Listen to the interview (ENG) :
Before I give you my name let me tell you the story of a guy who spoke to the press three days ago and gave both his first and last name. He was detained in solitary confinement. So if I reveal my identity they will make my life hell in here. I can’t give you my name because it will come back to haunt me. It is like a prison here.
- So you were detained at centre 127 before being transferred to centre 127 bis without being informed why?
They didn’t even tell me why they transferred me. I asked them if they could bring me some biscuits and some other items I had bought and they said: “No, that is something you don’t have the right to here.” I asked another guard the same thing and I got the same response. I went back over to the other guard and he started to insult me in Dutch. They always treat you as if you are a prisoner or a criminal. I am here to claim political asylum. I have a problem in Lebanon. I spent lots of money there so that I wouldn’t be killed. And then I arrive here and they treat me like a dog. They treat us badly, like animals. There are around seven or eight of us who came from Lebanon spread out across the centre; we live alone, isolated from each other. There are also families but…
- I believe the others are women, are there a lot of women and very few men?
There are guys here – I met them. There are only 15 – more or less. But we live separately. I asked them why they brought me here and they told me “You helped someone translate into English.” So it is because someone successfully escaped and effectively I helped them, or something to that effect. They don’t want us to understand what they are doing.
- So because you translated something at the centre 127, they transferred you to 127 bis?
Exactly. It is horrible here. I can’t sleep at night. They come every night to keep an eye on us and see if we are sleeping or not. But what is happening here? At 4am when you are sleeping they suddenly whack your door and ask you “Are you ok? Do you need anything?” They do that to mess with our heads, they are taking the piss out of us.
- They knock on your door just to see if you are sleeping?
Yes and if I am sleeping of course I wake up, it is not fair. They tell us it is simply a routine control. But what is a routine control? I am already sleeping in a prison, is that not enough? At 8.30am we have to leave our rooms. We don’t have the right to stay a minute longer. We all have to assemble in the main hall on the ground floor. There is a T.V. and some couches which we are allowed to sit on. But as there are eight of us there is not enough space for us all so some of us have to stay standing and wait until the others have relaxed a bit before switching over.
- And you don’t have any other activities?
There is the TV and a table with some newspapers. I have some things that belong to me which are still at the reception, but when I ask if I can get them they systematically refuse by saying it is not their area of responsibility. Nobody tells us our rights about what we can do here. All they say to us is “Go in here”. That’s it. Every time we ask for something the response is always “no no no”. There is no way to wash your clothes here. I have been here for seven days now and I haven’t been able to do a single wash. I washed my underwear in the bathroom. I had to wash them like that in order to re-wear them. The first night I had to sleep in my trousers. No shorts, no pyjamas, no nothing. So no clean underwear, no towels, no soap, nothing. They tell me “we’ll go get you those things after”, that kind of response. Maybe tomorrow, maybe in a week. It is nonsensical.
- And in the end did they give you all those things?
No they haven’t given me anything. The only thing they gave me is two sheets and a pillow. That’s it. The next day I asked if I could get my possessions back yet and they told me: “We haven’t looked for your things yet. We can’t give you them. They are still being held somewhere.”
So I asked when I could pick them up and they said: “Next month, now leave me alone.” Just like that. We can’t do anything here, we can’t shout, we can’t yell, we can’t do anything. They constantly threaten us with handcuffs and teargas. We don’t have the right to speak to the foreign press, to journalists, to human rights’ organisations. One day I spoke about it to my family, I told them what was happening here and they couldn’t believe it. So that is how it is in the capital of Europe? In Belgium? It shouldn’t be like that. It is totally crazy. They treat us like dogs here, not like human beings. We don’t have the right to food from outside the centre. They took my money and made me sign a paper stating it will be recuperated later. I told them I didn’t need a paper guaranteeing I can recuperate it, I need this money now so I can at least by a soda, some crisps, some chocolate, things like that you know. They told me: “No no, we can’t do that, we have to take all your money.” If I accidentally break something I have to pay for it with my own money. And if I don’t have enough money to pay I have to sort it out so that someone sends me the money from outside.
- And have they taken lots of money from you?
Yes, lots of money, they have taken it all from me. I have 500 dollars and 200 euros and some change. They have taken everything and left me with 25 cents. They don’t treat us like human beings.
- So you can’t buy anything?
No, I can’t buy anything. The food is horrible and I can’t buy anything else since I don’t have any money. Life is edgy here. There is so much that isn’t right about this place. At 11pm they shut us in our rooms, we can no longer go out. We don’t even have the right to have a shower. We can’t sleep and we can’t do anything. In the morning we have the right to have a shower and go downstairs. Then at the end of the day we have to go back up to our rooms and it’s like that day in day out.
- And at lunchtime do you eat in a canteen?
No, no, everything happens in the same room where the television, newspaper table and couches are.
- So that is where you eat?
Yes, sometimes I can bring myself to eat, if not I sleep on the ground when I want to sleep. Everything is so tedious here.
- And when are you allowed to go outside?
We never have the right to go out, there is no ‘exit’ here. The others can go out and sometimes we hear them when they are outside. But there are only three windows here. I am sitting in front of one of them while I talk to you. It is the only way to get fresh air.
- So since you have been at 127 bis you have never had the chance to go outside?
Only once have I had the right to leave. It was when there was a concert in front of the centre. They told us that we could leave and listen to the music but actually we didn’t have the right to go up to the gate. We couldn’t talk to journalists, to the cameras, or into any phones, nothing. And when the press are there or a human rights group, they hide the handcuffs and the teargas.
- Do they take them off their belts?
Yes they just leave their walkie-talkies.
- Have they already used the handcuffs at all?
Not on me at least. But they constantly threaten us with them if we protest. They are not joking where that is concerned.
- We are going to put your story on the website. Is there anything else you would like to tell us? Do you have a lawyer?
Yes I have a lawyer, (provided by legal aid) he is called Karl Stas.
- Is he a good lawyer?
No, he is not a good lawyer. The first time that he saw me and even before I told him my story he told me that I only have a 5% chance of getting out of here and that if something bad happens here I have to let him know by fax. I’m not allowed to call him. What type of lawyer is that? I didn’t tell him my story and I never see him, apart from that time at the interview. It was the first and last time I saw him. All three of the lawyers here are provided by legal aid so they don’t care about us at all. They are only interested in finishing their job as quickly as possible. Believe me, nobody cares.
- Would you like us to mention some of the reasons why you came to Belgium?
Yes of course. I can tell you my story, I can even fax you it. I have documents approved by the Lebanese government that prove everything I say is true. I come from a very welcoming family and I have never had any problems with anyone. But one day, in 2009, my aunt accidentally hit someone in a road accident with a motor bike and the person died. As I was the last of my aunt’s close relatives still alive, the family of the deceased woman continually tried to kill me, in accordance with the principle ‘eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth.’ She only had daughters, no sons.
They stuck a knife in my back. I have the hospital reports, I have the police reports.
All these documents are at the’ Commissariat Général’. I still haven’t received a response from them. They assured me that it would only take a few days. It has already been over a week. When I was stabbed I had to stay at home for 5 or 6 days and that is how I got to know the smugglers. I paid around 6000 dollars to come here and claim political asylum. On top of that, I then paid 25 thousand dollars to the girl’s family so that they would leave me alone but they don’t want my money and they told me that they would kill me anyway. So I fled. I am really far from my family now. So there you have it, my story.
Pingback: Last testimonies | gettingthevoiceout