BEING THERE:Thomas Atcha from Togo is sitting his Leaving Cert just after he was refused refugee status. He explains why he fears returning to Togo - and why he wants to stay here
THE WEDNESDAY BEFORE he started his Leaving Cert, Thomas Atcha received a letter which made studying even more of a challenge than it already was. English isn't his first language and he has no family to rely on for support. The letter informed him that his application for refugee status had been turned down.
"They don't believe me," says the 19-year-old from Togo in west Africa who has been living alone in Sligo for two years. "I am frustrated and upset. I can't stop wondering what is going to happen, but I have to concentrate and get through this."
The decision of the Refugee Appeals Tribunal is a severe blow to his hopes of making a life in Ireland, but wallowing in self-pity is not his style and anyway there are exams to complete before he can work out how he might convince the authorities that he should not be deported. His colleagues in the youth parliament, Dáil na nÓg, are planning a support campaign, while at his school in Summerhill College, the reality is sinking in. Friends say they are shocked that the popular student might have to leave.
We meet shortly after he has completed English Paper I - "It was grand," is the verdict - in Globe House in Sligo, the privately owned direct-provision centre which has been his home for the past two years. In the brightly painted creche, covered in photos of the children of asylum-seekers, he explains how he ended up here and why he is fearful of returning to Togo where he believes his mother is in prison.
HE WAS BORN in Togo's second largest town Sokodé and spent much of his childhood living with his grandmother. "As the eldest in my family, it was my duty to stay with her. I would carry water and do chores. I didn't go to school but later I went to evening classes and learned the basics," he says. Both his parents were active members of the country's opposition party, Union of Forces for Change (UFC).
Eight years ago his father was arrested for protesting against the government and Thomas returned to the family home in the capital Lomé to be with his mother, two brothers and a sister. His father died a few months after being released from prison and the following few years, Thomas says, were "extremely difficult" for the family.
Early in 2006, when Thomas was 17, he says his mother had two visits from a former classmate of hers, who was closely linked to Togo's ruling party. "He wanted to have a romance with my mother but she did not like him. I was there when she asked him to leave. He came one other time and I told him to go away from our home, that he was not welcome," he says.
Two days after this last visit, Thomas says police came to his house. "I believe they were sent by the man who came to see my mother because he was upset about her turning him down," he says. "They wanted information about a local criminal. My mother and I did not know what they were talking about. We were told we had to go to the station and make a statement." They were separated and taken to different police stations. "That was the last time I saw her," he says.
Thomas finds it difficult to talk about what happened when he was held in custody. The fact that he didn't speak up sooner about a sexual assault is one of the reasons why his application was turned down by the Refugee Appeals Tribunal.
"One of the inmates told me to go and clean the toilet," he says, clearly uncomfortable recounting the incident. "Then three of them followed me in and one raped me while the others held me down. I was screaming and crying but nobody came." He says he received no medical attention despite severe anal bleeding.
AFTER A WEEK, three female friends of his mother managed to persuade the police to let Thomas go, telling them he was not involved in politics and that he was a minor working his metal-work apprenticeship. He was released on condition that he would sign on at the police station every day.
As far as Thomas was concerned this was never an option. "I had friends at that time who had been arrested and then told to sign every day at the police station but I never saw them again," he says. "I knew it was not safe to do that."
While his mother's friends made plans to get him out of the country, he says he went home where he gathered up two pairs of trousers, a shirt and his mother's UFC membership card, which he used as part of his application for refugee status.
One of his mother's friends took him to Ghana from where he journeyed to Ireland on a fake passport with a man he calls an agent. "I know we went to another country first and spent two days in an airport but I don't know what country it was, the agent just told me what to do and what to say. I was scared. I just wanted to get out of Togo safely, so I did what I was told," he says.
He does not know which Irish airport he arrived at, but says he remembers travelling on a bus for several hours to get to Dublin. Once in the capital, he stayed in a BB for a month. "One day the agent gave me a piece of paper and told me to go to this address and ask for help with my refugee application," he says. It was only when he was sent to Sligo and the anal bleeding started again that he visited a doctor and told him what had happened to him while in prison in Togo.
