I‘ve had this disturbing urge to blog about what’s happened to me in the past 36hours. I promised myself  to go ahead with it while I was being drilled by some PeterPan-looking policemen yesterday. (Oh! no no, I haven’t committed another crime- at least not that I know of.)

Normally, this should’ve been like the 150^th chapter of my blog entries, so I’ll be nice and give you a sneak peak.

 

Now I’ve been trying to figure out if there’s a difference between an asylum house/asylum seeker and a refugee camp/refugee because honestly, they sound the same to me. So I found this somewhere on the net:

 

 

The terms refugee and asylum seeker are often used interchangeably because most refugees are at some point asylum seekers. An asylum seeker is someone who makes a claim for asylum in a country other than their own. The rights of asylum seekers are more restricted than the rights of refugees in relation to movement (where they can travel to), employment, health care and social security. People move from asylum seeker status to refugee status once the country they have applied for asylum in accepts their claim.

 

 

So why the need for all this pointless jargon?

That’s because I’m writing this post from an asylum house/refugee camp.

Did your jaw just drop? You’re probably wondering HOW?WHY?WHEN?WHERE?!!!!!

You’d think that with all the bullshit drama I went through two years ago, my story would have a happy ending. No,the nightmare’s just begun.

 

 

Now I’ll just breeze through the barrage of 21 questions racing through your minds:

 

 

Am I sad? No. I’m crushed and destabilized.

Am I lying  in a tent surrounded by cholera-ridden displaced-starving kids, human waste and undetonated bombs? Thank heavens, No. It’s a decent enough facility and I’ve actually got a room to myself in the single women’s ward. And yes, there are displaced kids running lose. (I adore kids really, but this is torture)

 

So, is it like some kind of prison? how come you’ve got your laptop and internet connection? Yes, it’s like a mini-prison, only you can leave at 6 in the morning and return 11 at night. So the Slovenian makes the two-hour journey everyday and deposits me later at night.

I’m probably the only alien here with my laptop and cell phone so I connect with my mobile. The connection is painfully slow, but I’m managing just fine. Other aliens won’t stop staring at me though. They must think I’m some long-lost heiress to the some long-lost throne. I certainly do not fit the description of a refugee. I came prepared- gadgets, designer gear and all. I have to look fabulous even if I’m going to be deported.

 

Wow, you must really miss him, right? Who? The Slovenian? You haven’t the slightest clue. He’s JesusChrist the Slovenian. That bloke would give his left ball for me and I in turn would give him both kidneys.

Does your cell room stink? Yes, of intoxicating piss. But it’s not that bad. It’s like a 1.5 star hotel.

Oh, any Nigerians there? Now what do you think huh? There’s four of them. All males. In the teeny-weeny two million Slovenian population? SURE. THERE ARE NIGERIANS ABOUT, SEEKING REFUGE FROM GOD-KNOWS-WHAT!

So, how the fuck the bloody hell on earth in God’s name did you end up in a refugee camp/asylum house or whatever? Long long long story. You’ll read it about it later.

 

 

No matter how bright and cherry I’ve painfully managed to paint the picture I’m in right now, the fact still remains- a refugee camp is a refugee camp is a refugee camp. Enough said.

 

I haven’t the strength or will to write anymore. At least not for the rest of this week.

 

I am mentally and physically drained.

 

To those of you who pray, do say a little prayer for me, because that bloke upstairs turned a deaf ear and blind eye eons ago.

Pray that I won’t be dumped on the next available flight out of here. Not to Muritala Mohammed airport (at least that would be a relief!) but back to cold stinking Frederic Chopin( forgive me dear Poles, I feel that way right now). Yes, there’s something in the law that could toss me back to Poland like I’m damaged goods.

 

I just want my life back.

 

Bloggingly yours,

J.Doe.

 

 

 

 

This entry was posted on Tuesday, August 18th, 2009 at 11:21 pm and is filed under ramblings. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.