©️ Written By Soph | Real Talk, Real Tea| Life Unscripted UK

Boris was three years old when he was brought to the UK. A toddler with his whole life ahead of him. He grew up here — went to school here, made friends here, lived through the ups and downs of a childhood rooted in Britain. To anyone who knew him, Boris was simply a boy from the UK.

But the system didn’t see it that way.

In his teens, like so many others failed by their surroundings and support systems, Boris made mistakes. He was caught up in crime. He served his time. But instead of being given the tools to rebuild, Boris was deported — sent “back” to a country that was no longer home.

Dropped in Colombia with nothing but a suitcase and a history he couldn’t shake, Boris found himself completely alone. He had no connections, no support, no familiarity with the culture or the streets. And like so many others dumped by deportation, the only route that seemed open was survival — and in Colombia, survival often comes with a heavy price.

He became involved in gang crime. More prison time followed. Eventually, Boris was transferred to Combita Prison — one of Colombia’s most notorious maximum-security facilities.

And then came 2020.

That year, Combita changed forever. Riots swept through Colombia’s prisons in response to worsening conditions and state neglect. Guards abandoned their posts. The system collapsed. Combita was left without officers, order, or oversight. Most people would imagine the place turning into pure chaos.

But what happened next will stick with me for life.

The prisoners — left with no one but each other — took over. They didn’t riot or burn the place down. They built structure. They kept peace. They organised themselves under a strict and disciplined code. They created community in a place where none was expected to survive.

Boris became part of that. He’s lived it, breathed it, helped maintain it. Over these past few years, he’s transformed. No longer the boy who made bad decisions or the man lost in a country he barely knew. He’s calm. Humbled. Reflective. Ready.

And now, for the first time in a long time, he has a chance to walk free.

At the end of this year, Boris is due for release. But in Colombia, freedom isn’t just handed over — it comes with a price. A big one.

50 million pesos. (approximately £10,000)

That’s the cost of release — the paperwork, the legal steps, the unwritten costs of freedom in a system that doesn’t make it easy.

Boris will walk out of that prison with no home. No job. No belongings. No help.

He needs to rebuild his life from the ground up.

He doesn’t want sympathy. He’s not begging. He’s just asking for a shot. A real one. To live honestly, quietly, and with dignity. To go from a number in a system to a human being again.

I’ve been in contact with Boris directly. His sister, who’s been helping raise funds from outside, is also supporting his return. They aren’t asking the world. Just enough to cover the cost of freedom, and hopefully a cushion to begin again with the basics: shelter, food, and safety.

This fundraiser isn’t just about Boris, either. I’m continuing to raise for the other prisoners still inside — those who have kept peace in a place abandoned by the state. These men have been self-governing for years, with zero medical access, limited food, no basic supplies like fridges, and no help from the outside world.

But we can be that help.

If you believe in second chances — in real justice, not just punishment — I’m asking you to be part of this. Whether it’s £5, £50, or just a share, it matters. Boris matters.

Donate here: https://gofund.me/b1e3f174

They forgot him.
But we won’t.