Finally, after months of research, Abdul had managed to locate his family. He was excited as he opened up Andy's laptop: this Saturday afternoon, Andy had given him permission to use it for a Zoom call. As his mother, sister and brother all appeared on screen, Abdul felt a wave of emotion flow over him: Khadija's face may have become more wrinkled, Nadifa may now be taller and Mohammed may be more stout, but it was undoubtedly them. It felt like they had never been apart.
"Ali, my little boy!", cried Khadija, with tears rolling down her cheeks. "I thought I had lost you forever!"
"Are you all right, Ali?", inquired Nadifa.
"I'm . . ." Abdul began. He was going to say he was fine, but he could not lie to his family, and so quickly burst into an account of everything that had happened since the fateful day when Amina had persuaded him to board the plane. When he had finished his story, Nadifa had her hands over her mouth, and Mohammed was shaking his head: however, Abdul's eyes were on Khadija, who was staring blankly at him. This surprised him: he had expected her to be more emotional. He decided to probe further.
"Did you know Amina well?", he asked her.
"I thought I did", said Khadija in a faltering voice.
"So how did you meet her?", Abdul asked.
"One day, after I finished work, she came up to me in the street and said hello."
"Did you never ask her why she was interested in you?", inquired Nadifa.
"No, I didn't", Khadija admitted.
"Why should she?", asked Mohammed.
"Well, isn't that more than a bit suspicious?", Nadifa pointed out.
"So", said Abdul, trying to reassert some control of the situation, "what did you say to her?"
"I asked her what she wanted, and she said she knew we were in a bad situation, and she could help us", said Khadija.
"And you didn't ask how she knew about us?" Nadifa's eyes were as wide as the computer screen.
"Honestly, I didn't think . . ." pleaded Khadija.
"Leave her alone, Nadifa", admonished Mohammed. Nadifa glared at him.
"So how did she say she could help?", asked Abdul, though he was starting to get a horrible sense of what the answer would be.
Khadija bowed her head. "Please forgive me", she sobbed, "but we were very poor, and she offered me enough money to feed three people for a month . . ."
Abdul threw back his head in shock. He had gone through so much, but this was the lowest blow of all.
"So that explains everything!", shouted Nadifa. "Why you allowed her to come to the house so often! Why you left her with Ali on that day when we went out to see our grandparents! I knew it!"
"How?" This was only word Abdul was able to get out.
"Because", said Nadifa in a pained voice, "after you disappeared, I began to investigate Amina, and I found out she is part of a global child trafficking ring. She has sent hundreds of children from here to England, to France, to other places. And when I told her" - she threw a dirty glance at their mother - "what I had found, she would stare at the floor and start shuffling her feet."
"Be fair, Nadifa", said Mohammed angrily, "but what choice did she have? She did what she had to do to feed us."
"But she sold Ali into slavery into slavery", insisted Nadifa: her cheeks were flushed now. "Even Iblis himself would never do that."
"Are you calling . . ." began Mohammed, but before he got any further, Abdul left the call and swiftly shut down the computer. He felt stuck in the middle of an endless void. He began to cry, but hastily stopped himself. He hurried downstairs, where Susan greeted him with the words:
"So you've finally stopped babbling in that horrible foreign language?"
It was just two days later when Andy dropped Abdul off outside the Special Immigration Appeals Commission.
"Good luck", said Andy, as Abdul stepped out of the car.
Abdul mumbled his reply: he was still stunned by the revelations about his mother. He tentatively entered the building with a feeling full of foreboding. He looked around, and saw Paulette looking intently at her papers. He approached her: she looked up and smiled at him, but her expression soon became concerned.
"Are you OK?", she asked.
"Yes", said Abdul quickly.
Paulette looked at him shrewdly. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but then decided against it.
"Well", she said briskly, "the hearing will begin in five minutes."
"OK", said Abdul.
"Don't worry", said Paulette, who seemed to have noticed his expression. "You'll be fine, this isn't the Home Office."
"OK", said Abdul again. He hoped he could trust what she had said.
"So first", said Paulette, "I will have a meeting with the Home Office lawyer, to see the Home Office will accept our arguments."
