, but just trying to listen, because I realise that women sometimes just want somebody to listen. They know you are in the same situation, but just talking to somebody who felt what the woman felt was what is needed. I felt like somebody was appreciating me giving their five minutes of time to talk. So that was the same feedback I was getting from the women. So I felt satisfied, in a way.”
Meanwhile, two more attempts to resuscitate her asylum claim from 2015 to 2018 were unsuccessful. It is challenging for those who are not familiar with the Home Office to comprehend the injustices Mariam has faced. Unfortunately, for many, this is what we have come to expect – a lack of humanity, and, as the late Lord Ramsbotham, former Chief Inspector of Prisons, so aptly described it, ‘a culture of disbelief’.
The new (fifth) solicitor made progress in persuading the Home Office to schedule an appointment for Mariam at the Kenyan Embassy to obtain evidence confirming that she is not a Kenyan national. The mistake that led to all the rejections, even before Mariam’s claim for protection could be considered, began in the early days when the Home Office continued to book Swahili interpreters wrongly. Mariam dutifully attended the appointment at the Kenyan Embassy, and they responded to confirm that she is not a Kenyan national after their interview. However, in their correspondence, the Embassy recorded the interview date wrongly, and based on this minor error, the Home Office again rejected Mariam’s application.
Mariam sounds exhausted, so we pause our conversation once more to tally the rejections and solicitors. This time, we both lost track.
“I decided to stop thinking about it and concentrate on something positive” says Mariam.
2018: Communities of Solidarity
And she did, particularly in areas where she excels – learning, building relationships, and fostering communities. She has become a prominent voice in the Sisters Not Strangers campaign against detention and other inhumane policies that affect women seeking safety; a regular volunteer at WAST, a member of the Status Now campaign, and a founding member of the Solidarity Knows No Borders movement.
In 2018, Mariam met her now-partner, David. “On the third date, I told him the whole story. It is hard to have relationships when you are in this situation; you never know how people will react. He had no idea what an asylum seeker was, but now he is “team WAST” says Mariam proudly.”
In 2020, now living together and feeling safer with David’s support, Mariam thought it was time to try to sort out her status once again. She was in limbo – refused, but no removal has been ordered because the Home Office recognised that she cannot be sent anywhere, yet they would not grant her permission to stay and rebuild her life. Mariam’s status meant that she had no recourse to public funds (NRPF), which also meant she was not eligible for legal aid. Therefore, to get justice, Mariam had to find a charity or pay for the legal advice and representation herself.
A system that is hostile by design
As most charities are overwhelmed with new arrivals due to the massive legal aid crisis, David, Mariam’s partner, offered support with legal costs. However, money was not the only challenge; a whole new legal strategy was needed to win.
The advice and representation that Mariam received over the years were not necessarily wrong or bad. They were responsive to the urgent need to prevent destitution, yet insufficient in the sense that fresh applications did not address the deeper issues of Mariam’s claim. Advisors were not adequately resourced to dedicate the time needed to find evidence and build a case for Mariam, who kept falling through the net and directly into the jaws of the hostile environment policy.
Over the 16 and a half years that Mariam was trapped in this egregious system, immigration law changed five times, each time making survival more challenging for vulnerable people like Mariam and adding more pressure on legal advice providers.
Just before the pandemic and lockdown in 2020, we arranged for Mariam to speak with barrister Jennifer Blair, who advises many members of Migrants Organise. She recommended Milla Walker, a partner at Luqmani Thompson, who is a solicitor experienced in similar cases. This instilled hope in Mariam that her case had merit and a chance for success. The solicitor was also optimistic, but Mariam was concerned that the costs could be an issue, as it could take a long time, and she would need reports from numerous experts whose work is very costly.
Mariam agreed to go public and set up a crowdfunding appeal to cover her legal costs. She wanted Migrants Organise to hold the funds and her solicitors to invoice us. It is never an easy decision for people to go public in their hour of need, as they are frequently portrayed as helpless victims. We decided to launch the appeal and call it ‘Justice for Mariam’.
In just 28 days, in April 2022, 137 people supported Mariam’s appeal and donated thousands for her legal costs. We reached our target.
At that point, Mariam’s solicitor had already spent a year gathering evidence and preparing the case, and Mariam continued to support many women during the pandemic and lockdown. When I asked her how doing crowdfunding felt, as always, she was thinking of others in her community.
“I had mixed feelings about getting the attention and support. I felt guilty most of the time. Why? When I was with the women I met who were also refugees like me, I felt I was getting support, but other women were not. And I felt good that I can be supported and pursue my status after so many years, but it was difficult to talk about it, when so many different people need the same support.”
These mixed feelings are a challenge for all of us campaigning and organising in the space of a decades-long hostile environment, which for us is not just an abstract policy, but an injustice that happens daily to people we know, whose lives are on hold and whose dignity and humanity are constantly denied. Standing in solidarity in the face of overwhelming need is a massive challenge, and I ask Mariam how she deals with it.
“I encourage women to come to be with women and just come in and sit and do nothing if you feel depressed. I think that’s better than staying away and alone. If you can’t go to school or volunteer, do something in your life, go speak out. There’s a woman who said to me that nobody is listening. That’s what I said to myself: nobody was listening, but the moment I started talking, somebody listened, and I was doing something positive. You don’t know who you’re talking to, it could be somebody who’s going to take a decision that would make a difference. So always be out there and share your story because your story belongs to you. Whatever way you tell it, it will impact people in different ways.”
Mariam’s solicitor arranged for an independent expert’s report, and she tells me of the relief that a Bajuni language expert has finally interviewed her to confirm that she is telling the truth about her origins and that her testimony is credible. Her solicitor did not want to raise expectations about the timing of the decision, as the asylum backlog grew larger during the pandemic.
In November 2024, Mariam called to share the good news: after 16 and a half years, she was granted full refugee status.
She was her calm, usual self, and still in disbelief. “I want to see the papers from my solicitor first “, Mariam said, “and then I want to do something to thank everyone who supported me”.
Mariam is a survivor and did her best not to waste time, but it is hard not to think ‘what if’. What if she did not have to live in destitution for 16 years? What if we did not have the hostile immigration system? What if she had access to legal advice immediately?
“You will have to write that book, Mariam,” I tease her as we begin to wind down our conversation and as I realise how impossible it will be to convey everything I heard in a few pages of a blog post.
Mariam’s journey is not over, and her resilience and spirit continue to power our community of solidarity. However, this part of it needs to be captured as a testament to what happened to our society, to become so cruel and inhumane, as we lost our humanity by treating people like Mariam with hostility.
“I know, and I will think about it, Mariam agrees, but for now I just wanted to share my good news and thank people who supported me, and I want them to know that their solidarity and support makes a difference.”
Migrants Organise provides a platform for refugees and migrants to organise for power, dignity and justice. We combine advice and support for individuals subjected to hostile immigration policies with grassroots organising, advocacy, research and campaigning to dismantle structural racism. Read more.
