Caught In a Cataclysm

Jerome’s Continued Battle as a Refugee Returnee

Written by Kayla Byrd
Edited by Seyeon Hwang
Illustrated by Gina Nguyen

Jerome V. is a refugee returnee based in Nigeria. Originally from northern Nigeria, he previously sought refuge in Libya and Europe before coming back to his home country. Due to the COVID-19 lockdown, he is barely keeping himself and his family afloat, complicated by the trauma and stigma caused by his experience of displacement.

I was born in Anambra and raised in Northern Nigeria.

Growing up, my family was well off. My father owned a water company, which allowed me to lead a life of comfortability. I was able to happily travel around with independence.

I had tried to find a job outside Nigeria and make it on my own before I decided to return home and work for my father. It was nice to work alongside someone who loved and cared for me.

Then one day, everything changed.

My country was no longer safe as we fought against the government. The Boko Haram formed and began terrorizing us. Everywhere I looked, people were being slaughtered in the streets. I felt as though it was only a matter of time before I was doomed to resemble a chicken with its head chopped off.

Not long after, I found my family robbed by Boko Haram.

Our property was destroyed. All of the money we worked hard to make was taken from us. What I didn’t know was that something even more invaluable to me would soon be gone.

With two fatal gunshots, my parents laid lifeless in front of me.

As I screamed out in horror, I was dragged away from my parents’ bodies, kidnapped against my will. My only chance of survival was to escape.

Escape Across the Desert

During my kidnapping I was beaten, tortured, and starved. I still have scars all over my body from the heinous acts they performed against me.

One night, I narrowly escaped my torturers through the bare desert.

I walked for days without any water or food. At one point, I felt the throat burning from thirst. I was certain that my life would be taken away in the middle of the desert.

It was not the kind of pain that a human could endure.

My body ached day and night. Having survived without food for days, my stomach was numbed and I no longer felt hunger.

In the end, I drank from urine left somewhere in the desert.

As I trekked through the scorching heat, I passed by the dried skeletons of those who had died before me. Even in my blurred vision, I saw people like me lose breath and aimlessly fall onto the sand in the distance.

At one point, I hid in an ancient, musty well once used by donkeys and camels by the Arab travelers for five days. Just for the sake of survival, I drank the lukewarm, filthy water in the well.

Throughout the journey across the desert, I didn’t pray to live.

I played by an animal instinct to hold on to my life that was hanging by a thread.

Eventually, I fled into Libya. I was alone in the world with no family, friends, food, or a phone.

Still, I tried my best to survive.

I began washing cars in order to earn money to buy food. Most nights, the pure exhaustion from all the hours of manual labor was enough to distract myself from the ravenous growling of my stomach. I was miserable.

I couldn’t keep living like this.

I was scared of Boko Haram coming into Libya to find me, I had no one to help me get back on my feet, and I knew that if I just had the chance I could make something of myself again.

I decided that I needed to keep traveling.

This time, my journey would take me to a different continent entirely. Luckily, I found passage on a boat headed to Italy.

Hopeful But Homeless

I first arrived in Lampedusa, a small island located at the foot of Italy, by boat. Immediately, I was full of hope.

I knew that if I had the resources available to me, I could earn livable wages.

But when I set foot on the island, I was instructed to go to a refugee camp. Though I knew I was technically deemed a “refugee” I never thought I qualified to be an asylum seeker. I had always seen asylum seekers as immigrants seeking to find greener pastures, rather than escaping death as I had. In my mind, there was no way I was an asylum seeker.

At the refugee camp, I received medical treatment to alleviate the excruciating pain I had been suffering from since the kidnap. Though I had lived in Libya for some time, I had never had any medical staff willing to look at my scars. I finally had the medical attention I desperately needed.

Unfortunately, even though my own health took a turn for the better, the weather and my security took a turn for the worse.

I was shortly kicked out of the camp due to a miscommunication. The language barrier I faced had created a conflict with the man in charge of the camp. When the police had shown up, I was called a liar and was promptly evicted.

Following my departure from the camp, I was taken to Savona, a small city located right outside Genoa, on a bus chartered by the Italian authority.

I desperately hoped my luck would turn around. I slept on a bench at a nearby train station for days with nothing to eat. I was trying to figure out where I would go next and what I would do when I got there.

Before I could think too long on the subject, I met a kind stranger. I had explained to him all the hardships I had faced and how I just needed to find a new home. After hearing my story, he generously bought me a train ticket to Germany.

I stared at the ticket in my hands and couldn’t help but smile. I began to believe that there were still kind people in the world and wondered if my luck would take a turn for the better.

Life in Ingolstadt, Germany

Days later, I finally arrived in Munich with an empty stomach and a new outlook on life. I wanted to make the most of this new country. However, I had gotten my hopes up in Italy, and didn’t want to be disappointed again.

Once again I found myself in a country where I had no friends and nowhere to go.

I asked a nearby stranger where I should go to find a place I could rest and get something to eat. He advised me to go to a police station.

At the police station, I was searched and then taken to a refugee camp. Once again I was able to receive the proper medical treatment that I needed at the camp. The camp looked more like a facility. I only stayed there for four months before being instructed to move to Ingolstadt.

