Scratching the Itch for Freedom by Mongolita

I was born in  Chile,  bred  in the UK, and retired to Spain. But to understand who I am today, you have to go back, all the way back to where the itch began.

In September 1973 Salvador Allende was overthrown by the Chilean military financed and  supported by the USA. Overnight our world collapsed.  Mum, my two sisters and I fled to Argentina leaving  our house, our  belongings, our relatives, and our friends  behind us, in search of our father who had crossed the Andes by foot to Argentina a few months before.  Dad was on the military's hit list for being an active supporter of Allende. He would've been killed if found, as was the fate of many.

My middle sister and I had no option but to live in the shadows moving from one safe house to another, while  mum contacted friends to borrow money for the train tickets to cross the border to Argentina. We were NOT living, we were hiding.

We settled in San Juan, Argentina for about a year or so. We were living in extreme poverty. Mum and dad didn't know what to do, certainly, they didn't want their daughters to continue living in those conditions. 

The universe was with mum   at the time.  She bumped into some Chileans who  informed her that in Buenos Aires was an ACNUR office (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees) offering political asylum to Chileans. 

And so we left San Juan behind, our journey as refugees began in Buenos Aires  and for the first time in a long time, there was something like, maybe, a chance, to finally scratch the itch for a life without fear. 

I met my first husband, who was also a refugee , a few weeks after we arrived in Buenos Aires. We married six months later, and our beautiful daughter, my best friend, was born the following year. 

The moment my sister and I got married we couldn't go to the same country my parents had applied for. And that's how our family split apart.

Mum, dad, and my younger sister were accepted to go to  Belgium. My middle sister flew to Canada with her new husband. And I, with my husband at the time, who had received a grant from  the World University Service (WUS) and with my eight-month-old daughter flew to the UK. 

He was a student and I was a young mother, missing my own mum tremendously.

In April 1977 we landed at Heathrow airport. As we stepped off the plane  I saw no Soldiers with guns checking people out. Then realisation hit me, an  intense feeling  of freedom and happiness overwhelmed me.

In March 1976 while we were still in Argentina we experienced a second  coup. The Argentine regime was as oppressive as the Chilean one. The refugee places were constantly raided and refugees were interrogated like criminals.

Worse still, we knew the Argentine military had a secret pact with the Chilean military to return people back  who were on the hit list.

I've never forgotten a young man, Carlos, who lived in one of the refugee places which were raided regularly. 

One day during a siege, Carlos stood up to the officer in charge and told him firmly that they were under U.N. protection and could not touch them,  that he would have to answer to the United Nations. Carlos held up the UN blue card.

The officer swore at him. He grabbed Carlos, turned him   around and pinned the blue card to his back. Then he told Carlos the card said nothing about the UN and therefore meant nothing and he took him away. We never knew what became of Carlos.

So, yes when the plane touched down in London, I was happy. I was  relieved to have left  the aggression, the abuse of power and  the unbearable uncertainty behind me and did not look back.

Life throws challenges at us along the way. Those challenges shape us, break us and  make us who we are.

After years of running, I finally got to stop - and I took a deep breath,  and I realised the itch had been scratched at last. 

Note: I wrote "The Story of a Refugee" back in January 2024. I revisited the story and adapted it to suit “Scratch the Itch” challenge phrase for July.

July 2026