Few people know that she lives here, in the low-rise block. She rarely has visitors, and her name is neither on the mailbox nor by the front door. She lives in hiding. Over a long period of time, she was exposed to serious violence. On the third floor, she has a room of seven square metres. The windowsill is covered with flowers she has planted herself, and a Bible verse hangs on the wall. Balancing on a chair, she reaches for what lies at the very bottom of the wardrobe. A white nurse’s uniform. – Seeing the patients’ eyes light up when they see me is a really good feeling, says Anna. For 14 years she has lived in Norway, for several of them illegally. People like her have no social security number, no bank account, they have no right to education or permission to work. Nevertheless, she has managed to become a nurse. But Anna is not allowed to wear the white uniform. Anna is not the woman’s real name. In consultation with the police, news has chosen to anonymise the woman, her place of residence and the people around her, because she may be in danger. Rebellious love She fled Iran with the boy next door, they had married against their family’s wishes. Actually, Anna was betrothed to a mullah twice her age. Her father had warned against such riots, Anna says. If she objected to the marriage he was to shave off all her hair and carry her through the city on a donkey. That didn’t stop her. In the back of a trailer, the newlyweds sat huddled together with a dozen other people on the run, across Europe’s borders. When the wheels stopped, a winter-cold Norway awaited outside the trailer doors. Northern Norway 2008: Between high mountains covered in snow, they were placed in an asylum centre. The sun visited for just under an hour a day. The rest of the time it was dark. Anna was sociable, learned the language quickly. A cold on the inside of her finger testified to all the notebooks she had written out, full of Norwegian words. She experienced her husband as increasingly depressed, he did not feel at home in Norway. Then came the first rejection. The state did not consider the family in Iran to be a threat. Then everything went black. He who had been the way to a free life, now reminded more of the opposite. Saved by the neighbor They had lived in Norway for just over a year when the ambulance picked her up in the middle of the night. At the abuse center she was allocated a room. A single bed had been made up, and on the bedside table someone had prepared a jug of juice. – I was wheeled into a wheelchair. My body had no more strength, says Anna. She fights to hold back her tears. White uniforms moved quickly in and out of the room. They asked questions, took notes, spread over her. It hurt when the quilt hit the body. Facsimile of hospital records. Facsimile of hospital records. – I fear they will have to carry you out in a body bag next time, one of the nurses had said. It wasn’t the first time she met Anna. Hours before, the husband had screamed “I don’t care if you die now”, says Anna. She had laid huddled on the hard concrete floor, inside the small room the two shared. On the other side of the wall, a lady had heard them. She called the ambulance. A new identity takes shape The husband received 30 days in prison. Still terrified, she was sent to a crisis center where she lived next door to other women and children fleeing violence and abuse. She got a new name and a secret address. To be safe. New asylum reception, in a new part of the country. She had a handbag and a hundred notes with her. Ready to build a life. But after several rounds, the legal system determined that she did not have the right to stay. They believed her story, but believed that the Iranian authorities could protect her from her family and husband, who had now returned to Iran. Since Norway does not have a return agreement with Iran, she could not be sent back by force. She continued to live in the country – illegally. – I decided to fight for a life here. In the evening, she took advanced subjects as a private student, even though she didn’t really have the right to. During the day she cleaned the house. Baptism in a nurse’s uniform 2014: At the top of the church, the water ran down onto the bright tiles and filled the pool. Anna is baptized in the baptismal font by a pastor in the congregation. Photo: Private photo Baptism was her choice. Much else in life was decided for her. She left the Muslim faith from her upbringing behind. People from the church waited anxiously for the wooden white chairs in the hall. They had become like family to her. Several had broken the law to help. The church was empty of christening gowns, but between the mop stand and detergents, Anna found a bundled bag in the laundry room. In the bag was a white nurse’s uniform. With firm steps she walked up the aisle, in a garment that would come to mean much more than she realized then and there. She stopped at the edge, then stepped into the pool. Two of those who have become Anna’s closest in Norway were present on the christening day. Proud in white 2018: It was still dark outside when the bus left the platform. All the high school subjects she had studied and the houses she had cleaned had led her here: to the bus that was supposed to transport her across two municipal boundaries, to practice at a nursing home. People were still sleeping in the houses they passed. She knew the route by heart, she had been sitting on the same seat every morning for several weeks. Anna pulled on the white uniform. Proud. The rooms were lined up down the corridor, between white stripes and gray-speckled linoleum. In her pocket she had a crumpled list with the names of the patients she was responsible for. The smell of tight urine and old food scraps didn’t bother her. She had been a nursing student for three months, even though that was supposed to be impossible. Since Anna had managed to obtain a diploma from upper secondary school, she could apply for a study place via Samordna admissions, without a social security number or BankID. This is how she had entered the study. Then the challenges arose. To be able to carry out practice in nursing homes and hospitals, all