One asylum case
This story was published by Ms. Mayhem in July 2020 but was temporarily removed from the website after Lecira’s family received threats from relatives in Nigeria.
Lecira TonnuBari felt like she had escaped.
Studying at Marvin Buckels Library at Red Rocks Community College one fall day in 2017, her life finally seemed in order. The 17-year-old Nigerian immigrant was taking a full load of classes and holding down a part-time job at the school’s audio-visual department to help her family make ends meet.
Lecira’s four-person family was living in a two-bedroom apartment in Lakewood. Most importantly, her father was back home, 7,000 miles away in Nigeria.
Just two months earlier, in September 2017, Lecira, her mother Dornu, and her younger brothers Christopher and Joel, all applied for asylum in the United States.
Lecira leafed through her statistics textbook but was distracted. She’d just spent $50 on a manicure. The gold polish and bright sparkles caught her attention with every turn of a page. Yes, the manicure nearly emptied her bank account, but the small treat seemed worth it. Each flash of those nails looked like freedom to her.
A blocked number popped up on her phone. Lecira was sure it was her father, Uweh TonnuBari.
Uweh spent the better part of the fall harassing Dornu. He’d call her at night just to keep her awake, and threaten to stop paying his children's school tuition.
Without Uweh’s money, Lecira, her mother and her brothers would be forced to go back to Nigeria. Lecira set down the book, took a breath and collected herself.
“I am here,” Uweh said through the phone. “I need the key from the apartment.”
All their legal documents were in the apartment. If he got the key, Lecira was certain he’d steal the family’s passports.
“I have to get to class,” Lecira lied. She hung up, hurried to a library bathroom and called her mother.
She shook as she explained the call to her mother. “Don’t give him the key,” her mother said.
Lecira slouched on the bathroom floor, wiping tears from her eyes. She was late for work. She began peeling off the gold polish on her nails.
Life under “this man”
Lecira calls her father “this man,” a succinct representation of her feelings toward him. He was wealthy due to his work for a petroleum company in Nigeria. At first, he was a loving husband, helping Dornu and her family. Shortly after Lecira was born, she said he started beating her mother.
In 2007, when Lecira was eight, she watched her father hit her mother. Dornu bled from one eye and from her head. Over time, it became a tool to dominate his children.
“In African culture, you beat your wife, you beat your kids, which is normal,” Lecira said. “It was like a prison.”
People with money and connections had enough sway to make the police look the other way.
“When I turned 15, he started coming after me. He would hit me in places that he was not supposed to,” she said while motioning to the area around her chest and pelvis.
He beat her while she was on the floor, she said. He’d beat her with a wooden cane until it shattered. Eventually, Lecira became sure of one thing: If they didn’t get away from him, someone would die.
In 2015, Uweh spontaneously decided to send Lecira, her brothers and mother to the United States. He bought his family tickets to Denver, a moment that Lecira remembers as a miracle, She and her brothers would get an education. She and her mother would find jobs. At 15 years old it would be her first time traveling outside of her country.
A Fresh Start
Colorado felt like a fresh start, and Lecira threw herself into her new life. Her mother rented an apartment, her brothers enrolled in middle school and Lecira applied for college.
“I felt like I could be myself,” Lecira said.
In Nigeria, she could never wear what she wanted. Her father called her a slut if she wore tight jeans or got a new hairstyle. He would go as far as choosing her underwear.
In Colorado, she made friends in college. She could get a job and wear what she wanted. She danced with her mother at home.
A few months after arriving in Colorado, Lecira was worried about her mother’s eye, which required a new glasses prescription every six months. The two visited the Denver Rescue Mission in search of free medical services.
Dornu, then 47 years old, was working three jobs. But it still wasn’t enough.
“She wants to protect us so much that she's breaking herself too, and she doesn't sleep. She's never home,” Lecira said.
A doctor examining Dornu’s right eye was horrified by the damage she saw. The doctor asked what happened and Dornu cried while telling her story. The doctor gave her the phone number of a friend, Diene Wall, a therapist who works with abused women.
A few weeks later, Dornu was in Wall’s office. Wall has worked with abuse victims for the past decade and expected Dornu’s case to be like all the others.
“As she started telling me her story, I saw how severe the abuse was. During that very first session, I switched from more of a therapist role to a friend,” Wall said. “I truly believe that from what Dorna told me, her husband would have her killed. Going back [to Nigeria] was not an option for her.”
