'Go to the UK, they don't deport anyone': Inside the 'travel agency' for illegal migrants in Iraqi Kurdistan fuelling Britain's small boats crisis: DAVID PATRIKARAKOS

By DAVID PATRIKARAKOS, SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT Published: 00:59, 16 July 2026 | Updated: 00:59, 16 July 2026 The people-smuggler talks about Britain like a travel agent peddling a package holiday. ‘If you want to work, earn good money and have a good life, you need to go to the UK,’ he tells the Daily Mail. ‘They don’t deport anyone.’ Dlovan runs his ‘travel agency’ inside a mall in central Erbil, Iraqi Kurdistan. But there are no holiday brochures, computer terminals or signs of a legitimate business in Dlovan’s agency. Instead, he sits behind a large desk littered with used coffee cups and an overflowing ashtray, chain-smoking expensive cigarettes and smelling strongly of aftershave. Business, it seems, is good. Pointing to his decade of experience in the ‘trade’, Dlovan offers a ‘guaranteed’ route to Britain. This involves travelling through Turkey into mainland Europe, usually Greece, before flying to a small airport on one of the Greek islands – where officials don’t generally bother to check if passengers have the correct visa for Schengen (the zone where European countries have abolished internal border controls). It’s then an easy flight to France, Italy or elsewhere in Western Europe, and finally on to Britain. For wealthier clients, Dlovan provides fraudulent documents to obtain Schengen visas at a cost of $25,000. For the less wealthy he offers something else. A ‘door to door’ route from Erbil to London, for which he charges $18,000. If caught, he insists, there is little to fear. ‘They won’t arrest you [in Britain]. They’ll take you to the camp and in three days you’ll be out again,’ he tells the Daily Mail. He even advises how best to claim asylum in Britain. ‘Don’t try political reasons or stories about [the terror group] ISIS. They don’t care anymore,’ he says. ‘Tell them your girlfriend died in an honour killing and you fear you are next. This always works.’ A smuggler stands among migrants boarding a dinghy in France before they attempt to cross the Channel illegally to Britain  Yet Dlovan is only one cog in a vast international enterprise based here in Kurdistan that is fuelling Britain’s illegal migration crisis. Home Office figures show that 41,472 migrants crossed the English Channel in small boats in 2025, the second-highest annual total on record and 13 per cent more than the previous year. Since the crisis began in 2018, more than 200,000 migrants have reached Britain this way. Recently, 1,000 crossed in a single day and 128 migrants arrived in a single boat. And it is in Iraqi Kurdistan that the majority of their hazardous journeys are organised. Some 70 miles to the east of Erbil sits Ranya, a small city of around 135,000 inhabitants (in the metropolitan area). If Kurdistan is the beating heart of the migrant trade, Ranya is its nerve centre. European investigators insist it is one of the key locations, producing many of the recruiters and organisers behind an industry that operates with the efficiency of a multinational logistics company and that generates at least £130 million a year on the UK route alone. The industry has its roots in Kurdistan’s decades of conflict and migration. As successive waves of Kurds fled a toxic combination of Saddam Hussein’s brutality and economic hardship, smugglers spent decades building routes, contacts and safe houses into Europe. Their success proved self-reinforcing: Customers sought out Ranya’s smugglers because of their reputation, while new recruits learned from those in the trade. Business now stretches from Afghanistan to the beaches of northern France. And it has expanded across Kurdistan, too. From Erbil to Zakho – a city about 180 miles north west from Ranya – brokers, fixers and recruiters feed migrants into the same vast and sprawling enterprise. A BBC investigation identified an alleged Kurdish kingpin living in Leicester: Kardo Jaf, better known as ‘Kardo Ranya’ While many of the organisers remain Kurdish, their customers come from across the Middle East, Asia and increasingly Africa. An Afghan may begin his journey in Kabul, a Syrian in Damascus and an Egyptian in Cairo. But by the time many reach Turkey or Greece they have entered a Kurdish-run network that almost invariably specialises in the last, most lucrative leg: The journey to Britain. The final stage plays out in northern France, where Kurdish networks dominate much of the small-boat trade. Around Dunkirk and Calais, rival Kurdish groups have carved up beaches, safe houses and launch sites