As part of our series about mental health of migrant women, Lydia, a service user from Saheliya, a mental health support organisation for ethnically diverse and migrant women in Scotland, share her personal experience.
picture by Jessica Felicio @Unsplash
“I remember being asked how I would describe being in the system; I said, “like I am stuck on an island and surrounded by never-ending seawater as far as the eyes can see. When I want to quit and swim back, the sharks that made me flee will eventually eat my children and me up, which defeats the purpose of why I fled in the first place, so I have to wait and see the days, weeks, months, years pass. Yes, I am alive, but when am I going to be rescued?“
We are all from different backgrounds, countries, and cultures. We are women who have been through the most, yet we rise each day because we have to. We can’t change what happened, but we can learn to live with it and turn our pain into gain.
Some stories are so gruesome they should never be repeated. We have been hurt, violated, assaulted, subjected to horrific practices, and some left for dead. The journey to safety and running away from persecution is one of the selfless acts we can do as women. Some have given up on themselves just so that their children can be safe and have a shot at living life without abuse and tribulation.
Being an asylum seeker or refugee carries with it a negative connotation. We are often misunderstood because both in themselves mean different circumstances. I have met amazing women with incredible credentials, and just because they are asylum seekers, they are being put in a particular box.
Women have so much to offer if only we were not caged in a flat for years and being put on lockdown while years go past, children growing, where we could be helpful and allowed to work.
I remember being asked how I would describe being in the system; I said, “like I am stuck on an island and surrounded by never-ending seawater as far as the eyes can see. When I want to quit and swim back, the sharks that made me flee will eventually eat my children and me up, which defeats the purpose of why I fled in the first place, so I have to wait and see the days, weeks, months, years pass. Yes, I am alive, but when am I going to be rescued?”
Just as I begin to lose it on this island, I hear my little children tell me it’s ok mummy, I love you, mummy then keep on praying, and from nowhere, Saheliya shows up as a mist in the night, and we have been given a second chance.
Saheliya reaches down to the core of your soul and gives you what you need. They will revive the fire which had died in an individual.
The centre is a haven for black and ethnic minority women. When in doubt you can go there and enjoy a coffee morning or take classes in cooking, basic sewing, English and even share a meal.
There is a lot they offer from counselling, 1:1 support, childcare, gardening, classes; you name it, it’s there! The staff members understand the journey of being us. I have never seen an organisation go to such lengths for people they don’t even know. When you love your job, you do exceedingly and abundantly beyond what is required.
I consider myself a writer in the making. I would bleed on my sheet of paper to purge my pain into ink. I ground myself and be mindful of my here and now and not the when and how.
For myself, anytime the tide comes too close to swallowing me, and the fear increases, I hear the voice of Dinna (Champions for Change Group Development Worker) “You are a talented woman; you have a lot to give, use your gift to rise.”
At times my mind would get the best of me. This demon called mental illness would make me second guess myself, but then I would have a session with the Saheliya Champions and realise that I am not alone or have to suffer in silence. I can open my mouth, cry in a safe space, and find women who will cry with me, celebrate with me, hold my hand, and say it’s OK. It is often said that women are small and weak, but small hinges swing huge doors when you think of it.
Life in Scotland, though challenging, has not been all bad. I met this kindest neighbour, a family of six, all very different but welcoming. The first year I moved into the neighbourhood, it was initially strange. There were no brown people, so it was a bit awkward. The stares would be uncomfortable, but we got to know each other as the days went by. Kids playing together is always a great ice breaker. The family was friendly when they realised I could speak English the same as my kids. I would get questions like, do you see a lot of wild animals in Africa and do you have running water. Some of those questions would make me chuckle.
On our first Christmas, she made us lunch and got the children a gift. It was nice. Birthdays were celebrated together. She was like my mom, and we would talk about everything. When it was mother’s day, I would get her a gift because she was precisely that mom, but some were not as lucky as me. The support I got from the community and the school was remarkable, and the community was simply fabulous until I was moved to a different place.
The horror of the new place was unbearable. Children were banging and throwing pebbles on my window, knocking loudly at my door at all hours of the day or night, cursing us for no reason, my kids not being able to play outside because they were so petrified, I couldn’t sleep at night.
No one saw what was going on, or they didn’t care. I could have lashed out and screamed, but I had more wisdom than that.
What you put out is what you get. Love thy neighbour as you love yourself. I have survived apartheid, and I learned from Nelson Mandela. He pardoned his oppressor showing the whole world he’s far better than those who tried to put him down.
I am more forgiving and, most of all, have forbearance; without these aspects, life would be unbearable. I will continue to pray and have faith that we will all live in one accord one day.
I am a new Scot, and I love my Glasgow!
Lydia, what beautiful and powerful words from a strong woman. Welcome to the city, you are one of us. Xo