Before coming to Wales, I had a life that was full and established. I worked in the aviation industry in the Democratic Republic of Congo for many years. I had responsibility, experience, and a routine that made sense. I travelled often for work and because travelling was something I loved. I knew who I was and what I could do. 

In 2017, I came to the United Kingdom for a professional training. It was meant to be temporary. I did not arrive with plans to stay, or even with curiosity about living here. When the training ended, things did not go as expected. We were unable to return home and were advised to claim asylum. It was not a choice I had prepared for. It was a situation I found myself in, without understanding the system or the language around it. 

I was taken to a detention centre. I remember spending days trying to understand what was happening and what would happen next. I remember learning how detention works in this country. I also remember that two people died there while I was inside. That kind of experience changes how you see time and safety. 

After my release, I was dispersed first to Cardiff and later to Swansea. Arriving in Swansea was the real beginning. Back home, my life had been structured differently. I had never learnt to cooked. That does not mean I was incapable. It means I lived in a different system, with different roles and expectations. Here, I was alone, older, and starting from the beginning. 

I remember my first trip to the shop. I did not speak English well. I bought bread because it was the only thing I recognised. I had a specific diet, but I did not know where to find the food I needed or how to prepare it. I remember struggling to open a bottle of oil because I did not know you had to press it down first. I remember trying to cook spinach and adding water, not knowing it already produces water. These are small things, but when everything is unfamiliar, small things became heavy. 

I was living on £46.95 a week. Money I would have spent easily back home now had to last seven days. At the same time, I was trying to navigate letters, appointments, and systems that assumed I already knew how everything worked. 

What changed my situation was not one big moment. It was people. A leaflet from Swansea Volunteer Service. Someone showing me where to shop. Church helping me meet people who spoke my language and understood my food. One introduction leading to another. Slowly, a network began to form. 

Volunteering became central to my life. I started as a French interpreter, even though my English was limited. I helped people who were newer than me, people who were more lost than I was. Through volunteering, I learned how life works here. I learned work culture. I learned expectations. I learned that experience from home does not disappear, but it does not automatically translate. You need references. You need people who can say your name in a room full of opportunities and explain your value. 

My asylum journey was difficult. I was refused at first. A solicitor stopped representing me and told me there was no merit in my case. That is a moment where many people give up. I did not have the option to give up. With support from others, I found another organisation, attended workshops, learned how to prepare my case properly, and eventually I was granted status. 

Even after becoming a refugee, life did not suddenly become easy. I experienced homelessness for a period. I stayed somewhere where I had to leave every morning and return by 5pm. During the day, I volunteered, studied, and learned how to live independently. I learned how to make a bed, how to clean, how to manage daily life. It was humbling, but it was also education. 

Over time, volunteering turned into work. Work turned into stability. Today, I support others who are navigating the same systems I once struggled to understand. I spend time explaining the things no one explained to me. I believe strongly in volunteering, not as charity, but as preparation. As I often say, “You are not wasting your time. You are planting something. After the rain, something will grow.” 

Wales is very different from where I come from, but there are things here that remind me of home. The way organisations work together. The way people share information instead of competing. In Swansea, if I don’t know the right person, I usually know someone who does. That makes a difference. 

My dream is simple. I want to be reunited with my family. When you are alone, life can feel like passing time. Family gives it meaning and structure. It reminds you why you keep going. 

Every migration journey is different. People arrive for different reasons and with different hopes. But what I want people to understand is this: no one arrives empty. We arrive carrying skills, experience, and lives that mattered before we crossed a border. When people are given time, guidance, and trust, they do not just survive. They contribute. 

Wales did not just give me safety. It gave me the chance to begin again. And I have tried, every day since, to give something back.