"Will they really?", asked Abdul, unable to conceal his incredulity.
"Well obviously that's not very likely", Paulette continued, a brief smile crossing her lips. "And if we can't agree, I'll hand this" - she showed Abdul one of the papers she was carrying - "to the judge."
"So that's my case, is it?", Abdul asked.
"It's what's called the skeleton argument, that briefly sets out what the Home Office got wrong. Then the hearing will begin."
Paulette then looked up.
"Look", she said, pointing to a small, bald, smartly-dressed man strolling around the hallway, "there's the Home Office lawyer."
She gathered her papers.
"Stay here while I speak to him".
Abdul watched Paulette walk the short distance over to the stranger. He strained to hear what they were saying, but was unable to. After a couple of minutes, Paulette came back to him, a look of grim determination on her face.
"What happened?", asked Abdul, though he could guess her answer.
"We couldn't reach agreement", she replied. "I told him you had as good a case as any, but he said the Home Office is determined to fight it."
Abdul sighed.
"But it'll be all the worse for them", said Paulette. "Come on, it's time for us to go inside."
Abdul wished he could share her optimism. He followed Paulette as she entered a grand room, adorned with portraits of what he assumed were famous judges, and held up with with a set of ornate pillars. He and Paulette sat down behind a table, and the Home Office lawyer took his seat a few feet away.
"All rise!"
Somewhat awkwardly, Abdul got to his feet. He saw two men and a woman emerge through a door at the back of the room, and sit down on an elevated platform.
"Ms. Coleman", boomed the man sitting in the middle.
Paulette strode out from behind the table and handed over the paper she had shown Abdul earlier. She then returned to the table and began speaking, in a calm and authoritative voice:
"Thank you, Your Honours. My client will now tell you how he came to this country, and why he is claiming asylum. Once you have heard him, and read our argument, you will see that this is a clear cut a case as you will ever see, and that justice and compassion mandate you to overturn the Home Office's refusal of his claim."
She pointed Abdul to the witness box. Feeling ever more nervous, Abdul quickly made his way over: the quicker I get there, the quicker it'll be over, he thought. In answer to Paulette's questions, he told the judges everything: about his life in Somalia, how he had been tricked by Amina into coming to London, how he had been enslaved in Amina's house, how Andy had rescued him, how he had lived in the UK with no trouble ever since, and how everything had come crashing down since the fateful day he had revealed his true identity. He thought he had acquitted himself well, but in the back of his mind he feared how he would fare under cross-examination. Sure enough, when the Home Office lawyer stood up, Abdul struggled under the hostile questions: why had he not just run away from Amina's house? Why had he kept the name Amina had given him? Surely that proved he was a fraud? If his family was in Somalia, why could he not simply go back there? It was like having to face Joan again. He was relived when the questioning ended, but pessimistic about his chances.
Paulette then got to her feet again.
"Your Honours", she said, "what you have seen today is a young man who has been through the most traumatising ordeal. He has appeared before you today and has honestly and straightforwardly told you of his experiences. Despite everything, you have seen him give a clear and consistent account of all he has undergone. I submit that he has demonstrated his truthfulness to you, and the appeal must be allowed."
Then it was the turn of the Home Office lawyer.
"Your Honours, you will have noticed the inconsistencies and the contradictions in the appellant's evidence. He was unable to give a convincing explanation for why he would have kept the name he says was given him by his enslaver, or why he did not simply run away from house where he says he was so ill-treated. I submit that he is not a truthful witness and that the appeal must fail."
The hearing was over. All filed out of the courtroom, Abdul with his head bowed.
"Are you all right?", Paulette asked him.
"I think I did badly", said Abdul.
"You didn't, I assure you", said Paulette.
"But when he was asking me those questions, it was so . . . so hard. I didn't come across well."
"I know it wasn't easy for you", said Paulette, "but the judges know what you have experienced, and will take that into consideration."
"Are you sure?", asked Abdul.
"I am", said Paulette. "Remember, Abdul, I've fought hundreds of cases like yours before, these judges have sat on hundreds of cases like this."
"Well, if you say so", sighed Abdul.