students had to show identification. Anna had no ID documents. Then the university did something sensational. They called Anna’s GP who could confirm her identity. After the final refusal, she actually lost her right to health care, but the GP had kept her on his list anyway. When the last exam was passed and she was to get authorization as a nurse, another obstacle arose in the course. An amount had to be paid via Altinn, but without BankID this was impossible. In the end, Anna had to pay in cash. Anna is not the only undocumented person who has studied at schools and universities in Norway without the right to an education. news knows of four other such stories. At school she kept her head down, didn’t want people to know who she was, that she was living in the country illegally. – People ask so much, I am completely exhausted by all the secrets. She was ashamed. Without a bank card, Vipps or money at all, it was difficult to be part of the community. She could never join a cafe or a cinema. She couldn’t have a weekend job, create a fitness subscription or a Netflix account, like everyone around her. All the obstacles and all the shame awakened a driving force in her, the same force that had brought her to Norway in the first place. – I refuse to accept that I will be on the outside of society for the rest of my life, says Anna. It is difficult to estimate how many people share her fate, but the Norwegian Organization for Asylum Seekers (NOAS) estimates that there are now between 500 and 1,000 people who have lived in Norway for more than five years without legal residence. For various reasons, these cannot or do not want to return to their home country. The good helpers Inside the low-rise block, Anna has filled most of the apartment’s window sills and surfaces with plants and cuttings. She enjoys watching them grow. When they get big enough, she gives them away as gifts to the people who have helped her. They are many. Between a hundred acres of spruce forest, in a small log cabin, we meet a wealthy, elderly man whom Anna calls grandfather. The forest is her sanctuary, here she is like everyone else. She has planted several of the trees around us. They stand weather-beaten, but upright and remind her that they too have withstood a blow. Anna gets text messages from Grandpa about how the trees she plants are growing. Anna gets text messages from Grandpa about how the trees she plants are growing. The wind blows life into the Norwegian flag that is attached to the ridge, inside the bunk, grandfather has lit the fireplace. The elderly man is visibly affected. He is impressed that Anna has managed to become a nurse, a profession Norway badly needs. – But then she can’t work. I believe that is a matter that Norway cannot be privy to, he says. Anna has lived at Linn’s house for several years. Back in the low-rise block, “Linn” has come home from work. When the asylum center shut down and closed the door, she opened hers. Otherwise, Anna would have had to quit her studies. At the asylum reception, Anna received just under NOK 2,000 a month from the state, but when she moved privately, the payments stopped. In order to survive, she is now completely dependent on financial support from people around her. – There is a driving force in her that you want to support. She tries and tries, but gets so many nos. I don’t know if I could have taken it myself, says Linn. She throws her arms out in despair. – But what exactly is the alternative? Here, but no further. Anna has finished her studies. She is a nurse. State authorized. Everyone she studied with is working. In hospitals and nursing homes. Not Anna. – I would very much like to live a free life and contribute to society, she says. Today, the Norwegian Immigration Service stands firm. They have refused her time and time again, and point out that the spouse has a Norwegian criminal conviction against him which she can use to get a divorce granted in Iran. But Anna does not trust the Iranian court. She fears they will not care about Norwegian documents. She risks having to live with a man convicted of violence. It is not good to say what can happen in the home country. – In the worst case, I could be stoned, says Anna. She moves onto the chair and puts the nurse’s uniform back in the cupboard. Pushes it far in. But leave the cupboard door open. Persons without legal residence in Norway Persons in Norway without a residence permit are called undocumented by, among others, the Church’s City Mission. The Directorate of Immigration calls it irregular migrants. There are two groups of “undocumented”: Those who have applied for asylum and been refused and obliged to leave, and those who never go to the authorities. It is difficult to determine how many people live illegally in Norway. The Norwegian Organization for Asylum Seekers (NOAS) estimates that there are currently between 500-1,000 people who do not have legal residence in Norway, and who have been here for at least five years. According to the Norwegian Directorate of Immigration (UDI), as of 23 January this year, there were 454 people whose asylum applications had been rejected and who were living in asylum reception centres. Of these, 393 are adults, and 61 are children in the family. In the last three years, 479 adults with an obligation to leave have also left reception without providing a new address. 225 of them currently have an unknown whereabouts. UDI assumes that few of them are in Norway. The police immigration unit’s overview shows that last year there were 1,800 people with illegal residence in Norway. 1,650 of these had their application for asylum finally rejected. The police assumed that many of them had left the country on their own. In 2008, Statistics Norway estimated that there were around 18,000 “undocumented” in total in Norway. Hello! Do you have any thoughts about the case you have read, or would you like to make an input? We have previously written about Agathe and the other asylum children who have disappeared. Maja Mathilde Aarbakke, Ronald Hole Fossåskaret, Silje Rognsvåg and Ingvild Sørnes JournalistsSend me an email
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