April 4, ____.

For the past three weeks, I’ve been knocking on the door of every immigration solicitor in town.

I’d explain to the secretaries that I’d heard about the solicitors from other asylum seekers they’d represented -- I couldn’t call on the phone or write a letter because I was broke so I thought I’d call in person and ask if it would be possible for me to see a solicitor with regards to my asylum application.

One or two solicitors saw me on the same day. With most, I’d make an appointment to come back another day.

A lot of the solicitors said they were no longer taking on cases funded by legal aid. If they were going to represent me, I’d have to pay. I wasn’t working. I had no source of income. I couldn’t think of anyone who’d be willing to pay the legal fees on my behalf.

I’d explain my situation to those who still accepted legal aid. I’d ask if they could help me file an appeal. They’d ask a few questions, flick through my papers and tell me, “No. You’ve exhausted all your appeal rights. There’s nothing I can do. There’s really nothing anyone can do for you.”

But I kept on knocking on more doors and I made more appointments to see solicitors even though the response was almost always the same, “No… there’s nothing we can do.”