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Through the eyes of an unaccompanied minor


Knock, knock.

The door opens and a smiling young woman says ‘hello’ and welcomes you inside.

Well, at least you think she does. You don’t speak her language but the lady that picked you up earlier today and brought you here by car is gesturing that you come inside. So you do, but you’re not really sure why.

You come into the front room. ‘It seems weird in here’ you think to yourself. It is nothing like the home you once knew or the places you have slept at, run from or travelled through it the past year either.

There’s pets. Or least they seem to be pets. Where you come from cats are feral and rarely seen in the house.

You’re hungry and thirsty but you don’t know how to tell the two ladies with you.

One hands the other some paperwork as you all sit in the living room together. You wonder what this document is. Am I in trouble? Am I going to be taken away again? Don’t they believe me when I say I’m 16.

After some chat that you don’t understand one of the women gets out their phone and calls someone. You don’t know who but suddenly there is someone speaking your language. What a relief. But who are they, and why am I talking to them?

The interpreter on the phone explains that as a child claiming asylum with no parent you’ve entered foster care. You’re exhausted and don’t really understand what ‘foster care’ is but quietly say ‘yes’ to everything she tells you. She explains who you’ll be living with, for how many days and that the lady who opened the door to you earlier is here to look after you. You will go food shopping tomorrow and go get some new clothes too. You make sure you ask for halal food as it’s important to you, but when asked what kind of meals you like don’t know what to say other than ‘chicken’.

You want to tell her that your leg hurts and your feet are sore but don’t realise that health services are free here. Worrying that you’ll have to pay and not having any money, you don’t say anything.

With the interpreter still on the phone you all take a tour of the house and you are shown the kitchen, bathroom and your bedroom. A few house rules are explained.

You’re still thirsty though and haven’t eaten for a while. The tea (or chay) the lady made you tastes funny and not like chay at home so you haven’t drunk much.

It seems the lady who brought you in the car is getting ready to leave as she puts the paperwork in her handbag and says a few things to the other strange lady. She shakes your hand, says something and you weakly smile back. Soon she is gone and you are left alone with a stranger.

You are still hungry though but the lady gets out her tablet and writes out ‘halal chicken’ in your language. You nod and smile, and she taps the screen a bit, but then nothing. Still hungry, you sip the drink you don’t like. Half an hour later a knock on the door. You feel nervous. Is it the police? The army? No, it’s a man handing over a bag of food. You can smell it instantly. The lady gets everything out and spreads it on the table. You sit on the floor cross-legged and go to dive into the chicken, veg and naan. Except there is a fork in the way. Should you use it? But you’re used to eating with your hands and rip off the bread to pick up the chicken with.

You’ve traveled for hours today, and the last day, and the day before. In fact, you feel like you’ve traveled non-stop for countless days. In reality it’s been over a year since you left your home. After dinner and a can of Coke you feel suddenly sleepy but don’t know whether you want to sleep here. The lady’s noticed and she writes out on her tablet, ‘Time for bed?’ and its translated into your language. You nod and smile, a bit weary but follow them upstairs. They point to the bathroom then your bedroom and leave you to it. They write ‘sleep as long as you need’ and you feel a bit uncertain but are so tired you soon fall asleep in a strangers home in an unfamiliar city, in a country you only entered 12 hours previously.



All the best, BF

NB Bristol Fostering is a personal blog and not affiliated with any fostering agency. The author just happens to be a foster carer in Bristol, UK

We do recommend Bristol Council though as they're fab. Bristol Council fostering enquiry form

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