You will pick them out among the arrivals by their height. They are the tallest among all migrants fleeing Libya. You will also notice that they are among the few arrivals accompanied by their women and children. These are the Somalis who had left their country in different phases. There are those who left Somalia after the fall of Siad Barre, some 20 years ago. Yet there are those who left quite recently in the middle of the current strife pitching the transitional government and the Al Shabab Islamic militias.

As I am writing, there are over 300 of them in the transit camp at Choucha and they keep arriving by the hour. They narrate horror stories, like Osman who had spent 10 years in Libya. His story reads like a Hollywood thriller. Fleeing from Siad Barre forces, he crossed into Kenya where he sought and was granted refugee status. He still keeps his refugee papers from the 80s issued by the UNHCR at Da’adab camp in eastern Kenya. He hopes these documents will help him re-establish his status. From the refugee camp in Kenya he worked his way to Libya through a mixture of in-camp trading, family support and odd jobs. He told me half of his family was abroad, in Canada, Europe and South Africa. He aspires to join them.

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"Going back to Somalia is a non-starter. None of us would even entertain the thought," he stressed. His flight from Tripoli was eventful. "When the violence started, soldiers came into our house at midnight and took me and others to a detention centre. We were not told of our crime. They only repeated the word Somali."

He said he suspected his colour was the only crime he had committed. "Libyans don’t like blacks like me. They treat us with contempt and often with hostility." He said he worked at a plastic factory and was rarely paid the full wages he was due. While in detention, he said he witnessed Somalis and Africans who were so emaciated that he did not think they would survive, even if they were freed. He narrated the horrors of beatings, abuse and killings. He said he was constantly called "Kashkash" which means "worthless."

"One night they threw four bodies of Nigerians into our cell," Osman said. "We stayed with them for the whole night until when they came to remove them in the morning."

He told me that surviving in the cell depended on how much money one had. "You get more food when you bribe." Osman was reluctant to tell me full details of his story because, he said, his friends were still in detention and he feared for their lives.

On the night of the flight, they were bundled into a room and were told to leave Libya. "Just as they detained us with no explanation, they released us without one." He said the soldiers put them into trucks and headed for the Libyan border with Tunisia. They did not allow them to go back to their homes to collect their things.

Osman said he crossed the border dressed in pyjamas. He pointed to the ratty T-shirt he was wearing. “I have just been given this one here,” he said.

He then asked me what will be their destiny; putting me on the spot. "You better settle first, get shelter, food, water and your health checked. We will then refer you to the UNHCR and they will take care of you."

That sums up the Somalis’ dilemma. Unlike migrant workers from Asia or sub-Saharan Africa who can return home safely, the Somalis and other vulnerable groups will continue to need special protection and a new home.

To help IOM to get Osman and others like him home safely, please click here.