according to the towns and districts from which they originate in Iraqi Kurdistan. In effect, the geography of the Channel coast now mirrors that of Kurdistan itself. Only weeks ago, a BBC investigation identified an alleged Kurdish kingpin living in Leicester: Kardo Jaf, better known as ‘Kardo Ranya’ – he’s named after his hometown – who investigators believe has organised thousands of Channel crossings through the so-called ‘Ranya Boys’ network. He said he could arrange illegal journeys to the UK on ‘trucks or plane or boats’. ‘We’ve got so many different ways to get to the UK. Whichever way you prefer, we get you to the UK,’ he told a BBC undercover reporter posing as a migrant wanting to get his family of four to the UK. The truth is that Britain’s border no longer begins at Dover, but in the shopping malls of Iraqi Kurdistan. The road to Ranya cuts through golden farmland. The town lies at an altitude of about 1,300 metres, at the foot of the Hawraman mountains, which appear on the horizon as we approach. An advertisement in Farsi that reads 'guaranteed service to the UK' and 'Come to Britain, there's a hotel waiting for you' We wind through the streets until we arrive at the house of Zanan Hamad, who runs an NGO to battle the scourge of Kurdish people smuggling. His brother died trying to reach Britain, he says by way of explanation. Dressed in an ivory-coloured shirt, with a white vest showing through, he shows us into his majlis – a quasi-living room to socialise with guests – where we sit on a patterned medallion carpet. I ask how big the problem is. ‘Every year more than 15,000 people leave Kurdistan for Europe and the UK,’ he says. The numbers vary because some years the crossings are easier. The cost fluctuates accordingly. Generally, he says, Kurdistan to Turkey, and then on to France and finally Britain, is around $15,000. Why is Britain such a popular destination? ‘Most importantly, they already know people there,’ he replies. ‘My brother chose the UK because our sister and several former neighbours live there. Also, English is easier to learn than German or Swedish, and many people already know it from watching TV. Finally, the asylum process is much simpler than Europe and you get more benefits; housing, social security and so on.’ So, beyond Dlovan’s sales pitch and Zanan’s explanation, how exactly does this system work? Through a trusted intermediary, I contact Misham with a list of questions. A major smuggler, he is originally from Zakho, and is now based in Istanbul. My first question is about the Ranya Boys, and smuggling kingpin Kardo Jaf. ‘I’ve been in this business since 2014,’ he tells the Daily Mail. ‘Every year or two, someone new comes along and builds a massive name for himself, but behind the scenes, he might be nobody. ‘I’ve been in touch with the guys they call the Ranya group, who heavily focus on the UK route, and have become famous for it. But “Ranya Boys” is mostly just a brand name.’ He continues: ‘Smuggling is not about gangs or individuals. The industry is highly collaborative. There are people who forge fake documents, others who get Turkish transit visas and so on. When you establish yourself in this business, these specialists will seek you out, begging you to bring them clients. ‘If I specialise in forging passports, I need a smuggler to feed me customers. Conversely, if a smuggler has a client who needs a fake bank account to travel, he sends them to me. Everyone feeds everyone else.’ The truth is: Taking out a gang or gang leader won’t solve the problem. Arrest one kingpin, and another immediately takes his place. This is what makes smuggling almost impossible to stop. If police wanted to seriously damage the network, what should they do? Misham has no doubt. ‘The hawala banking system is the absolute lifeblood of this entire industry,’ he says. ‘If you want to choke the networks, cut off the money flows.’ Hawala (meaning ‘transfer’ or ‘trust’ in Arabic) is an informal, trust-based money transfer system that originated in South Asia and the Middle East over 1,000 years ago. Money is paid to a broker in one country, and an equivalent amount is paid out by a trusted broker in another country. The funds never cross borders. In March 2025, HM Revenue & Customs described hawala as one of the most common forms of informal money transfer in Britain and launched a campaign urging operators to register under anti-money laundering rules. HMRC estimated that criminals exploit informal money transfer networks to launder around £2billion a year. Ultimately, though, Misham doesn’t think anything can be done. ‘This will never stop because the underlying demand will never go. The smugglers don’t care about European laws or policing. The day a smuggler realises he’s in danger, he’ll simply use his wealth to relocate, change his identity, and live safely somewhere else.’ The streets of Ranya throng with people. Many wear the traditional Kurdish Shal u Shapik, a two-piece suit consisting of loose trousers and a matching jacket. Cafes are filled with people smoking shisha pipes. Young boys walk past in Liverpool shirts. What strikes me is how people-smuggling is woven into everyday life. Almost everyone knows someone involved – as a customer, recruiter, fixer or driver – and is happy to talk about it. I stop for lunch at London Pizza and meet the 21-year-old owner, Braw Rebwar. Sporting a green polo shirt and a patchy beard, he beams as we speak. ‘I called this London Pizza because I love London,’ he tells me. ‘It’s a beautiful city. I used to watch videos of it. I have so many friends, and my uncle, there. All talk about how good life is there while we have nothing here.’ He continues: ‘I tried to go. My first thought was to approach a smuggler. They are the region’s unofficial airline. But my family were afraid of me drowning or being kidnapped by smugglers. So I opened up this place and called it London instead.’ I take a stroll through the central bazaar. Stalls are piled high with green peppers and chillies and purple aubergines. Nearby, I spy a large sign: Nottingham Cafe. Britain is everywhere here. A Home Office advert of a migrant's experience coming to the UK, which has been launched in the Kurdistan Region of Iraq. The translated quote reads 'People disappeared into the sea' Inside is a line of pool tables with blue baize, on which a dozen teenagers contentedly play and guzzle soft drinks. A group bound over when they notice me. One tells me he wants to go to the UK. ‘I’m 16,’ he says. ‘I must finish school but when I’m 18 my diploma will be worth nothing. There are no jobs here. Are you from London?’ Yes. ‘Wow.’ Another cuts in. ‘I will try to go to the UK,’ he says excitedly. ‘Everyone is going.’ Misham is right. The underlying demand will never end. To complete the picture, I try to find to someone who has made the journey all the way from here in Kurdistan to Britain. Azad is 26 and made the trip last year. His journey began in Istanbul’s Aksaray district, a notorious hub for migrant smugglers, where he struck a deal with the local representative of a Kurdish smuggler based in Greece. From there he was passed through a succession of safe houses and escorts across Europe. Payments moved through hawala brokers with offices across Kurdistan, Turkey and Britain. Instructions came via changing WhatsApp numbers. He was caught in a massive ecosystem with no clear hierarchy or leadership – exactly as Misham described. ‘The smugglers all claim to operate independently, but in truth everyone is connected,’ he told the Daily Mail. ‘When we began the journey, I realised they just sell people on to each other.’ He ended up in the ‘Dunkirk jungle’, a place I reported from a while ago: A muddy purgatory housing a gloomy mass of migrants desperate for a better life. Dunkirk is where the industry’s human cost becomes impossible to ignore. According to the International Organisation for Migration, at least 82 people – including 14 children – died attempting to cross the Channel in 2024 alone, the deadliest year since records began. Officials believe the true toll is almost certainly higher, with some boats disappearing without trace. Azad continues. ‘There are Kurds, Afghans and Yemenis there. The Afghans are highly organised. Most of the people on the ground are drug addicts hired to manage the crowds. ‘They tell you to sleep outside, keep your phone on and wait. When you strike a deal with a smuggler, he will talk down the competition. But they are all the same.’ Dunkirk is also now little more than a smugglers’ marketplace various gangs have carved up to sell passage into Britain. Everything I had been told in Erbil and Ranya suddenly made sense. Dlovan had described the journey. Zanan had explained the demand. Misham had revealed how the global business works. So in Azad’s journey, culminating in Dunkirk, I could envisage how the entire system came together. Dunkirk’s beaches have become the final depot in an international logistics operation that begins thousands of miles away in the mountains of northern Iraq. The recruiters, document forgers, hawala brokers and beach foot-soldiers are all links in the same chain bringing migrants to this wretched place. ‘They trade human beings like commodities,’ Azad concludes. ‘When it’s time to go, they drag the boat to the beach, tell you to get in and just push you off to Britain.’