Refugees’ dark times in land without light

Three days before Christmas, on the winter solstice, the 200 Afghans living in Sweden’s most remote and northerly asylum refuge celebrated their own midwinter festival.

Back home, “Yalda”, the longest night of the year, lasts 14 hours. At Riksgransen, a converted ski resort deep in Arctic Lapland, the sun did not rise at all.

“The last time we saw the sun was a month and a half ago,” complained Hakim Akbary, 31, who worked as a translator for international aid agencies before he fled Kabul.

“People are feeling depressed, they complain about it to the Migration Agency, saying they want to see the sun — at least sometimes.”

Sweden has had to find accommodation for nearly 170,000 asylum seekers this year, of the one million migrants to have entered Europe from Asia, the Middle East and North Africa.

It is roughly the same number of people who live in Uppsala, Sweden’s fourth largest city, and at 17 refugees per 1000 of population, far more than any other European country has taken.

The influx has meant a desperate hunt for rooms, and in October the Swedish Migration Agency struck a deal to house more than 600 refugees 200km above the Arctic Circle, in the world’s most northerly ski resort.

“We had an empty and cold and dark resort. It’s always closed at this time of year. It’s the polar night,” explained Sven Kuldkepp, chief executive of Lapland Resorts. “That’s why we had the opportunity to open for refugees.”

Maud Lantto, who heads the Migration Agency’s office in Kiruna, more than 130km away, admits she was worried. “At the beginning I thought it was madness. It’s too far away from the cities,” she said. “But those who work there, they have done a huge amount to make sure that the asylum seekers enjoy it.”

To help the Afghans celebrate Yalda, hotel staff encouraged them to buy watermelons — a fruit traditionally linked with the festival — at the small local supermarket in advance, to avoid supplies running out. They lit a fire outside and gave the refugees the use of the hotel disco, where they could play music, dance and try to stay up all night, as is traditional.

Akbary made a brief appearance before retiring to his room, where he could hear his compatriots shouting and charging around in the snow outside. “I was unhappy,” he said.

According to Marwan Arkawi, a 19-year-old Syrian, this is not unusual: the darkness and isolation gets to everyone. Even in this mild winter, the temperature is regularly -10C.

“Frankly, I am imprisoned, I cannot go anywhere,” he says. “It’s like Hotel California but without a sun, and really, really bad food. We are all biologically depressed.”

When the refugees first arrived in October, Kuldkepp gave all the children a sledge and hotel staff organised hikes to the nearby Norwegian border and across the frozen lake.

The refugees themselves made impressive efforts to make the most of their unusual temporary home.

Zaker Hossain Nabavi, a former trainer for the Afghan national boxing team, took over the gym and started to run boxing classes.

Kazim Balkhi, an English teacher, gave lessons and the authorities in Kiruna arranged for retired teachers to come to teach the children Swedish.

Residents took the bus to Kiruna to see what a Swedish city looked like and spend what little they had saved from the 24 Swedish kronor they receive each day in spending money.

It’s like Hotel California but without a sun, and really, really bad food. We are all biologically depressed. Marwan Arkawi

At the time, Arkawi told Swedish national radio how much he loved his new Arctic home. “It’s really amazing. I have a great view from my window. I can see the lake, I can see the mountains.”

But two months later, he is full of paranoia and distrust. He said arguments break out continually over trivial matters.

Akbary said that the last time he went out for a walk was 20 days ago. “We are not used to this cold weather.”

The only people who go outside for fun any more are the Afghan children, he added. “I think they’re built of iron or something.”

Despite the drawbacks, everyone at the hotel knows that their time in the Arctic will be limited.

The Migration Agency has agreed to vacate the rooms by February 14, so Lapland Resorts can prepare them for its usual customers, extreme skiers and snowboarders drawn by some of the world’s finest heli-skiing.

Kuldkepp maintains he has enjoyed catering for his unusual guests. “It is and was a fascinating project, a once in a lifetime experience for all of us. They have the fighting spirit. That’s why they came so far.”

Arkawi’s gratitude is more limited. “We are completely isolated from the rest of the world. But it’s better than bombs.”