'We are hopeless and homeless'

Yonas Tewelde has tight curly hair that stands to attention and he wears a permanent smile.

"I am 22 years old," he says with his eyes to the floor. Yet, the weight that he carries is one that most would not face in a lifetime. A cappuccino later, he is more at ease: "I studied business management in Eritrea. I was in my first year but the government shut down the university. Everybody had to become a soldier. I came to Malta in July 2006. We were going to Italy but the Maltese rescued us from a storm."

As the Church today marks the World Day for Migrants and Refugees, efforts by The Sunday Times to speak to migrants who had successfully integrated into Maltese society drew a blank. Mr Tewelde is one of a few who are working legitimately, although he admits he is living on the lowest rung of society and wants to improve his life through education. Yet, he has no hope of doing that in Malta.

"Malta is a small country and it is difficult for us to integrate - that's what they tell us. We can stay for some time, but it is not possible for a long time. We cannot live here; we know this. It is easy to leave but..." Mr Tewelde becomes uncomfortable.

It is a known fact that many migrants do not return to Malta after they are provided with travel documents. Mr Tewelde says that the process is made simple by Dar l-Emigrant and refers to Mgr Philip Calleja.

"It's easy. You go to Fr Philip and get an air ticket that you pay for. Fr Philip gives you a travel document and you travel with your Maltese ID card. At the back of the ID card, it says that it cannot be used for travel purposes but they still let you leave the country. I don't know why, but they let you go.

"They allow you to travel for three months and many are just leaving to change their life. They seek asylum in other European countries. They pretend they are not coming from Malta. If they are not caught, they do not return."

To avoid being spotted, some immigrants are resorting to self-torture. Mr Tewelde explains: "When we came to Malta, they took our fingerprints. If they take your fingerprint in the other country, then they send you back. So some of those who are leaving are injuring themselves to change their fingerprint - they are putting their hands in fire, or they are using an iron to burn themselves. That way, they can pretend that they are not coming from Malta."

Mr Tewelde admits that he feels excluded: "Everywhere we go, we are strange to everybody. Some people are nice, others less so. At the hotel where I used to work, for example, people don't call me by my name, even though I was there for many months. They say "Fejn hu, l-iswed?" (Where is the black man?) Imagine that. Even those who do speak to me pretend they don't know me when they see me outside."

The same emotions are echoed by Angotom Tesfom, a 26-year-old Eritrean who came to Malta on the same boat as Mr Tewelde. Mr Tesfom is working part-time as an interpreter for the International Office for Migration. "Translation is not my line of work but I am happy here because people respect me and I respect them. I get a fair pay for what I do and I am always paid on time."

This is a far cry from his earlier attempt at trying to find work - the same experience every immigrant faces as soon as they are freed from detention, a place he describes as "prison" and a process that he defines as "criminal". Mr Tesfom spoke about the difficulty of trying to get a legal job: "We are paying €35 for a year's work permit but nobody wants to give us a job."

Thirty-five euros is equivalent to a week's welfare benefit. As soon as he earns any money, that benefit stops and he pays tax and national insurance like everyone else. Mr Tesfom explains: "I go to the Employment and Training Corporation to find vacancies. I went to about five or six interviews, but when they see you're black they don't allow you to work, or they pay you less. "I then worked as an interpreter with the Refugee Commission for one year, part-time, but they didn't pay me for all my work. They said you haven't worked the hours that you say you worked. In the end, I stopped because of this." They try to send some money back home to Eritrea, where their family is living in difficulty. "I have a wife and a daughter," Mr Tesfom says as his face lights up. "She will be five years old this month - January 24. I saw her last in January 2006." His smile fades.

"I can't see a future in Malta... the Americans are taking people from here, which is helpful to us and to the Maltese. We hope that Europe will start taking people too... they are too silent.

"Here we are living until we get a chance to go to another country or we are sent back home to be killed.

"In Malta we are hopeless and homeless, but if I go back, I will be in prison because I left illegally. Prisons in Eritrea are containers underground in very high temperatures. There were 220 migrants that Malta returned to Eritrea in 2002. When they arrived, they were put in prison. To this day, we don't know where they are."