A Mother’s Efforts to Normalize Life for Children on a Covert Military Island

In a temporary encampment on the secluded British island of Diego Garcia, Shanthi’s husband woke one morning to find their young children observing through a security barrier. As the children watched an officer and a guard dog patrol the confidential island, which hosts a strategic UK-US military base in the central Indian Ocean, they made a poignant observation: “Even the dogs have more freedom than us.” “When I heard that I felt heartbroken,” he says. This incident highlighted their family’s difficult situation – unintentionally stranded on a mysterious military stronghold, yet responsible for raising a five-year-old son and a nine-year-old daughter. To establish a sense of normalcy within the small, constantly monitored camp where they resided, the family devised methods for entertainment, education, cultivating food, and commemorating special occasions. Shanthi, whose name is a pseudonym, states that they had spent $5,000 (£3,900) in savings and relinquished all her gold jewellery to smugglers for an ambitious journey spanning over 12,000 km to Canada, alongside dozens of other Sri Lankan Tamils. They collectively asserted they were escaping persecution in Sri Lanka and India, some due to connections with the former Tamil Tiger rebels, who were defeated in the civil war that concluded in 2009. Their fishing vessel developed a leak in turbulent waters, leading to their rescue by the Royal Navy, who transported them in October 2021 to Diego Garcia, where they were placed in a fenced-off migrant camp. Shanthi recalls her son inquiring if they had reached Canada. For their initial six months on the island, her young children did not receive any formal schooling; consequently, Shanthi, a trained teacher, began providing English lessons to the children in the camp. “We started with the basics – the alphabet, nouns, verbs, present continuous,” she says. Shanthi’s husband subsequently constructed a writing desk from wooden pallets, enabling the children to complete homework inside their tent. The children soon expressed boredom during the evenings, prompting Shanthi – who had received training in Bharatanatyam, an Indian classical dance – to also start giving dance lessons, using music downloaded from her phone. Three years following the family’s initial arrival at the camp, they were finally transferred to the UK this week, in what the government characterized as a “one off” case undertaken for their welfare. “It’s like an open prison – we were not allowed to go outside, we were just living in a fence and in a tent,” Shanthi, aged in her early 30s, says in an interview on the outskirts of London. “Every day our life was the same.” It was akin to living “in a cage,” she adds. While guards observed and military jets occasionally flew overhead, Shanthi and the other Tamils presented a letter to British forces on the island, requesting to be sent to a safe country. This action marked the first instance of asylum claims being filed in the territory. This initiated a protracted legal dispute 6,000 miles away in the UK, and as that process unfolded, Shanthi and the others who remained there took proactive measures. Although the Tamils were prohibited from preparing their own meals, the camp contained numerous coconut trees, and Shanthi and others utilized the husks to line planters where they cultivated their own vegetables – chilli, garlic, and cucumber. “They would sometimes give us red chilis so we dried them in the sun and collected the seeds and then grew them. In the salad sometimes we’d get cucumber so we collected the seeds and kept them in the sunlight and after they dried they would grow,” she says. Daily, they prepared sambol – a popular Sri Lankan side dish – by mashing coconut and chilli. They found it difficult to consume the American food provided from the base and would add the vegetables to hot water with garlic and chilli in an attempt to create curries. Given restricted access to clothing, particularly for the 16 children in the camp, Shanthi and other women fashioned dresses from bed sheets. At Christmas time, they transformed paper napkins into flowers and cut moon and star shapes from food containers to adorn a tree. Interactions with the guards overseeing them were frequently strained, but during Diwali, Shanthi recounts that an “officer with a good heart brought us a biryani.” On another occasion, a guard provided a cake for her son, who had been anticipating his birthday. However, as time progressed, Shanthi states, feelings of hopelessness intensified. Life within the camp was an isolated existence – news of significant conflicts erupting in Ukraine and the Middle East filtered through from the guards monitoring the migrants, but they were kept separate from the base and preoccupied with their own lives. Entry to the island, which is part of the Chagos Archipelago, is severely restricted. It has officially been without a resident population since the early 1970s, when the UK evicted all inhabitants to facilitate the development of the strategic base. “From day one until we left, every day we were living with rats,” Shanthi says. “Sometimes the rats would bite our children – their legs, fingers and hands. They stole our food. At nights sometimes they would crawl over our blankets and our heads.” Additionally, giant coconut crabs and tropical fire ants would enter the camp. During storms, rainwater would seep through holes in the tents, which had previously been utilized for Covid patients during the pandemic. When United Nations investigators visited the camp late last year, the children expressed their dreams of having a picnic, riding a bicycle, or eating an ice cream. Earlier this year, a medical official described the camp as being in “complete crisis,” noting widespread self-harm and instances of attempted suicide. “My daughter was watching everything that happened. She’d say ‘mum they’ve cut themselves. Should I cut myself?’ So I’d say ‘no, no. You can’t do anything. I’ll protect you. Come and listen to some music, come and take some paper and just draw,'” she recalls through tears. Both she and her husband wept as they discussed the two occasions their daughter engaged in self-harm. “Both times I felt really bad and couldn’t process it. When she did this, she told me she did it because she hoped if she died her parents and her brother would go to a safe third country,” Shanthi says. The camp also saw cases and allegations of sexual assault and harassment perpetrated by other migrants, including against children. “Over three years we suffered so much. I don’t know how we survived,” Shanthi says. Throughout the Tamils’ stay on the island, British authorities acknowledged its unsuitability for them and stated they were seeking long-term solutions. The government affirmed that the group’s wellbeing and safety were the “top priority.” Shanthi states that the most joyful moment in the camp occurred recently when officials announced their transfer to the UK, where they would be granted the right to remain for six months. Shanthi says no one in the camp slept that night. Upon her arrival in the UK, Shanthi reports being struck by “the cold” – and it felt like emerging from a coma. She had forgotten how to download applications, send WhatsApp messages, or make payments in stores. Her children speak of commencing school, forming friendships, and riding a double-decker bus. Nevertheless, the family’s long-term prospects remain uncertain. They have now submitted asylum claims in the UK, hoping to stay. If these claims are unsuccessful, they will likely be repatriated to Sri Lanka. The UK agreed earlier this year to transfer the Chagos Islands to Mauritius in a significant development. Under the agreement, which is yet to be formally signed, Diego Garcia would continue to function as a UK-US military base, but Mauritius would assume responsibility for any future migrant arrivals. Shanthi brought a shell from Diego Garcia as a memento of her time there. She intends to place it on a chain and wear it around her neck one day. Additional reporting by Swaminathan Natarajan. Copyright 2024 BBC. All rights reserved. The BBC is not responsible for the content of external sites. Read about our approach to external linking.