‘It was so terrifying’: care workers tell of being trapped at home by Belfast mob
It was so terrifying – On Tuesday evening, a violent uprising in north Belfast left two Ugandan care workers, Sumayah Nakazibwe and Stella Ariokot, stranded in their home for over four hours. As flames spread across the neighborhood, smoke seeped into their living room, and the threat of being attacked by a mob of masked youths loomed large. The women described the ordeal as one of extreme fear, with emergency services advising them to remain inside until the danger subsided.
Trapped in a burning neighborhood
The chaos began with a group of young people, aged between nine and twenty, marching through the streets in black attire and face coverings. Nakazibwe recalled watching them destroy a bus by setting its tires ablaze. “They started with the bins, then moved on to cars,” she said. Initially, the women believed the violence might ease, but when the mob targeted their street—home to both Romanian and Nigerian families—the situation escalated rapidly.
“It was so, so, so terrifying,” Nakazibwe said, as she and Ariokot observed flames creeping toward their homes. “When the smoke started coming directly into our house, we realized we couldn’t stay put.”
The fire brigade took nearly half an hour to arrive, overwhelmed by the scale of the flames. Emergency responders urged the women to don their care worker uniforms, hoping the attire might calm any aggressors who entered the house. “Someone rioting doesn’t know the person they’re attacking is my mother’s caregiver,” Ariokot explained, highlighting the personal stakes of the conflict.
Pastor’s intervention saves the day
It was only after their church pastor, Jack McKee, arrived on the scene that the women were able to leave. McKee, from New Life City Church, had initially hesitated to join the fray but acted swiftly when he learned of their plight. “When I got there, it was like a battlefield,” he described. “Four fire engines, police in riot gear, and a crowd of masked men with bricks in hand. The ambulance had to park far away because the road was too congested.”
“They gave me those 10 minutes,” McKee said. “Some of them even dropped their bricks and let me get the women into my car.”
The pastor’s calm presence helped de-escalate the situation, allowing the care workers to escape as the flames consumed nearby properties. Nakazibwe later reflected on the trauma of the night, saying the experience had shattered her sense of security. “I left my mother back home, and I was so scared I nearly collapsed,” she said, adding that the attack left her questioning her safety in the city.
Targeted families and lingering fear
Residents of the area reported that the Romanian family living on the street off the Shankill Road had been attacked twice before. “They wouldn’t go, so last night was the final straw,” one neighbor said. The family’s home was pelted with bricks, and fireworks were thrust through their letterbox, forcing them to flee in a hurry. A man in a balaclava broke down their door, and despite being told to evacuate twice, the family stayed put until the mob’s aggression reached its peak.
“They were put out twice, but they didn’t move,” the neighbor explained. “Now it’s not our problem anymore—those people are gone.”
The house next door, where a black family resided, also suffered damage. Though the details of their experience were not fully recounted, the destruction left visible scars on the neighborhood. The incident underscored the growing tensions in Belfast, where diverse communities coexist but are now facing threats from the mob’s violence. Nakazibwe emphasized that the rioters did not represent the entire population. “The people who are actually rioting don’t represent the whole community,” she said. “Just as the immigrant who started this doesn’t represent all of us.”
Despite the support from the pastor, the women admitted they would not feel safe returning to their neighborhood anytime soon. “I wouldn’t go out for safety,” Nakazibwe said. “It’s not safe anymore.” She described Belfast as a place that had once felt peaceful, now transformed by the night’s events. “It really changed my mind. I felt like I was giving up, like maybe it’s time to go home,” she added, expressing the deep impact of the ordeal.
The incident has sparked discussions about the role of different ethnic groups in the city’s social fabric. Neighbors who witnessed the violence expressed mixed emotions, acknowledging the fear the mob instilled but also the resilience of families who refused to flee. “It’s not just about the riots,” one resident noted. “It’s about how people feel in their own homes.”
As the city rebuilds from the night’s chaos, the care workers and their families remain shaken. The event has highlighted the vulnerability of individuals in the face of collective unrest, with Nakazibwe and Ariokot now advocating for greater safety measures. “We were just doing our job, taking care of people,” Nakazibwe said. “But the mob saw us as targets.” The stories of those affected serve as a reminder of the human cost of escalating tensions in Belfast, even as the city continues to navigate its complex history and present challenges.
Community impact and ongoing concerns
The aftermath of the riots has left lasting impressions on the residents of the area. Many expressed frustration at the lack of immediate response from emergency services, citing delays that heightened their fear. “The police and fire brigade were busy with other fires, so we were left on our own,” one neighbor said. This sense of helplessness has deepened the divide, with some families now questioning their place in the city.
Nakazibwe and Ariokot, who spent the night with McKee and his family, described the trauma as overwhelming. “We were in a state of shock, barely able to speak,” Nakazibwe said. The pastor’s home became a temporary refuge, offering a brief respite from the chaos. Yet, the experience of being trapped in their own home remains etched in their memories, symbolizing the broader anxiety felt by the community.
As the city moves forward, the incident has prompted calls for unity. “There are good people everywhere,” Nakazibwe stressed. “But the mob’s actions have made us rethink our safety.” Her words resonate with many in Belfast, where the line between protector and aggressor has blurred. The event is a stark reminder of the fragility of peace in a place that has long been shaped by conflict and coexistence.
With the streets still smoldering, the care workers and their families await the full aftermath of the riots. While the immediate danger has passed, the psychological toll lingers. “We’ll never look at the streets the same way again,” Ariokot said. For now, the focus remains on recovery, but the memory of being trapped in their home by a Belfast mob will be a defining moment in their lives—and in the city’s history.
