SHARE YOUR STORY

Did you experience challenges accessing higher education because of your immigration status?

If you’re interested in sharing your story with us and be a part of the book. You can reach us at:

info@interrupted.org.uk

So far, Interrupted has worked with 7 storytellers and we aim to have 12 stories as part of the anthology.

Storytellers will be:

• anonymous in the book.
• supported through the writing process.
• compensated for their time writing.

SUPPORT US BY

Interrupted requires support with:

• Support with seeking a publisher
• Support with book design

If you’re interested in support or partner with us on this project, email us at:

info@interrupted.org.uk

STORY EXTRACTS

Luckily, she discovered a scholarship aimed at people in her situation. Through a combination of online research and speaking to other people in a similar situation, the girl came across the organisation ‘We Belong’ (formerly known as ‘Let us learn’). With this newfound support, the girl grew a little taller against the monster. The organisation brought a glimmer of hope, hope she would have a future and achieve her goal of going to university. The scholarship came with requirements. She would have to have some form of status to meet the criteria for it. The next step was clear, get the right status. The monster chuckled mockingly:

 “Good luck with that!”

With the help of her parents and an incredible solicitor who believed in this girl’s goals, working relentlessly on her behalf, she managed to get an appointment to submit a same day application to determine her status. However, this was set for a day after the deadline of the scholarship application. Another obstacle? This monster had endless tricks up its sleeve.

Her solicitor said otherwise, and worked continuously, until a miracle occurred, a date opened up for the day before the scholarship application was due. Things were back on track! 

“Take that Mr Monster!”

Anaymous Story 1/ Written in 3rd person

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09^th of November 201*, it was a rainy day. I was sat in a courtroom in Manchester, my lawyer to my left, a home office lawyer to my right, and the judge on the bench in front of me, like the movies. Outside the room were, my family sat with a unit of our supporters. On my heart were the heros of my life’s tale, my friends and the hundreds of people that helped make me who I was. On my mind, questions! What did I do wrong? What more could I have done? How would this turn out? “Exactly a year ago from that day, I was at Parliament as a member of youth parliament, representing my friends, my peers, the young people of the city I call my home. If I had pursued a public campaign would things be different?”. I would love to have a transcript of my testimony and the questions. The home office lawyer was really ruthless, he made me laugh. He somehow managed to turn turn both my gifts and struggles into reasons why I should no longer be a resident of the UK. Following my point that I had nothing to return to in Nigeria, he said something like, “You’re an amazing young man with a lot of skills; you are evidently resourceful and can adapt to your environment. Therefore, you can return to Nigeria and survive there”. He seemed like a veteran debate mate champion. I couldn’t be angry at him, he was simply doing his job. He’s probably a nice person, has kids maybe, I’m sure he cares for them. It wasn’t his fault. This event was a product of the UK’s flawed immigration system. A system that increases the renewal fee for visas arbitrarily every year, a system that breaks apart the lives of migrants, forces people into illegality; revokes the citizenship and deports non-caucasian Brits. The home office’s policies prevents thousands of young people who have lived in the UK for most of their lives from accessing higher education, should I have expected anything better?

Anonymous Storyteller 2/ Written as a comic stripe