What Christmas Feels Like for Thousands of Asylum Seekers in Hotels, You Won’t Believe It

For thousands of asylum seekers in the UK, Christmas is not a time of family gatherings or festive joy. Instead, many will spend the holiday in asylum hotels, places that offer shelter but little else. These hotels, often former commercial buildings, have been converted into mass accommodations, but for the people living there, they feel more like prisons than homes. 

 
Mohsen, an asylum seeker from Iran, is celebrating his first real Christmas this year. He arrived in the UK eight months ago after fleeing Iran because of his Christian faith, which he could not practice openly back home. In Iran, Christmas was a distant concept, something he only knew about from the internet. 

Now, in the UK, Mohsen has found comfort and community in a local church. He volunteers there, using his carpentry skills to build shelves for the food pantry. This has given him a sense of belonging and purpose. However, life in the asylum hotel is still tough. Mohsen says the hotel feels more like a prison, so he spends as much time outside as possible. Despite these challenges, he is grateful for the safety and food provided, even though it doesn’t feel like true freedom. 

More than 35,000 asylum seekers are currently living in UK hotels, far fewer than the 45,000 from last year. While these hotels provide basic necessities like food and shelter, they are far from ideal. Many asylum seekers complain about a lack of privacy, poor-quality food, and the isolation that comes with being unable to work or integrate into society. 

For most, Christmas is a reminder of what they have left behind—family, traditions, and a sense of normalcy. Even for those who don’t celebrate Christmas, the festive season highlights the distance between them and the communities they wish to join.


Fahad, an asylum seeker from K

uwait, spent last Christmas in fear of being deported to Rwanda under the government’s controversial policy. He lived with constant anxiety, along with others in his hotel, until the policy was scrapped by the new government. 

Now, Fahad lives with a host family through a program called Refugees at Home. Seeing Christmas decorations in his new neighborhood fills him with hope for the future. Fahad dreams of completing his education and starting a business. One day, he says, he hopes to afford a big Christmas tree to celebrate the new life he is building.

 
Ali, a refugee from Sudan, looks back at last Christmas as a rare bright moment. While waiting for his asylum application to be processed, he and his friends from Yemen and Sudan decided to celebrate in their own way. They cooked a simple meal of chicken and rice, walked around to see Christmas lights, and watched fireworks. 

Now, Ali has refugee status and hopes to reunite with his family soon. He speaks to them every day and is waiting for a legal advisor to help him bring them to the UK. For Ali, being with family again would be the greatest gift.

For many asylum seekers, Christmas is a time of mixed emotions. On the one hand, they are grateful for the safety they have found in the UK. On the other, they struggle with feelings of isolation and the longing for a normal life. 

Mohsen says that, if he were allowed to work, he would buy Christmas presents for the people who have helped him. “I have dreams,” he says, “and it’s because of these people who have supported me.” 

While life in asylum hotels is far from ideal, the stories of Mohsen, Fahad, and Ali show the resilience and hope of people seeking a better future. Christmas may not be traditional for them, but it is a time to reflect on what they have overcome and the possibilities that lie ahead. 

For asylum seekers, this season is not just about survival; it is about finding small moments of connection and hope in the midst of hardship.