A Search for Sanctuary
Wall found lawyers at the University of Colorado Law School who would take the family’s asylum case pro-bono.
Over the phone, the mother told them her story and showed them evidence of physical abuse, threatening emails and text messages. Even with hard evidence, asylum can be a long, demoralizing process. There was no guarantee of a positive outcome.
Her case was filed with the Department of Homeland Security in September 2017. The next step was an official interview. The wait for one can take between six months and several years.
“I don't know where else to go. I don't want to go back home,” Dornu said. “He's going to kill me, that's one thing for sure that I know.”
Three years later the family is still waiting for an interview.
The family’s lawyer, Catharine Davies, isn’t sure whether the request for asylum will be granted.
“More and more people are applying for asylum each year,” she said.
A new administration, a new asylum
Since 2018, President Donald Trump and his administration have gone to great lengths to curb immigration, both legal and illegal, into the United States. Three years into his presidency, the asylum program in the U.S. became almost unrecognizable.
Historically, individuals have the right to pursue asylum in the U.S. if they have a “credible fear” of persecution in their home countries due to their race, religion, nationality, political opinions or membership in a “particular social group,” such as a tribe or ethnic group. Once they are granted asylum, they can obtain social services through refugee resettlement agencies and apply for a green card one year later.
Many of the policies put into place have been directed at asylees coming north through the Mexican border. But some policies have had a major impact on all people seeking asylum in the country.
In early 2018, U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services adopted a new system, referred to as “last in, first out.” Under the new structure, asylum applications received after the policy change are processed before those submitted before 2018. Because the TonnuBari family applied for asylum in 2017, one year before the change, years could be added to the time they wait to get an interview.
The Trump administration has also attempted to restrict who qualifies for asylum. In June 2018, then-Attorney General Jeff Sessions overturned asylum protection for victims of domestic and gang violence. The decision set a high bar for victims of violence to qualify for asylum, stating that asylees must show that their home country was unable or unwilling to assist them and that "the government condoned the private actions."
Just weeks ago, the administration expanded these asylum restrictions . The new standards to define persecution would reinforce Sessions’ 2018 decision and categorically deny claims made by victims of gender-based violence, including domestic abuse.
Ndeye Ndao, a coordinator at the Asylee Outreach Project in Denver, said new changes to the refugee and asylum process dramatically extended waiting time, while drastically decreasing acceptance of refugee and asylum applications.
Ndao said since the Trump administration’s decision, people are forced to wait abroad in refugee camps while others, like Lecira and her family, are kept in limbo.
For Lecira, the uneasiness surrounding her family’s application brings daily anxiety.
“I want to be free from my dad,” she said. “I want to be able to map out a life for myself and want to be able to work and be a useful citizen in this country.”
If Lecira is granted asylum, she could apply for loans and scholarships. She could move forward with her life.
A life in waiting
Lecira’s living room had just one small light, under which her brother Christofer rested. Lecira and Dornu sat in the adjoining kitchen eating a bowl of grapes.
“I wished there was a way out,” Dornu said. “There has to be a direction away from trauma. I don’t want to lose my life because of one man, and I don’t want to be sent back.”
When the family came to Denver, Dornu felt her relationship with her children start to slip away. Her son became distant, angry at her for remaining in Colorado even after it became obvious they couldn’t afford to stay.
After being thwarted by Lecira over the phone, Uweh had returned to Nigeria, refusing to send the family money. Without funds for the fall semester Lucira’s student visa was denied.
“I thought that I would snap and kill myself. I was honestly scared to go to bed at night because I would be having nightmares,” Lecira said.
Her relationship with her mother was strained. Lecira hated that she couldn’t study.
“She changed a little bit,” Dornu says, “I was afraid I am going to lose her because she was angry with me.”
Lecira now works mornings at a cleaning company and nights at a home for people with Alzheimer’s disease.
Although both women work multiple jobs, money has been tight in recent months. In November 2019, Dornu was sick for two days and lost 24 hours of work.
“I have like $1,300 right now and I need almost $400 to complete my rent. I don't know where it's gonna come from,” Dornu said.
The family was eventually forced to take out a payday loan in order to avoid eviction.
Despite their uncertainties, each family member carries a respective dream. Christopher dreams about becoming a pilot and Joel wants to be a football player. Dornu wants to find true love and get married. Lecira wants to become a doctor.
When asked what would happen if her family received asylum Lecira said, “I have so many dreams that I see right now that I can only fulfill in this country. So, I'm looking to this country to give me that chance.”
