Teenage asylum seekers separated from their families are facing a lonely Christmas in private hostels. The level of care such places can offer is also causing concern, writes Carl O'Brien

It was the empty streets which struck Rilwon most. Buses weren't running, shops were closed, and everyone seemed to be indoors. It was Christmas Day, but it wasn't what he was used to. At the hostel where he stayed with about 30 other young asylum seekers, the sense of gloom was inescapable. Festive films and cartoons flickered on the communal TV in the sitting room, but there were no decorations, presents or Christmas food.

"It can be hard to stop thinking about home," says 18-year-old Rilwon Jaiyeola, who travelled from Nigeria on his own to seek asylum here.

"During Christmas we would be cooking, cleaning, getting ready for a big party at home. It's all about spending it with your family. Everyone is in their best clothes. And in the evenings we would let off fireworks together. There wouldn't be any sleep!" he says, smiling.

His impression of Christmas here is different. In the hostel you can meet friends only in reception - they aren't allowed back to your room. If you want to spend the night with a friend, you must seek permission several days in advance. And with a weekly allowance of €19.10, buying presents is almost impossible.

"Even if you are invited to someone's house, you know you can't afford a present," he says. "So you make excuses. You can't even afford a card. You can only send a text message to people you care about to say, 'happy Christmas.' There's nothing else you can afford."

Hundreds of unaccompanied minors who arrive here without family or friends face a similar sense of loneliness and disconnection at Christmas, and throughout the year. For many, the decision to seek asylum here is not their own - it's decided by parents, other family members, or human traffickers.

While about half of those who arrive here are reunited with family members, the remainder - 174 in 2004, 225 in 2003 - end up on their own and in the care of health authorities. Unlike Irish children in care, most unaccompanied minors live in a largely adult world, dealing with an adversarial asylum system, and living in private hostels rather than residential children's homes.

While they're allocated to the care of a social worker and project worker, such State professionals are in short supply and confined to office hours. This leaves children and teenagers in the care of private hostel staff.

Sr Breege Keenan, who has been providing a drop-in service for separated children at the Vincentian Refugee Centre for the past nine years, says the poor care standards are a major cause for concern.

"These children aren't treated the same way as Irish children are treated," she says. "They should all be given a guardian or an adult to help them while they're here. On one level there are lots of people in their lives - social workers, psychologists, school teachers - but there is no one acting like a parent. These children are in their formative years - they are still teenagers. But to all intents and purposes, they are treated as adults. With the lack of supervision and the disappearance of children, I wonder sometimes will we look back on this childcare system in the same way as we look back on industrial schools now."

This lack of supervision has given rise to concern about the alarming number of children who have disappeared from care. At least 300 children have gone missing in the past five years.

Deficiencies in the care system are highlighted in a report published last week by the Irish Refugee Council. It makes a number of recommendations, such as extending social work services in Ireland to a 24-hour service; accommodation centres for separated children to be placed under the remit of the Social Services Inspectorate; and independent representation for separated children such as a guardian ad litem service.

Another issue of concern for campaigners is the status of "aged-out minors", teenagers who have turned 18 but are still waiting for a decision on their asylum application. The number of aged-out minors currently in direct provision in Ireland is approximately 150. There are others living independently, or outside the system.

Mary King, who established the Dún Laoghaire Refugee Project, is helping to spearhead a campaign for these young people to be given leave to remain. She says the strain on some teenagers who are often waiting years for a decision takes a major toll. One aged-out minor has presented to the Garda's National Immigration Bureau under threat of deportation on at least 40 occasions, she says. Another has been waiting almost seven years for a final decision on his case.

"This is not a large number of people. The Government is actively seeking additional workers to come to Ireland to make up the shortfall in available labour. These aged-out minors have been educated here, speak English, and are eager to work and make a lasting contribution to Irish society," says King.

Luckily, Rilwon is not one of them. Just over a week ago he received leave to remain in the State. It is a major burden off his shoulders and means he is likely to be able spend Christmas with friends this year. He is completing a business studies course and hopes to eventually establish a community-based enterprise.

"When you don't know what status you have, you have no direction. You have no sense of happiness," he says. "Now, I'm looking forward to a much better Christmas this year. I'm still not sure where I'll be spending it, but it will hopefully be with friends or relations."