Migration and asylum are sensitive topics in the Netherlands. The subject matter is complex, and nuance in the conversation is often lacking. The human dimension is lacking too. How important it is not just to express opinions, but also to listen to the people involved.

One such person is the young Somali woman sitting next to me at the table. She tells me about her life.

Female genital mutilation at 3. “Cleaning it up,” they called it. She survived.

At 7, her mother was taken from her home by a soldier. She found her a few  hours later outside, shot dead.

At 9, she was raped by someone in police uniform. “The first time,” she adds. She survived. The scars are still visible.

Bleeding severely, she was sent away from the hospital, because she didn’t belong to the right tribe. She survived.

At 13, she fled to Sudan. She was shot by border police. She lost her small brother that day. The bullet scar is still visible on her shoulder to this day.

The gunshot wound became infected, and she became ill. Other refugees took her with them on their journey to Libya. She survived.

In the warehouse where they all had to wait until the human trafficker, for a generous fee, arranged a crossing in a small boat, it was “really awful.” To this day, she can’t talk about it, but she gags when the memory threatens to surface.

At 16, she made the crossing across the Mediterranean Sea in an overcrowded boat.