There is a border in Greece, where ships are leaving to Italy.
There are about 10 or 11 traffickers, they have a lot of passengers. The traffickers have small houses or rooms where they put the “passengers”. In one room they put 10 or 15 people. There is no water and its not clean. In one week a lot of passengers come and go. They wait for the day the ship is ready to go. Then, the traffickers decide to put the passengers inside the trucks. I was one of the passengers. One night in midnight the trafficker told me and my friends and put us into the truck. It was full of magazine and newspaper.
We vanished inside the newspapers.
To get us under the newspaper they had to put a lot of them outside, put us in the hole and the newspaper above. I had to hold the newspapers above me, they were very heavy, it was difficult. My hands got very tired. We did all kind of things like this. From 3 o’clock in the morning till 6 o’clock in the afternoon, I sad crumpled together, I couldn’t move. For 14 hours I couldn’t move, without any voice. Continue reading Beneath a ton of newspapers to europe→
My Father worked in the force in Afghanistan. He had a better life. Two of my brothers finished University. One of them was electrician the other was psychologist. At that time, nobody could go to university because it was expensive.
We had a good life …until the war started. Every day the war got worse, it was very hart in Kabul.
Some people were locking for my father. They said, they will kill him. Because of that we decided to go to Gazni-City. Because of my father they arrested two of my uncles, they tortured them. They tock all of our homes. My father was unemployed then. Before, my father had always helped all of my uncles and our friends, now they helped him. We started a farm and bought two cows. Like that we started our life new. At that time our life took a looping. One of my brothers, from a neighbour-country, he lived in. he said that he was worried about us. He wanted us to go with him to the other country. My father didn’t accept. He called us a lot, he was very afraid for us. After one year he came again. Two times he came to ask us to come with him, finally we had to go with him.
We left in the middle of the night. We were afraid people want not understand.
Any time they stop me they took me to prison for one or two weeks
Take the fingerprints ,I don’t know why. Now I have five or six papers. I have fingerprints in Mytilini, Patra , airport….
I stayed in Patra for 8 months! I tried every day! Florina near the border and Thessalioniki I have five or six fingerprints unfortunately.
They kept us about one two weeks then let us. They told me you have to go to your country to Afghanista. In told them i spend 4 or 5 thousand Euro to escape why I should go back? I cant.
In Florina we where there to go to Serbia after Hungary but they persuade us to sign a paper that shows that they are going to deport us to Afghanistan ,they told me if you are not going to sign it we are going to keep you here for one year (in prison in Florina).
Unfortunately I dont have a copy of this paper.
The paper was in persian language. It was saying that we want them to deport us to Afghanistan,our photograph, our name.
They told us they send it to Belgium to the embassy they are going to make us a passport and deport ourselves. That was 8-9 months ago.
I am in Athens sinse a long time, a friend of mine just arrieved…
Patra is about refugees. We need to go to Patra to enter Italy. For us Patra is very difficult and very dangerous because there is a lot police. The police is a big problem. We try to hide inside the trucks to get inside the ferry to Italy. If the police find us they will beat us , also the drivers. They will ask about our papers. If you don t have they take you to prison, sometimes for more than 3 month. They don t care if we are under-age.
Hallo ich bin Jawad und ich wohne seit dreieinhalb Jahren in Hamburg. Ich komme aus Afghanistan und ich möchte meine Geschichte erzählen wie ich nach Hamburg gekommen bin. Es ist eine lange Geschichte. Dass ich von meinem Land weggegangen bin war nicht meine Entscheidung. Und es war auch nicht meine Entscheidung dass ich in diesem Land geboren wurde.
Als ich vier Jahre alt war musste ich mit meinen Eltern mein Dorf und Land wegen dem Krieg in Afghanistan verlassen. Wir sind in den Iran geflüchtet. Im Iran war die Situation für Flüchtlinge aus Afghanistan nicht gut. Wir bekamen ein Papier um nur kurzfristig da zu leben. Wir durften nicht zur Schule gehen, nicht arbeiten und nicht etwas in unserem Namen kaufen. Sie machten so viel Druck auf uns damit wir so schnell wie möglich wieder zurück gehen. Wenn sie uns auf der Straße sahen wurden wir immer kontrolliert und es ist auch oft passiert dass Männer wenn sie von der Arbeit kamen festgenommen und abgeschoben wurden. In Maschat an der Grenze gab es ein Konzentrationslager für Afghanische Flüchtlige. Es gab kein Essen, nur ganz viel Folter. Ich war nicht in diesem Lager aber meine Freunde haben mir davon erzählt. Sie standen den ganzen Tag in der Sonne oder im Winter in der Kälte, sie mussten Zwangsarbeit machen, manchmal wenn sie rausfanden dass man das zweite Mal im Iran war wurden sie gefoltert. Fast alle die das Lager verlassen konnten wurdern psychisch krank und dann wurden sie nach Afghanistan abgeschoben. Immernoch heute werden Leute an der Grenze von Soldaten erschossen, viele haben Angst davor und fliehen nicht mehr in den Iran. Continue reading Jawad’s Reise→
I was in Patra. to go to Italy but I did not have money. I was compelled to go under the truck. Twice I dried and then the police found me but I was able to escaped. The two police men followed me, suddenly a third police men appeared in front of me. He beat me and I lost consciousness. When I woke up again they had already handcuffed me. They asked me for me paper. They took me to the toilet and the four police beat me so much that I was unable to walk. My body became black and white, I had no money to go to hospital, i had no one to help me.
I was a child, I remember those days when I lost my family. Maybe I was 7 or 8 I think.
We were crossing the border between Afghanistan and Iran when I lost my family and a lot of people were trying to cross the borders to the neighboring countries. I was kidnapped by masked men with their faces hidden who took me to another place. One of the men had long hair and a mustache. He was a cruel person and I will remember him always. I was crying and begging him: “Please take me back to my family!” He was so cruel. Sometimes he was hitting me. One day he threatened me: “Stop crying. If you cry, I will kill you.”