When I think about my time working on the Bibby Stockholm, I always come back to the people and the small, powerful moments that showed just how much courage they carried with them.

The Bibby Stockholm was an accommodation vessel for up to 500 single men seeking asylum, docked at Portland Port on the Dorset coast. It was often surrounded by tension and media attention, but my job was to be that connection between the residents and the community.

And connection is what mattered most.

Working against division

From the outset, the environment was challenging. There were a lot of community tensions even before the Bibby arrived, with a legal challenge progressing and groups across the political spectrum opposing it for different reasons. The barge itself was also isolated from the local area. Those staying on it couldn’t just walk off the boat and meet the people living around them, they had to get a shuttle bus to reach nearby towns.

A big part of my role was creating opportunities for people to feel comfortable going out, meeting others, and being part of their local community. From English classes to football, we organised activities to provide joy, relief and practical skills, but it was often the shared experiences that made the biggest difference.

Courage on the water

One moment has stayed with me more than any other.

We worked with Weymouth and Portland Adventure (WPA), a local outdoor activity provider who were willing to support our clients at a time when many organisations were hesitant. One day, during a kayaking session, I noticed a man sitting on the side.

When I asked if he wanted to join, he told me, “I can’t swim. I’m afraid of the water.”

That fear wasn’t unusual. Many of the men had experienced traumatic journeys, often involving water. Living on the barge could bring those memories back.

As the session continued, others were laughing, jumping off their kayaks, enjoying themselves. After watching for a while, he suddenly stood up, walked to the edge, and jumped in.

I remember him just floating around in the shallow area, smiling and laughing. The instructor and I were stunned. We kept looking at each other, clearly both thinking, “What just happened? That’s amazing!” It was such a simple moment, but it meant everything.

Then all the guys got out of the water and stood together on the same spot. As one, they jumped in again, together, laughing and joking around.

It really shows that we were able to create that safe space for someone to overcome fear, with the support of the local community and his new friends.

Given what many of these men had been through, that moment of trust and courage was huge.

Creating spaces to belong

This was not an isolated incident. I often saw people find somewhere they belonged.

There was a man who was an incredible chess player. When we discovered he wanted to organise a tournament, I connected him with a local chess group in Weymouth. Soon, a few of the guys were going regularly.

It became a place where they could just be themselves, without barriers. And it made the local chess group stronger too. The group were saying: “we haven’t had anyone this good in a while”.

Another person, who had been quite withdrawn and needed welfare checks, eventually shared that he could play guitar. We found him an instrument, and when an opportunity came up to perform at a local festival, I hesitated before asking him.

But his response was immediate: “absolutely, yeah, ready to go”.

It was incredible to know that he was able to reconnect with music in such a tangible way. We also supported a cycling gold medallist to train with a local cycling group. Even though he was far more advanced than them, he just wanted to ride, to get back to something that mattered to him. That connection had a real impact on his wellbeing.

Why connection matters

So many of those staying on the barge wanted to contribute to the community, to show they weren’t what people expected. It was a simple and powerful act, linking them with the right people to make a real difference in each other’s lives.

When those connections happened, you could see the shift. People gained confidence. They felt included.

Even after the Bibby closed, those moments stayed with me. I once ran into a former client at a library, completely by chance. “I’m sure I recognise you,” I said. And he recognised me too. Seeing him settled, using local services, living his life, was a reminder of why this work matters.

Because in a place defined by uncertainty and isolation, what stands out most are those moments of courage – and the connections that help make them possible.