‘I’m going to send you to go give something to your uncle.’

This is what my dad told me one day when I was 13.

It was the school summer holidays and I was living with my family in a small town in West Africa at the time. My uncle lived in the city, but I didn’t know him very well.

So my father handed me a sealed brown envelope and I made the journey to my uncle’s house.

When my uncle opened the envelope, there was a green book. It had my picture in it. He showed me the picture and said: ‘Do you know what that is?’ I shook my head.

‘This is called a passport,’ he said. ‘We’re going to go for an interview, and if you pass, you get to come with me on a holiday in Europe!’

We went for the visa interview, he told me things to say when I got there – his wife’s name, the children, our relations, all of that. My English wasn’t good then.

I was just asked basic questions – like ‘are you happy to go on holiday?’ I remember just saying yes, because that’s what I was told to say. It was my uncle answering most of the questions.

It took a few weeks before we were able to travel. I wanted to go on holiday with my friends, not my uncle. It was a surprise, so I wasn’t sure how to feel – I just went along with what they said. They told me to come without any of my stuff.

When we got to the airport, he was doing the talking. I was just standing. That’s how we got to come to the UK.

When we landed, we took a train into the city. He told me, ‘this is called London.’ It was night time, so I couldn’t see much. I had never seen a train before apart from in the movies.

We got to the house, but it was late. He introduced me to his wife – I’d never met her. Their two kids were very young. At first, things were nice and there were lots of smiles. They bought me new clothes, took me out sightseeing around London, including Buckingham Palace.

I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I heard her footsteps, I was terrified

Then – a few weeks later – my uncle had to return home. He told me: I’m going back home, but you’re going to stay.’

‘I thought you said I was here on holiday,’ I replied. ‘I need to get back!’

He simply responded: ‘You have family here. She’s your mum now,’ and then pointed at his wife. Back in Africa, when your elders speak, you tend to just go with it.

When he left, things began to change. I had to get up in the middle of the night when the baby cried. I had to take the kids to nursery or school, bathe them, and make sure there weren’t any dishes in the sink. I basically had to clean the house the whole time, as well as look after a one-year-old and six-year-old. It was a lot of work.

I was 13 then. When schools opened, I remember asking why I wasn’t going. 

My aunt said: ‘You need papers. If you don’t have papers, you can’t go to school, don’t talk to people, don’t tell anyone.’

She also warned me that if I told anyone anything, I’d get into trouble. She put that fear into me.

Even if I tried to phone my parents, she would be there. She wouldn’t let me speak to them alone. I couldn’t say anything.

This was my life for nine years. After about five years and because of this stress, I was getting ill all the time. My aunt had to register me with a GP, so I used that letter to take myself to the college without her knowing.

We were arguing a lot by then. She hit me, and I stood up for myself by calling the police on her. When I got back home, my uncle said I needed to go back to the police and say nothing happened.

I was afraid for my life in that house. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I heard her footsteps, I was terrified.

It was through college that I was able to eventually work up the courage to explain my situation to my teachers, who referred me to the British Red Cross. They then referred me to Women’s Aid and that’s how I came to seek asylum.

I’ve been in the asylum system for almost 10 years now, but I don’t see a light at the end of the tunnel

I feel very angry, because this woman stole my childhood. The mess that I’m in is because of her. I never asked to come here.

I had a life and a family – I miss my siblings, but they all grew up. My mother and siblings, they understand. But my father, he won’t come to terms with it, he thinks I’m making all of it up. Now I hardly speak to him.

After I claimed asylum for trafficking, the Home Office rejected my application. They said that they didn’t believe I was a victim of trafficking. I reapplied a year later, but they rejected it again. I’ve been getting only rejections, rejections, rejections.

I’ve been in the asylum system for almost 10 years now, but I don’t see a light at the end of the tunnel, unfortunately.

Now if I sit down and look back, I tell myself that maybe my traffickers were right. They said I will never get help and I will never get status in this country without them helping me.

I think maybe I should have stayed with them and said it never happened. I would choose that and at least be able to return back to my home country with no fear.

I keep getting moved around to different accommodations. I’m not allowed to work either and it’s not good for my mental health. I used to find joy in looking forward to the next day – now I don’t see a point in waking up. That’s how bad I feel. It’s draining.

I was 13 when I was brought into the UK but I never wanted to come here.

My parents were poor, but I didn’t dream of travelling – I loved where I was, I loved my family and all the little things I had. But now I can’t go back. I’m afraid of my traffickers finding me and taking revenge for escaping. Even my own father is not on my side.

I’ve been here for 17 years in total now and I have built myself here. This is where I grew up and have my friends. I’m not here to take money from this country. I’m here to give back and I want to work.

That’s why the story of Mo Farah recently sharing that he was trafficked into the UK as a child hit me so hard. Unfortunately, he’s just one of many of us.

At least he has achieved his status – some of us are still in limbo and scared. There are so many of us who have a talent. We are doctors, scientists and teachers.

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Treat us all equal. We need to be treated with respect.

No one can give me back the 17 years I have lost to this situation.

My message is to listen to the people who are coming here seeking sanctuary. Give them the hope that they prayed for when they were coming, and the life that they want, to be part of this British culture and society that we call home now.

The name of the author has been changed.

The Refugee Council supports refugees in Britain to lead safe, dignified and fulfilling lives, and stands up for the rights of refugees and people seeking asylum here. For more information, go to their website here.

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I was afraid for my life in the house I was taken to. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep.