Abdirahman Haji thought he found freedom when he landed in Malta two months ago.
He escaped from war-torn Somalia and at 17 is one of the minors currently held at the migrant detention centre in Safi.
“I thought I got a new life in Malta but I was arrested,” he says, with a helpless look on his face.
Like all unaccompanied minors who reach Malta he will be released from detention only when his age has been confirmed.
For now Mr Haji will have to wait for his freedom, living with almost 300 migrants in a hot warehouse that forms part of the Safi detention complex.
The Times was yesterday given permission to enter the detention facility that is made up of two adjacent large warehouses that double-up as dormitories and a separate building, known as Block B. The complex houses 800 migrants.
Detention Services head Lt Col Brian Gatt declined a request to visit Block B where Malian migrant Mamadou Kamara, allegedly killed two weeks ago in custody, was housed before escaping.
“Block B houses those whose asylum request has been turned down and who have caused some form of trouble. The moment you leave they will protest and I cannot risk such a situation,” Lt Col Gatt said when asked the reason for rejecting the request.
In the warehouses the situation is calm. Some people are playing with a makeshift board game made from cardboard and using stones instead of plastic chips. Others watch television while a few are lying down on their bunk beds.
Jimiyke, 41, from Nigeria is playing chess. He is bare-chested to beat the heat. Before speaking to The Times he fetches his t-shirt.
“I am the chess champion in here,” he says with an infectious smile while clutching a mini chess set. “I’d love to play chess outside this building but I won’t be a champion there.”
Jimiyke has been in detention for 14 months. It is hard, he says, repeating the same story that migrants in detention always tell. His asylum bid has been rejected and by law he will have to spend 18
months behind the tall fences at Safi.
Jimiyke is a Christian and part of a minority in the building that houses migrants of different nationalities. But religions co-exist.
One of the walls resembles a Christian shrine with pictures of Jesus Christ and the Virgin Mary and a crucifix with a rosary bead dangling around it.
Outside in the yard two migrants lay out flattened cardboard boxes in neat rows. It is 1 p.m. and time for Muslims to pray facing Mecca. A Pakistani leads the congregation in prayer.
A Bangladeshi migrant taps me on the shoulder. There are 22 Bangladeshis that have been in detention for 16 months, he says.
“We want freedom. We don’t want to return back,” he says in broken English. “Help us please.”
His words are repeated by other migrants. But a 27-year-old Ivorian insists it is foreign journalists they want to speak to. “We have to get our message out there because many Maltese like you come here but tell us it is difficult for things to change.”
He says residents at the detention centre are scared in the wake of what happened to “a fellow brother”, with reference to the death of Mr Kamara.
“We are in the hands of God,” he says, raising his hands in resignation. “Everybody is tired. The situation here is very hard. We want freedom. We are human beings as well.”
The Ivorian says many of the detained migrants suffer from mental problems. Some try to escape and others contemplate suicide, he adds, complaining about the humiliation of being taken to hospital in hand cuffs.
Anthony Gauci, a Maltese doctor, has just closed the medical clinic on site. Before leaving he speaks to this newspaper. “Psychiatric and psychological problems are the most common ailments I see,” he says, adding the situation is “not easy”.
Lt Col Gatt says detention officers are constantly trying to go beyond their call of duty to bridge the gap and create synergy with the migrants. He admits though it is normal in similar environments to have an “us and them mentality”.
He laments staff shortages that make managing the facility more difficult. There are some 100 detention officers to handle more than 1,000 migrants in the various centres.
Frustration seems to be the order of the day. Migrants who survive harrowing experiences to reach their panacea feel they have been cheated of their freedom.
While detention officers lament the lack of human resources that sees them working long hours in a difficult environment.
As we leave, an education class has just started in Warehouse 1 and a migrant sitting behind window bars with feet dangling out, waves.
“We will escort you out,” a detention officer says.
The migrant stories have not changed from four years ago when journalists were given access to detention centres for the first time. It is only the faces of those telling them that have.
ksansone@timesofmalta.com