Mustafe is a 27-year old man from Somalia. He was one of the irregular migrants who arrived on 3 March 2002. In Malta, Mustafe applied for refugee status, and was granted humanitarian protection instead - a form of temporary protection- by the national Refugee Commission. He was detained for over five months until his status was decided.

Some people think we are looking for a better life, I tell them I can never restore my life to what it was, I can never have it back. Even if I get thousands of dollars, I cannot have what I list restored to me. Tribal conflict ruined my life, because before it happened, I did not think there was a world outside my county and I lived better. I lost my father and to this day I did not know where my mother, brother and sister are, I was unable to trace them. Before war broke out in Somalia, we lived a good life and there was no need to look for one which was better still.

If we have no problem in our country, we would not be outside. In 1985, we had more than 40 camps in Somalia, with around 25,000 refugees from Ethiopia. At the time, we did not thick we would be refugees. Now as we are refugees, we need help.

To you, it is probably unimaginable that young men are still captured to work as slaves in Somalia and kept for countless years in camps run by warlords. I was one of those young men, but I managed to escape. I will tell you my story.

I was captured and sent to a militia camp when I was about 15 or 16; I was taken away from my family just as I was starting to grow up. My brother and I were getting ready to attend school when war broke out in Somalia in the nineties. Gunmen came to out house, when my father was away at work, they did not even knock at the door. My mother was very sick on that day, she had suffered from a heart attack, and I was helping her. The gunmen said we had to go with them to the camp. I did not understand what was going on: aw we were being pushed out of the door, my mother became hysterical, shouting at the gunmen to leave us alone. I myself could not stop screaming. My mother was the most loving and caring person in the world, my father too, and I did not want to be apart from them and the rest of my family, but it did not make any difference at all. My younger brother and I were driven to the bandit's camp in the jungle, we were not even allowed to say goodbye to my mother and my sister. We sat in the lorry crying.

When we arrive at our destination, we were sent to the commander, Farah Ali, a stern commander who told us did not have a choice. I started to wet my brother because I was so unhappy. Farah Ali ordered his men to beat me black and blue with a belt. Every morning they forced me to work from sunset to dusk. One day, two men grabbed us by the hair and just cut all of it off right down to our scalp. I nearly died when they did this, but I felt so helpless and so shocked that I barely knew what was happening or what to do.

Then we were sent to another village where severe fighting was going one, so we could help the wounded. The conditions there were sickening. We worked all day long and I will never forget the water full of maggots. At night, I lay on the ground, listing to my brother sobbing but UI could not comfort him because the gunmen would punish me for it. WE could speak during one mean, with gunmen listening in, but my brother would just be crying all the time, longing for our family.

While I was there, I hated people and life, and if I stayed much longer, I would have committed suicide. I am very, very angry that the gunmen and tribal conflict stile those years of my life and my family. I have been very depressed throughout my life because of the way they treated me and I have tried to kill myself many times because of the place where I spent 11 horrible years. I still worry now that I left my brother back there. Now I feel I cannot mix with people because I am so traumatized.

Here in Malta, we were placed in detention when we arrived and asked for asylum. No one told us what was going to happen to us. We did not know anything about the future, if we would spend out life in detention, if we would be there for days, months or years, or be released. We would discuss among ourselves: 'Will we spend our life here? Will we be sent back to the tragedy we left behind?' We were afraid. Some night I was unable to sleep, I worried about what might happen.

If a person is a criminal, the court will tell him he must be in a cell for say, 10 years and he can count his time. But we did not know. They can do what they like with us, we are in their hands.