was clearly very depressed — he was a cutter! Everyone knew. I never saw him cut himself but new and old scars were obvious to everyone. I did not sleep that night. There was a subtle pecking order. Groups (some may call them gangs!) were led by detainees who had been to prison. They had the experience of functioning in a custodial environment with extensive networks across IRCs. Most of the IRC population at that time was of African descent, and African groups were the most dominant. I had really long dreadlocks and I was of a fairly large build — an appearance that offered me some protection against other groups, as simply by my appearance people thought I was affiliated with one of the groups. This look did not serve me well in court or at HO interviews. One of the worst things I experienced as a resident of the IRC estate was the movement between centres. Imagine having to move house every three months and on occasions every other month, and having to almost instantaneously integrate within a new community. In the IRC estate I had the added benefit of free removal services. One incident I remember happened on a Friday night. The others had been playing bingo (bingo was not my thing), while we finished off a table tennis game with one of the officers. I sent notes to my friends in other wings through the cleaners who had access to other cleaners in the other wings, asking them to meet in the yard for a lunchtime game of football the next day. ‘Bang up!’ the officer shouted. I grabbed a few left-over apples and playing cards and entered my cell ready for that dreadful lock up — I hated it! Everyone hated bang up. Chances were if nothing had transpired during the day — bang time inspired the feelings of dread. Anyway, once in the cell it was back to normal bang up routine, watch the distant 14-inch television, play cards and talk about the first meal we would have on release. Personally, a nice cold Guinness was all I wanted. At about 4am, I heard the cell door open. We both woke up, looked up at the same time — not knowing which one of us was leaving. I was in Colnbrook IRC at this point. ‘Which one of you is 45991?’ the officer inquired. I responded. ‘Pack up your things, you will be escorted over to reception,’ he continued. It would not have been wise to question my move amidst three officers at that time of the night. I dreamily complied. About 15 minutes later I was walking through the yard with all my worldly possessions — a half torn rucksack containing a toothbrush, some crumbled biscuits and a massive load of papers from the Home Office about my case that I never read. Whilst in the van one of the other detainees informed us we were going to Dungavel IRC in Scotland. Others speculated we had a charter flight waiting. Sure enough, our destination was Dungavel, 12 hours from Colnbrook, London. I spent the night in Dungavel, was issued with removal directions (RDs) early the following morning and by 8pm of the same day, I was in the van again heading back to Colnbrook IRC. On my immediate return to Colnbrook, I was told to pack up again to be transferred to a Heathrow airport holding room. Luckily, by this time I had a solicitor. Dungavel IRC was one of the most humane centres I had been to: staff were polite and helpful, there was more freedom of movement and Border Agency staff there were extremely helpful and understanding. They seemed to understand that asylum seekers were not criminals. This was very comforting and I felt at home there. My solicitor at the time suggested I was transferred to Dungavel for purely administrative purposes since my solicitor would not have jurisdiction in Scotland to appeal my RDs. Personally, I did not know what to believe, but I thought it was a bit odd to be driven 12 hours to be issued RDs and then returned to the same centre the next day. I think there are convenient administrative procedures in the systems that are attractive to Border Agency staff but cause absolute untold misery to detainees. One would argue that a country has every right to put procedures in place for the efficient management of claimants for the good of the country. This for me is a tough call, but we have to remember that most of the asylum seekers (especially those without criminal convictions) in IRCs, many of the asylum seekers are released and will live with the general population. If such immigration procedures are the norm, what are we saying to newcomers to this country about British society? We share sidewalks and roads with former/present asylum seekers, some of whom will probably treat you in hospital or drive you home after a late Friday night. Next time you have a One of the worst things I experienced as a resident of the IRC estate was the movement between centres. Imagine having to move house every three months and on occasions every other month . . . Issue 205 Prison Service Journal 5