Etikett: Vänersborg

Yesterday we walked in Skräcklanparken in Vänersborg. Out on the water, geese had already begun to gather, ready to follow the colder winds. Autumn is on its way—you can feel it.

Läs det här på svenska ->Skräckleparken ensamkommande och samtal.

As I walked there, I remembered every step I once took in that same park together with the unaccompanied young people I worked with ten years ago. Boys who walked there to ease anxiety and the aching longing for mothers far away.

The light on the unit – an oasis of life and togetherness

My memory drifted back into the house where we worked.
It was nothing extravagant: an old ward that had once been a nursing home, transformed into an oasis of life, hope, and, at times, anxiety. The light inside was special. Not bright, but warm, as if the walls themselves were saying: There is room for you here.

Every time I arrived at work there was a sense of quiet joy. Most of us truly wanted to be there. We saw the young people, cared for each other, and cared for the ward itself. We wanted the kids to thrive.

The scents were small journeys to distant countries. Spices from faraway kitchens mingled with the smell of freshly scrubbed rooms. The boys cleaned meticulously—removing everything, washing both ceiling and walls. They really knew how to clean.

There was a tangible sense of community. The boys were happy when we came. They wanted us staff to feel at home—perhaps because they sensed that we wanted the same for them.

Those who waited

That time was filled with waiting. Every day they carried the question: Will I be allowed to stay, or will I be deported?
One of them I still meet now and then when I shop. He works in the store, always with a smile and a hug, as if time has stood still. He speaks perfect Swedish and works hard—sometimes at two jobs. That drive was there from the very beginning.

All the hours we shared

So many hours remain vivid.
Evenings in conversation rooms or in the boys’ own rooms, sitting with homework, looking up words, pausing fairy-tale films to explain meanings. Meetings with legal guardians—not all as “good” as the title suggests—where I still tried to make each encounter safe.

I remember evenings folding Christmas ornaments while talking about anxiety. I taught small anxiety-reducing exercises: placing palms together to feel energy, breathing slowly. Sometimes they looked at me curiously; sometimes they later said, That helped.

And the food! Often they cooked and proudly asked us to taste their omelets simmered with tomatoes, onions, and spices from far-off kitchens. It was more than food—it was conversation and homesickness you could taste.

The boy who was angry

One boy stands out in my memory. He was often angry, said hurtful things, sometimes downright unpleasant.
Yet when I cooked rice porridge he stood there evening after evening. He wanted the porridge—but just as much the conversation. We talked about everything and nothing: my family, what I did in my free time, and about his own anger.

He told me he carried so much anger. He knew it wasn’t right but said he needed someone who could endure it. I was his chosen one. When he got angry I would say: I don’t think you mean what you’re saying right now. You’re angry at something else, but you give it to me. Often, he would pause.

When politics becomes everyday life

I can’t help but hear today’s political words echoing in the background.
Jimmie Åkesson has called multiculturalism an “assault” and a “nightmare.” Ebba Busch has said she doesn’t fully share that view, yet speaks of compromise and making Sweden “home” for those who arrive.

For the young people I met, this wasn’t a distant TV debate. These were words that slipped into their bodies and created worry. They lived between the hard words of politics and the soft feelings of daily life.

Insect hotel in Skräcklanparken

On the way out of the park I stopped at a large insect hotel—carefully built to give small creatures shelter and warmth.
It struck me how we build homes for insects, yet often close the door to people in need.

Between the lines – my voice

When I think of that boy by the stove, I hear the echo of politics. Åkesson’s words about multiculturalism, Busch’s talk of pragmatism. Those words can cast a shadow over a young person’s soul.

But I also saw something else: how an ordinary conversation can become quiet resistance. A small proof that hard words do not have the final say. I stayed. Perhaps that was the most important thing I did.

AHA – when memories and words meet

These boys carried two realities at once:

• One that politicians described with harsh words.
• One they built themselves through language, work, laughter, and dreams.

When the boy said he needed someone who could stand his anger, I believe he meant: someone who can hold me when I am broken—when political words are not enough.

This is where politics meets psychology—in the invisible cracks where words turn into feelings.

How this AHA fits together

• The political level: When Åkesson calls multiculturalism an “assault,” it is more than an opinion. It becomes a reality these youths must live in.
• The everyday level: They waited, learned Swedish, worked. They lived the pragmatism that politicians only talk about.
• The psychological level: The boy’s anger was a cry for safety. By staying, I turned the kitchen and our conversation rooms into small spaces of therapy.

My AHA is this: words from the podium drip down into people’s everyday lives. They shape nights, dreams, and hearts. And in the meeting between hard words and simple conversations, healing can begin.

Reflection

Skräcklanparken became a place where memories and the present met. The geese flew on, but their traces remained—a reminder that
what we say about each other shapes the lives we all share.

To stay—whether in a conversation room, by a pot of porridge, or by the lakeshore—may be the most important action of all.

Yesterday has already settled into history; tomorrow waits further ahead. But right now—this is where life happens. – Carina Ikonen Nilsson

Further reading

Here is a post I wrote back then: Realizing it almost didn’t matter that I went to Järntorget to show my support.

For those who want to know more about the situation for unaccompanied minors today:
– Swedish Migration Agency – Unaccompanied minors
– Kunskapsguiden – About unaccompanied children and youth