Searching for Settlement – Dunya's story 

My name is Dunya, and I am originally from Iraq. Before coming to Wales, my life was intense and unsettled. I was a mother, a wife, and a PhD student, trying to balance family and academic life without any real sense of stability. I was studying while raising my son, and my husband stayed at home to care for him. That role reversal was not easy for either of us. We were constantly rotating responsibilities, but we never felt settled. It felt like we had lost the natural balance of our lives. 

We left Iraq in 2021 because it was no longer safe. At first, we moved within the region, hoping conditions would improve, but they did not. I began looking for a legal way to leave the country and applied for scholarships. I was accepted onto a Turkish Government scholarship and we moved to Ankara, where I studied at Gazi University. 

At first, Turkey felt peaceful and beautiful. Ankara was calm and family oriented, very different from Istanbul. But over time, I began to experience racism and xenophobia in ways I never had before. There was strong anti-Arab feeling, largely linked to resentment toward Syrian refugees. Even though I was in Turkey legally as a student with valid documents, I was treated as though I did not belong. 

One experience still stays with me. When I tried to take my son for medical care, we were refused treatment and told to go to a separate clinic for foreigners. I kept explaining that I was a student, not a refugee, but it made no difference. I felt humiliated and powerless. 

There were kind people too. My neighbour was supportive, and my PhD supervisor was excellent. But the fear outweighed the good. I stopped speaking Arabic on public transport because people would ask, “Yabancı mısın?” Are you a foreigner? It did not feel like a neutral question. It felt like rejection. 

I spent my first year in Turkey learning Turkish so I could function day to day. But as my PhD neared completion, we knew we could not stay. Our residence permits were temporary, there were no job prospects, no property, no future. Returning to Iraq was not an option. 

As part of my PhD, I applied to attend a conference in Edinburgh. I was granted a visa and travelled to the UK with my son, staying with my brother in Cardiff. Shortly after I arrived, my sister-in-law passed away unexpectedly, and I stayed to support my brother. 

While I was in the UK, my husband called and told me not to return to Turkey. Immigration rules were tightening, residence permits were being shortened, and financial requirements increased beyond what we could afford on a small scholarship. We made the hardest decision of our lives. I would stay in the UK for our son’s future. 

I applied for refugee status and then for family reunion so my husband could join us. There was very little support available. I completed all the paperwork myself, booked his English test, and gathered every document. A solicitor quoted over £500 just to check the application, which I could not afford. I trusted myself and submitted it. Three months later, my husband arrived. Everyone had told me it would take at least a year. 

Since then, we have been rebuilding our lives in Cardiff. I lived in Wales before, from 2014 to 2016, when I was single. Returning with my family felt like coming home. The kindness here is real. I feel safe. I feel I belong. 

Housing has not been easy. I stayed with my brother, then my nephew, then moved into temporary accommodation after receiving refugee status. I volunteer regularly and recently joined a community orchestra, even though I cannot play an instrument. 

My son is thriving at school. It is far from where we live, but I make the journey every day. Seeing him happy makes everything worthwhile. 

One of my favourite memories is a family barbecue with my brothers and their families. It reminded me of childhood picnics in Iraq. Food, laughter, games, and togetherness. I want my son to grow up with memories like that. 

I am an architect by profession. I worked for the Ministry of Construction and Housing in Iraq, but there was no growth or creativity. That is why I pursued my master’s and now my PhD. I want to lead projects, to build something meaningful here in Wales. I am in the final year of my doctorate and determined to finish next year. 

I love Iraq and miss my mother, my sisters, and Iraqi food deeply. But Iraq no longer offers safety or space for different ideas. Wales has given me peace and the freedom to dream again. 

Everything I do now is for my child. Every book I read, every drawing I make, every lecture I attend carries responsibility. I want my children to one day walk past a building I designed and say, “Our mother did that.” 

Coming to Wales was not just about moving country. I was searching for a place where no one would tell me I did not belong. A place where I could raise my family in peace. Wales has given me that. 

What I want people to understand about stories like mine is this. We do not leave because we want to. We leave because we must. We bring skills, education, experience, and a deep desire to contribute. We want to build something lasting. 

I once attended the Nation of Sanctuary Awards. A film asked Welsh people what they would take if they had to flee their homes. It made me cry. That question opens hearts. 

We are not only escaping war. Sometimes we are escaping a silent inner war. We come because we want our children to live safely, learn freely, and grow with dignity. 

That is why I came. And that is why I stay.