The fishing boat was cracking in three places and it was fast taking in water, the 26 immigrants on board using plastic bottles to scoop the water out.

Among them was 22-year-old Eskedar, five months pregnant and scared. "Water kept coming in and we did not know where we were. I did not know whether we would make it to land," she says, her eyes glazed as she stares ahead, remembering.

Finally, the immigrants made it ashore. "At last I was in a safe place."

It was August 2006 and Eskedar and her husband had been on the run for about a year, fleeing their homeland, Ethiopia, for Sudan before crossing the desert to Libya and finally arriving in Malta.

Sitting in the offices of the Jesuit Refugee Service, wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, her brown hair held back with a thin band, Eskedar, now 24, relates the journey, which came to an end in February 2007, when she and her family were resettled in Lithuania.

"We had just had an election in Ethiopia and the situation was no longer tolerable. Our life was in danger and we had no choice but to leave."

She still fears the repercussions of fleeing her country and would not have her surname or picture printed.

The couple fled for neighbouring Sudan, where they stayed for two weeks.

But life was not easy there, as conflicts erupted following the death of Vice President John Garang de Mabior. Again, they packed their belongings and left, this time for Libya, crossing the desert on what she described as a treacherous journey.

"The desert is scattered with skeletons, reminding you of those who did not make it. The tyres start melting because the sand is so hot and we had to get off the truck and walk. It felt as if there was fire under our feet and there was nowhere to seek shelter from the scorching sun.

"We kept being handed to other people and every few miles they stop the truck and ask for more money. And if you don't have it, they will just leave you in the middle of the desert, with nowhere to go. You have no choice but to pay again."

The only solace was that she was not alone. "I cannot imagine how many women have been raped while trying to flee their countries and how many of them suffer repercussions throughout their lives. At least, I was with my husband."

The group finally made it to Benghazi but Eskedar's troubles were not yet over and the 11 months she spent in the north African country were far from idyllic.

"The minute we arrived in Libya we were given Muslim names. I became Muna. It is hard to have to change your identity."

Yet, this was just the tip of the iceberg. She stares ahead as she remembers the first time she was arrested, thrown into a container and taken to a prison. The details are sketchy, as if the suffering was too much to remember and her system attempted to erase the memory.

She admits to have forgotten all about the containers used to transport immigrants to prisons around Libya, journeys that sometimes take days, until last week when Italian journalist Gabriele del Grande mentioned them during a seminar to mark World Refugee Day, celebrated last Saturday.

"I just started to shake and could not stop crying. I thought I had forgotten all about it," she says, her voice full of emotion.

She was thrown in a cell and could hear the other immigrants shouting and crying. "I was dying inside. Nobody knew where I was or that I had been arrested. I was all alone. "

The young woman was released, only to be arrested again a few months later.

"I knew then that we had to leave. I did not want my child to be born in Libya but somewhere safe. I needed to be in a country where I did not have to be ashamed to say who I am."

Three years on, the boat journey feels unreal. "Sometimes I find myself wondering whether it was real. I remember wading in the water up to my chest until we got into the boat. When we got to the open sea, it was rough even though it was August. It's amazing that we all made it."

The group landed in Malta and was taken to a detention centre, where Eskedar spent two months. Soon after she was released she gave birth to Hannah, she recalls, her voice softening as she speaks about her daughter.

Months later the family was taken to Lithuania where Eskedar has managed to pick up the pieces, going back to University to study finance, a course she had started in Ethiopia, fleeing just months before graduating.

Does she think about going back?

Of course, she says. "I am happy that I'm alive. But there is no place like home," she says.