SAFEENA/THE BOAT- Reflections from a Wellbeing Session at EYST Wales.

We often see refugees as numbers.

A headline flashes across the screen: “Boat carrying migrants rescued in the Mediterranean.” Another says: “Dozens missing after vessel sinks near Italy.” For a moment, the world pauses. Then the news cycle moves on.

But behind every number is a human being who once made an impossible decision.

Imagine crouching inside the freezer compartment of a fishing boat.

It is dark. Freezing cold. The smell of salt, diesel, and dead fish fills the air. You are packed tightly beside strangers who are just as terrified as you are. There is barely room to breathe. No food. Almost no water. Days pass without knowing where you are in the open sea.

You cannot call home.

You do not know whether your family is alive. You do not know if you will ever see them again.

You stare into the possibility of death for hours, sometimes days, while waves slam against thin metal walls. Every sound feels dangerous. Every silence feels worse.

Now ask yourself this:

What kind of life must someone be escaping for this to feel like hope?

Human beings are wired to survive. We avoid danger instinctively. Most people would never willingly board overcrowded boats, trust smugglers, walk through forests for days without food, or risk drowning in the middle of the sea.

Yet millions do.

Not because they are reckless. Not because they are chasing luxury. But because staying behind often feels even more deadly.

For many refugees, home no longer means safety. It may mean war, persecution, starvation, forced recruitment, political violence, gangs, torture, or the constant fear of disappearing without explanation. Sometimes it means watching your future collapse piece by piece until survival itself becomes uncertain.

And so, people leave.

They cross deserts. They hide in trucks. They sleep in forests. They drift through borders and coastlines carrying nothing but fear and fragile hope.

Some never make it.

A boat sinks near the coast of Italy. Forty people aboard. Only three survive.

Think about what it means to survive something like that.

To hear screams, disappear into black water. To remember faces that never returned to shore. To reach safety carrying memories heavier than anything left behind. Survival is not always relief. Sometimes survival becomes its own lifelong burden. 

Many refugees live with PTSD long after reaching safety. Loud noises trigger panic. Water becomes terrifying. Sleep is interrupted by nightmares. Guilt follows them for surviving when others did not.

Yet even in these journeys filled with fear, death, hunger, and loss, moments of humanity still appear.

A stranger shares bread with someone they cannot speak to. A volunteer offers dry clothes after a rescue. New languages are learned in crowded shelters. Friendships form between people from opposite sides of the world. Some refugees see mountains, oceans, and cities they never imagined they would witness in their lifetime.

Even in suffering, people continue searching for beauty.

That may be the most powerful part of the refugee experience. Human beings somehow continue hoping even when everything around them tells them not to.

So, was it worth it?

There is no universal answer.

Some refugees eventually build stable lives. They study, work, raise children in peace, and slowly rebuild themselves from the ruins of survival. Others spend years carrying invisible scars that never fully heal. Some remain trapped between worlds — unable to return home, yet never fully accepted where they arrive.

But many still say they would take the journey again.

Not because the journey was humane. Not because the suffering was acceptable.

But because the alternative was worse.

And perhaps that is the hardest truth to confront:

If risking death at sea feels like the better option, then home must have already become unbearable.