Finding Safety and Purpose: Gustavo’s Story 

My name is Gustavo Moreno, and this is my story. 

I was born in El Salvador, and before coming to Wales, I lived what many would consider a good life. I was 34 years old, had a degree in tourism, and worked in travel agencies and at the airport, where I led a team of 200 people. I married in 2017, and a year later my daughter Isabella was born. We were surrounded by family and friends and deeply connected to our community. I also played American football for five years and captained the national defence team. Life felt full and meaningful. 

Everything changed in 2020. 

When the pandemic hit, El Salvador shut down. Jobs disappeared and security deteriorated. It was no longer safe. I remember struggling with the decision to leave, and my father saying to me, “Your family is now your wife and daughter. Protect them.” That stayed with me. When the airport reopened in September 2020, we made the hardest decision of our lives. We left El Salvador not because we wanted to, but because we had to. 

We travelled to the UK via Houston. Saying goodbye to our families, not knowing if or when we would see them again, broke our hearts. But we held on to hope. 

Life in Wales was a rollercoaster at first. The early days were incredibly hard. I had studied English in El Salvador, and my parents had invested a lot in that education, but when I arrived, I could barely understand anyone. My wife spoke better than I did, so I relied on her. I pushed her to speak, to call, to ask questions. I was shy and unsure, and everything felt unfamiliar. 

Just as we began to find our footing, we learned that my wife was pregnant. We were living in a hotel, eating food she struggled with during pregnancy. Still, we were lucky. People there were kind. They shared extra bread, fruit, and jam. Small gestures that meant everything. 

In our first two years, we were moved so many times. Three times in London, three times in Cardiff, and three times in Swansea. One night, at 10 p.m., the Home Office called and told us we had an hour to move. My wife had just given birth. Our son was only 20 days old, and our two-year-old daughter was crying. My wife looked at me and said, “Gustavo, this is your decision.” I remembered what I had told myself when we first arrived. I will go wherever God sends me. 

So, we packed our bags and left again. 

In Cardiff, we were placed in a filthy room. We could not stay inside, so we spent our days in shopping centres, trying to distract our children, find food they would eat, and hold onto hope. It was exhausting, but we kept going. 

We also experienced hate. On a bus in Swansea, a driver and passengers shouted at us and threatened my wife and children. It was terrifying. But I refused to let that define our experience of Wales. I had already met too many kind people here. We reported the incident. The drivers faced consequences and penalties were issued. That moment became a turning point. 

I told my wife, “No one else should go through this.” 

We began speaking up, not only for ourselves, but for others. We worked with organisations such as the British Red Cross, the Welsh Refugee Council, and Voices Network. We volunteered, translated, and supported new arrivals so they would not feel as lost as we once did. 

Eventually, we were granted asylum. It was a long and painful process, but everything changed after that. Both my wife and I found work as employment support officers. I worked with CAE, and my wife with EYST. We helped people from many communities, Latin American, Congolese, Chinese, Muslim, because we are all human and we all need support. 

Wales became our home, not just a place to live, but a place to belong. 

We started our own group, Wales for All, which is now working toward becoming a charity. Our aim is to empower migrants and build connections between cultures. My wife now runs salsa sessions, and most of the people who attend are Welsh. That is integration through joy. 

One of my proudest moments was standing on stage at the Swansea Arena, speaking at a Green Economy Conference. A year earlier, I had sat in the audience thinking, one day I want to be there. Speaking to 300 people, presenting a project I helped create, I realised something important. I could do it. 

I have also been learning Welsh for a year. I want my children to grow up proud of both their Latin American and Welsh identities. Learning the language has helped me connect more deeply with the local community. 

Some of my most precious moments here are simple ones. Watching my son take his first steps, being there, fully present. No amount of money could buy that. 

Wales has given me a slower rhythm of life. Swansea reminds me of home. The sea brings me peace. I live close to the beach, and when I look at it, I feel I am meant to be here. 

I miss my family deeply, especially my parents. I have not seen them in five years. I miss my mother’s cooking and the love in her food. But friends here cook with that same care, and sometimes it feels like being back at her table. 

The hardest moments are emergencies back home when I cannot be there. That pain never disappears. But I stay focused on what my parents taught me. Support your people. Serve others. 

That is my dream. To build community. To create opportunities. To help people find dignity, not pity. We do not want handouts. We want a chance. 

Wales is my blanket. Like a child hiding under covers to feel safe, this country has given me protection and purpose. Now, I want to protect others too.