My name is Aftab, and I was born and raised in Karachi, in a bustling city of Pakistan. I am the eldest of four siblings and the only son. My childhood was full of laughter, street games, and warm family meals. I attended a Catholic school, went on to college and university, and eventually found work in a bank. I married, built a life, and became a father to four beautiful children. Life was steady and peaceful, until it suddenly wasn’t. 

Being Christian in a Muslim-majority country was not always easy, but for many years, we lived side by side. I had Muslim friends. We worked together, shared meals, and supported one another. Then one day, something happened. It is something I do not like to revisit or repeat. That moment changed everything and forced me to make the hardest decision of my life. I had to leave my home, my parents, my job, and everything familiar behind. I left for one reason only: safety, for myself and for my family. 

In 2011, I arrived in the UK. We landed at Heathrow and went straight to my brother-in-law’s home in London. He did not know I was coming to claim asylum. That evening, I told him over dinner. The next morning, I went to Croydon to begin the asylum process. From there, we were sent to Wales, a place I had never heard of at the time. 

My wife and I asked ourselves, “Where is Cardiff?” We were told there was no space in London. Feeling scared and uncertain, we moved to Cardiff with our three young children. Looking back now, I am so grateful we ended up here. 

We arrived in September 2011. We knew no one. Everything felt unfamiliar, from the streets to the language. Slowly, we began to rebuild our lives. My wife and I enrolled in courses at Cardiff and Vale College to improve our English and prepare for whatever the future might bring. 

As Catholics, we turned to the local church. The priest welcomed us warmly, and the congregation embraced us like family. The kindness of strangers during that time stayed with me and helped us survive the hardest moments. 

Our asylum process lasted seven and a half long years. Years filled with waiting, uncertainty, and worry. During that time, I was not allowed to work. When we were finally granted refugee status, I hoped life would become easier. Instead, I found that my banking experience was no longer recognised because of the long gap. I started again from the beginning, taking small jobs in shops and restaurants to support my family. It was not easy, but it gave me purpose. Over time, I found more stable work, even if it was not in my original profession. 

One moment stands out clearly in my memory, my court appeal. I was terrified. When I told my church community, people came with me to support me. A deacon sat beside me in court. When the judge saw him, she acknowledged his presence and credibility. From that moment, the focus shifted to my faith and the danger I would face if I returned to Pakistan. That day, I truly understood the power of community. 

Now, more than a decade later, Wales feels like home. My children have grown up here, and my youngest was born here in 2015. 

I miss many things about Pakistan: my parents, my childhood home, the food, and the warmth of shared meals on the rooftop. But I believe nothing in life is accidental. Perhaps I was brought here for a reason, to help others who are now walking the same path I once did. 

Today, I work part-time with the Welsh Refugee Council. I meet asylum seekers who feel lost, scared, and exhausted from waiting. I tell them to be patient. Life is like riding a bicycle. If you keep pedalling, you will not fall. 

I want people to understand that asylum seekers do not come to take. They come because they have no choice. They carry pain, loss, and fear, and all they ask for is safety, dignity, and a second chance. 

I came to Wales for safety. I stayed because I found a home.