They had now left the court building: Abdul could see Andy sitting in the car waiting for him.
"Goodbye, Abdul", said Paulette, offering her hand.
"When will I hear back?", asked Abdul.
"That could take weeks, maybe months", said Paulette solemnly: she seemed to sense this wasn't what Abdul wanted to hear. "Trust me, though, it will be good news."
Abdul shook Paulette's still outstretched hand, thanked her, and clambered back into the car.
"How was it?", asked Andy.
"Not very good", said Abdul, and he told Andy everything that had happened.
"Obviously not a pleasant experience", said Andy when he had finished, "but I'm sure it'll all be fine."
He started up the engine and drove back home. The journey was pleasant enough: the two chatted away, with Abdul doing his best to avoid talking about the hearing. Back home, Andy encouraged Abdul to tell Susan about what had happened. As he had anticipated, she wasn't sympathetic.
"So they've found you out, have they?", she asked. "I knew they would in the end."
Two weeks had gone by and still no news. Abdul was trying to be happy as possible, but it wasn't easy. Noticing how down he was feeling, Andy had invited him to the school parents' evening, telling him there was someone there who would be very interested to see him. Abdul was intrigued, but also frustrated that Andy refused to reveal who it might be. When the evening came, Abdul dressed as smartly as he could and, trying to ignore Susan's snide remarks, he and Andy set off in the car, arriving about half an hour before the parents were set to turn up. Andy led Abdul through the school door into the hallway, they pointed to someone.
"There he is."
Abdul stared at the man: it was Fred! He blinked, hoping to make sure his eyes had not deceived him: they hadn't.
"Hello Abdul, nice to see you", said Fred. He was smiling from ear to ear: he could hardly have been any more different from the last time Abdul had seen him.
"What are you doing here?", exclaimed Abdul.
"I've just started an admin role here", explained Fred. "I signed up with the agency Your Jobs, and almost immediately they put me forward for this job, I was interviewed and I got it, and I'm very happy here."
"So how did you find out about me?", asked Abdul.
"Because", said Andy, "when Fred started here, on the morning break on his first day, he was asked where he had worked before, and he said that he used to work for the Home Office, but was sacked after he argued with his boss over a young man who had been trafficked from Somalia. I knew that must be you, so I told him how it was me that rescued you, so he asked to meet you."
"So", beamed Fred, "it's a small world, isn't it?"
Abdul was open mouthed.
"Anyway", said Andy, "I must be off to attend to my duties, so I'll leave you two to it."
He headed off in the direction of his classroom, the one where Abdul had once begun all of his school days. Abdul watched Andy leave, then as he was about to turn back to Fred, he heard a voice behind him.
"Never thought I see you here!"
Abdul turned. Sam was standing there, smiling at him, wearing a suit and a dress. Next to them stood Heather, also smiling, in a shiny yellow dress that Abdul found himself rather admiring. In between the couple was a boy of about 12 or 13: Abdul had heard Sam mentioning having a son before, but until now had never met the child. Abdul smiled somewhat awkwardly.
"Have you had your hearing yet?", asked Heather.
"Yes", said Abdul abruptly, and he quickly told Sam and Heather about it.
"How horrible for you!", exclaimed Heather.
"I think you'll be OK", said Sam. "That lawyer is probably right."
"Do you know Abdul?", Fred asked.
"Yes", said Sam. "It was we who recommended his lawyer to him. So how do you know him?"
"I was the Home Office caseworker who interviewed him."
"So, it was you . . ." began Heather, her voice rising.
"No, it's OK, it wasn't his fault", interjected Abdul. "Fred was kind to me, but I had to have a second interview and they got a horrible woman who wouldn't believe me, that's how I ended up in that detention place."
"So you're not with the Home Office any more?", inquired Sam.
"No", said Fred, "they got my agency to tell me I was sacked. I had a really horrible boss, it must have been her who did Abdul's substantive interview. I had some dark times afterwards" - here he threw Abdul a "don't tell them any more" look - "but in the end I got this job via a different agency."
Sam and Heather both smiled on hearing this: their son jumped up and down. Abdul however only managed a weak smile.
"Are you OK? Still worrying about your hearing?", asked Sam.
