Here we bring a desperate account from Iraq wherefrom a rejected asylum seeker writes, a short time after his repatriation, about his deportation from Denmark and his consequent feeling of alienation, incomprehension and inability to adapt in Iraq after 10 years in the Danish asylum system.
By a rejected asylum seeker · Illustration: Rasmus Pæsen
Translated from Danish.
Today is Wednesday the 8th of June and almost two weeks have passed since I was deported to Iraq from Ellebæk prison in Center Sandholm. Ten years have passed since I left Iraq, but I now stay in my old hometown Kirkuk again. I do not know anyone, people have gotten old, the streets and the buildings are ruined from bomb explosions, the bus routes have changed and new buildings and bridges have been erected. I cannot find my way around; I do not know where I am and where I am going. I think that my problem is that I integrated myself into the Danish society to a greater extent than people normally do. I learned Danish, made Danish friends, and I never thought about what would happen if I one day had to leave all that behind. Here in Iraq people only think about money. My relatives do not understand why I have not achieved anything during the past 10 years of my life. “What have you been doing in Denmark? Do you have a house, a car, money?” they ask me. And what am I to answer? They do not understand that you have no opportunities in Denmark without a CPR-number (civil registration number), that you are worth nothing when you do not have a CPR-number. To show how the Danish asylum system works and how it really feels to be deported, I will now describe how the past weeks have unraveled.
I was usually obligated to appear before the Danish Red Cross in Center Sandholm every second Thursday between 1 pm and 3 pm. Although I was afraid of the police because I was arrested for the purpose of deportation last year and because of rumors saying that Iraqi people were being deported, a friend convinced me that nothing would happen. Thus, I appeared, but when the police officer found my name on the list he called more officers. They brought me to the office to interrogate me, arrested me and brought me to the Ellebæk prison. Because I have had psychological problems and I normally take anti-depressive medication, two nurses who showed up a couple of days after I was taken to Ellebæk had me sent to Hillerød Hospital, considering my psychological condition too grave for me to stay in Ellebæk. I only stayed in the hospital for one night and I only spoke briefly with the doctor before four civil officers showed up at the hospital and took me back to Ellebæk. I do not understand how a European country like Denmark, which goes to war to teach other nations about human rights, at the same time violates these human rights to such an extent. I mean, we are in Denmark!
I was tired and confused when I arrived in Ellebæk, and I slept for a couple of hours before the police came and picked me up around 9 pm. Together with seven other rejected asylum seekers, I was driven to an unknown place where an old plane was waiting for us. We were not told to where we were flying, but the trip ended at Stockholm Airport where a big plane was waiting for rejected asylum seekers from Sweden, Norway, Finland and Denmark. As far as I know, it is not legal for the police to fly us to Stockholm without a passport or proof of residency, but the Danish police have done a lot of illegal things that the ordinary Danish person has no idea about. For example, my phone was stolen in the Ellebæk prison. I really valued that phone and when I said that I wanted it back, the police officer just told me that they could not find it, and that they would give me a small compensation that did not at all cover its price.
Wednesday the 25th of May at 2 am, a week after I appeared before the Danish Red Cross, all of us, the rejected asylum seekers from Iraq, were flown from Stockholm to Baghdad. We were about 55 and more than 100 police officers aboard the plane. None of the Scandinavian police officers dared to exit the airport in Baghdad. They send us back because the government considers Iraq safe, but the officers do not even dare to leave the airport. Apparently, there is a difference between people when it comes to the importance of their safety. We were detained in the airport of Baghdad without eating or drinking. It was not until 9 pm that three others and me were finally driven towards the oil city Kirkuk, which we reached at 3 am. The boarder control detained us, so we had to stay sitting in the street until 5 am before we could drive further into Kirkuk.
When I reached Kirkuk, which was formerly a nice clean and oil city, I was totally shocked. Despite Saddam Hussein’s dictatorial system of government, he had managed to keep the cities nice and clean. With the current government Kirkuk was completely ruined. I could not make myself get out of the taxi, so I drove further towards the city of Sulaimanya in Kurdistan where I knew that a friend of mine, who was expelled in connection to Kirkeasyl (Church Asylum) in Brorsons Kirken in 2009, lived. I found him and we spent some time together until it occurred to me that there is nothing for me here in Iraq. I am just as much a stranger here as I was in Denmark. The same afternoon I wanted to take a long distance bus back to Kirkuk, but I got angry when the driver demanded 400 dinar for the bus trip, because I thought that he wanted to cheat me. I thought about how the same bus trip cost 1 dinar in 2001. I had a hard time understanding that ten years had past. I could not pull myself together. To be in Iraq seemed like a dream.
So, I took the bus back to Kirkuk where I am still staying. Everyday I am shocked by the sight of the city. Everything has been ruined by the bombs, I know no faces and I can no longer find my way around. When I arrived in the city, I went to say hello to a friend who has a shop where he sells juice and ice cream, but in the beginning he did not even recognize me. He had also gotten older; he had grey hair and a full beard. I left and no longer knew whether I was in Copenhagen or Kirkuk. I started mixing things up. Suddenly, I received a call from Denmark, which made me feel very bad. I did not understand that I was in Iraq while at the same time receiving a call from someone in Denmark. I wanted to take the underground railway, but I could not find it and I started to cry while I talked on the phone. My feet were staggering and I felt like I was about to faint. Meanwhile something must have happened to my mobile phone because I remember that I restarted it, and that the date showed 2005. And that made me even more insecure. I became upset and I did not know what year it was. At last I managed to take a taxi to my sister’s house. It occurred to me that I had not slept for 48 hours, my head was hammering as if it was about to explode, and I fell asleep as soon I lay down.
I felt a little better when I woke up the day after. But I still cannot adapt. I never imagined that I would have to leave Denmark. Constantly, relatives visit me to ask me what I have accomplished in Denmark. I do not like to be criticized, especially not when they do not understand what it is like to be without a CPR-number in Denmark. I do not know if I can stand it, and I am starting to worry that I am going crazy. I cannot write anymore. I am tired of myself and I feel like I am worth nothing. I feel like I am a loser in life.
Thanks for all the good, lovely, cheerful days that I have had with you, sweet friends in Denmark.