THE LOCAL GP suggested that he inform the authorities about the incident. The medical report states that a rectal examination showed an "internal haemorrhoid" was present. "I suspect Thomas's symptoms are related either to the trauma and/or haemorrhoids," the doctor wrote. Thomas says he brought this medical report to his first official interview with the Refugee Applications Commissioner, but that he was not asked about the assault at that time. This initial application for refugee status was refused.
He quickly settled in to life in Sligo. "I was the only black person in the school. Even though there are lots of different nationalities, it made me stand out and I made lots of friends, the best friends." It wasn't only his skin colour that marked him out - unlike many Irish teenagers, he doesn't smoke or drink. "I do advise my friends, I say 'why are you drinking and smoking?' In my country it is only old people who drink and if they want to drink they have to hide it away but here it is common. When I grew up my parents told me it was not good for us."
Within six months he was involved in youth parliament Dáil na nÓg, spearheading campaigns including the media's representation of young people, attending meetings with Ministers including Brian Lenihan, and media organisations including this newspaper.
"When I went to my first Dáil na nÓg meeting I couldn't believe it," he says, a big grin spreading across his face. "All these young people had no fear of expressing themselves. They had so many different opinions and they were really free to say whatever they wanted. It was brilliant. In my country we never had this chance. If you say something against the president, you are going to get arrested, and this was an opportunity for me to say how I felt. Even the fact that I was elected was amazing".
Your mother would have been proud? "Yes," he says. "I think she would be." You must really miss her? "Oh, big time. We were close. I can't really talk about it. It's very hard," he says, close to tears. "If I talk to my siblings on the phone they encourage me to keep going. My mother's friend, who they live with now, told me my mother got two years last year. I don't know what they charged her with but I hope she may be released next year and that I can talk to her then."
Most asylum-seekers living in direct-provision housing centres are not allowed to cook for themselves and all 6,844 dotted around the country are prohibited from working or accessing training while their applications are being processed. Life in what Thomas says some residents call "sweet prison" can take its toll. One GP told the Irish Medical Organisation recently that 90 per cent of asylum-seekers, some of the most dispossessed and marginalised members of our community, suffered depression six months after arriving here.
Staff at Globe House talk about Thomas's upbeat nature. It's his ability to stay positive that has helped him over the past two years.
Like all asylum-seekers, he gets a State allowance of €19.10 a week which he deposits in a bank account. "I only spend money if absolutely necessary. I walk to school, get all my meals here and I do things like go to the cinema once in a blue moon," he says. Until now, friends haven't been aware of his situation. "I don't like to talk about it. If friends ask me to go out I don't tell them I don't have the money, I just say that I am not in the mood," he says. Sometimes, for special occasions, he will take out money and join his friends in the local nightclub.
WHEN HE DOES get sad about his situation, he talks to his social worker Paddy, a HSE employee who is based at Globe House. "Oh he is a lovely man, outstanding," says Thomas. "He is like a dad to me. If I have any problems I just approach him. Any time I am depressed I go to him. I ask 'what am I going to do?'. He just helps and listens to me."
Sometimes former residents who are awarded refugee status come back to Globe House to show off the spoils of their news status. "They are so happy, showing off their car, talking about living in their own homes, it's heartbreaking like, but you have no choice but to keep on and hope for the best," he says.
Down at Summerhill College, with English Paper II out of the way, one of Thomas's best friends gives his reaction to the news that Thomas's refugee status application had been turned down. "I thought it was a joke. I couldn't believe it," says Shane Foley. "I mean we are doing the Leaving Cert together and we were supposed to be doing business together at Sligo IT in September if we get the points." But even if he gets the points Thomas will not be allowed to go to college and a letter from the Department of Justice putting him on notice of deportation is due at any time.
"I can't go back to Togo," he says. "I know if the police find me I will be punished because I left instead of presenting myself to them." When he gets the notice, the only options available to him are to make his case directly to the Minister and to apply for "subsidiaries protection in accordance with the European Communities".
At the time of writing, UFC members were attempting to confirm his mother's membership of the party and her current status in Togo, information which he hopes will bolster his case.
In the meantime, Thomas is studying for his final exam, engineering. "I want to contribute to Irish society," he says. "I feel part of it now and I really don't want to leave."