"Yes", said Abdul.
"Well how about this?", said Sam. "How would you like to go for a meal with us three" - they indicated Heather and the child - "tomorrow night?"
"I'd like it very much", said Abdul. "What time and where?"
"Shall we say around eight o'clock at the Hope and Glory restaurant?"
"OK", said Abdul.
"Settled then", smiled Sam. "But right now it's time for us to learn about this little boy."
"See you tomorrow night, Abdul", said Heather. She took the child by the hand, saying, "Come on Justin, let's see what your teachers have to say", and the three of them entered the main body of the building. Abdul spent the rest of the parents' evening chatting with Fred until Andy came back.
It was just after eight the following evening when Abdul claimed out of Andy's car just outside the Hope and Glory. Sam, Heather and Justin were all outside waiting for him. Sam was wearing their hair long and curled, and had on a shirt and trousers. Heather's hair was in a bun, and she was wearing a stunning full-length pale green dress and matching high heels. Justin was wearing a Superman shirt. They all went inside and were enjoying a happy evening. Abdul was able to forget about his troubles, until suddenly his phone rang. He felt a tinge of alarm: it was Paulette's number. Bracing himself, he answered the call.
"Hello?"
"Is that Abdul?"
"Yes."
"I've just been informed: your appeal was successful, the deportation order has been overturned. The judges were absolutely stinging in their criticism of the Home Office's handling of your case, so the Home Office has decided not to appeal and has given you leave to remain. Congratulations, Abdul."
Abdul had tears of incredulity running down his face.
"Really?", he said.
"Yes", said Paulette.
"Well, thank you so much for what you did for me", said Abdul.
"Not at all", said Paulette. "It's been a pleasure knowing you. I suggest you go out and celebrate, you've earned it."
"I'm already out with friends."
"All the better then", said Paulette, a light-heartedness in her voice to Abdul had never heard before. "Enjoy your evening, and congratulations once again."
The phone went dead.
"Was it about your appeal?", asked Heather.
"I won", said Abdul.
"Wow", said Sam, "well done, Abdul, what wonderful news."
"You told the Home Office where to go", said Heather.
"Well, it's thanks to you two", Abdul pointed out.
"We may have helped, but it was you who did it, Abdul", said Sam. "Congratulations".
Sam held out their hand and shook Abdul's. Heather leaned over the table and have Abdul a warm embrace. Justin gave him a high five. Abdul was finding it hard to take it all in. It had been very hard but, yes, he had won. Now he could look forward to getting a new job and a new home.
In 2022, the Home Office transferred responsibility for modern slavery away from the Minister for Safeguarding and turned it into an illegal immigration issue.
Suella Braverman has claimed that modern slavery victims are "gaming the system" - there is no evidence for this claim and the Home Office has been rebuked by the Office of National Statistics for making it.
The government has made it harder for people to prove that they are victims of trafficking.
There has been no Anti-Slavery Commissioner since April 2022, despite it being a legal requirement under the Modern Slavery Act 2015.
The Home Office often treats victims of modern slavery as immigration offenders rather than victims of a crime, and has sent victims back to the address where they were enslaved.
In recent years, victims have been given trauma deadlines, disqualification from support due to crimes they were forced to commit, and an increased burden of proof.
The majority of modern slavery claims are initially rejected, but 78 per cent of those who challenge the decision win on appeal.
Victims are routinely detained or deported, and have no pathways to citizenship.
90 per cent of those referred from immigration detention to the National Referral Mechanism are confirmed to be victims.
Only two per cent of child trafficking victims are granted discretionary leave to remain - some receive temporary visas lasting until adulthood, but 35 per cent of adults who were trafficked as children were refused asylum in 2020.
Under the Nationality and Borders Act 2022, people can be disqualified from protection if they claimed to be a victim in "bad faith" or are a "threat to public order", or for "late provision of information".
Under the Illegal Migration Act 2023, victims who arrive in UK by an irregular route are banned from receiving support, are detained on arrival with no right to consideration or appeal, and removed to a "safe" third country. The UN High Commissioner for Refugees has warned that the Act "extinguishes access to asylum in the UK".