I thought that I would be welcomed and able to find a job in Ingolstadt but I was terribly mistaken. I was harshly judged by many of the residents there.

The racism was rampant in the city.

I had heard of how friendly and welcoming Germans were, but to my experience, those rumors were false. I faced discrimination solely for who I was: an African immigrant who just needed a safer, better life.

Despite the cruel social climate, I kept my head down and worked as a street sweeper. It was the only job I was allowed to work in the city due to discrimination in the workplace. I just wanted to earn an honest living and feel as though I belonged somewhere.

For the next two years, I tried my hardest to fit in and settle down in Germany.

However, I would often lay awake at night, haunted by the sight of my parents being killed in front of me. I would shoot awake, struggling to catch my breath until I realized it was all just a painful memory.

I felt as though there was a part of me that was too traumatized by what I had been through to truly be happy in Germany. I knew that there was a part of me that needed to return to my country in order to confront the nightmares living in my head.

But I had no idea how I would ever be able to return with what little money I had.

Fortunately, the International Organization for Migration (IOM) and the German government had just presented an incentive to reintegrate back to Nigeria in the form of a reparation package. The IOM would provide enough money to cover all travel expenses as well as 1,000 euros distributed through smaller payments in the course of the year following my return home. They also would help those who reintegrated to start business ventures in their countries seed money.

The opportunity was too good to be true. I could finally return to the country that I missed so much, and I would be able to support myself with my own company. I dreamed of starting my own taxi company.

I immediately consulted a local asylum center to put my application in.

Upon approval, I got on the earliest flight out back to Nigeria.

Becoming a Refugee Returnee

When I first returned to Nigeria, I knew I had to settle in the southern part of the country. I couldn’t return to the north as it was still too dangerous. I couldn’t bear to see my people continue to be slaughtered.

So, instead of going back to my hometown in the north, I settled down in a small town called Owerri.

What I hadn’t anticipated was the harsh judgement I would face from my neighbors in Owerri.

While I saw my return to Nigeria as a positive change in my life, many others saw it as my inability to succeed in Europe. Many criticized me for my lack of wealth and saw my return home as a failure. Those who were labeled as refugee returnees became social pariahs.

No matter where I went, I was unwelcomed.

My loneliness drove me to start a family of my own. I met a lovely woman and we welcomed a daughter into the world. Her parents were devastated that she would settle down with a poor man like me. They were some of my harshest critics.

I felt that it was unfair for them to criticize me for being poor but at the same time, having just had a daughter, I also understood where they were coming from. I was once loved and well-off until everything I had was abruptly taken away from me one day.

Starting my family gave me much joy and hope. The burden of being the sole breadwinner in the household was heavy but I wanted to do the best I could for my wife and newborn.

Thankfully, with the support that was promised by the IOM, things began to look up.

I ran around getting my taxi business set up. I was hopeful that I could secure stable income to feed my family.

However, when my dream almost came to fruition, disaster struck.

The COVID-19 pandemic struck and prevented any reparations from the IOM from reaching me. I wasn’t able to start my business and was forced to sell the goods I had been sent as part of the support from the IOM. Still, with the lockdown in place, I couldn’t sell most of them because no one was allowed to travel outside. In the meantime, my wife fell gravely ill.

I tried emailing the agents with the German government asking for emergency assistance but they declined my request citing the fact that there were no agencies to process my case in Owerri. Nevertheless, I carried on and asked for help on the Internet to as many people as I could.

In May, my desperate attempt reached one generous German lady who sent me some money that could feed the families of my own as well as other refugee returnees suffering from starvation. With the assistance, we purchased food and other necessities. We took photos of the receipts and all the items to send back to the lady for proof.

But the next day, I was robbed of everything I had purchased.

The robber had noticed me and others buying in bulk and followed me from the grocery store.

Starvation Amid Pandemic

Since then, I have been barely feeding my sick wife and daughter, let alone myself. I have tried to wash cars and transport groceries in order to make ends meet for my family; however, the wages I make are unlivable. The pandemic has forced people to stay inside and I can’t wash enough cars to make a living.

It seems as though I’ll never be able to get back on my feet again.

In all of the traumatic events I have experiences, I have never felt as hopeless as I do now.

I have a family and I can’t support them. We are going to bed night after night with empty stomachs and empty hearts.

The rent on my house is already overdue for months. Whenever I am out of the house, my landlord has been coming by to threaten my wife to pay the six months’ back rent payments (about $52 USD per month).

Everyday, I am trying my best to keep my family afloat, but I’m struggling even just to keep them alive, let alone starting my own taxi business, which would cost about $2,600 USD.

When I close my eyes, I see the faces of my family back in the village I used to live. Only a few years ago, my life was completely different.

For no fault of my own, I had to see my family and friends die in pain. I still wake up to the nightmares of painfully dying in the desert in the middle of the night.

For all my life, I never thought that I would be a refugee.

No one wants or deserves to be a refugee.

All I want is to lead a safer life for my family without the same atrocities.

And now, with the COVID-19 lockdown, my family and I are forced to suffer and starve in silence once again.

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