Hope and fear in the immigration waiting game

It's a scene I've watched my own child in on many occasions, laughing as I listen in on the dolls' conversation.

But this little girl is not at home, or in nursery or school - she is in the waiting room of Glasgow's immigration court.

While this child plays, around her are worried faces, waiting to hear what the future may hold for them and their family.

Sitting in that waiting room, it really becomes clear that when we talk about immigration, about targets, about Brexit, we're talking about people's lives.

Beside me a group of Asian women huddle together and hug an older woman as she arrives.

Another woman, on her own, sips her tea or coffee nervously.

There are also several young men sitting waiting, some anxiously looking through paperwork.

Other young children also cling to their mothers. Two toddlers quickly tire of waiting, so their mothers feed them and play with them, trying to keep them happy.

Those waiting come from different countries, have different religions, and have all manner of different reasons why they are in Scotland.

But they all have one thing in common - they are all here to appeal against a decision by the Home Office.

Inside the courtroom, which is a drab, mundane looking room, lawyers chat among themselves as they wait for the judge to arrive.

The first case involves an Iraqi man who is appealing against a decision by the Home Office to refuse his wife entry to the UK.

The Home Office claim there is an issue over whether or not the man - who looks emotional throughout the hearing - was free to marry the woman, who is still in Iraq.

He has been married before and has provided a divorce document, but the the lawyer for the Home Office claims it is not valid.

After arguments from both sides, the judge says he will issue a decision in writing.

The couple will now face an anxious wait to find out if the appeal will be allowed, and even then the Home Office may try to overturn that ruling.

Back in the waiting room, the girl - who is accompanied by a man - is now lying across chairs, looking tired.

Suddenly, the fire alarm sounds and lawyers and their clients pour out of the courtrooms.

As the counter clerk assures everyone it's a false alarm, the girl moves forward quickly, running towards to her mother who has just come out of one of the rooms.

She throws her arms around her and the two enjoy a brief moment before the woman has to return to court.

I, too, head back into a hearing. This time for an asylum appeal involving a Vietnamese man.

He is a Catholic priest who has protested against the communist government in Vietnam and claims he had to flee the country after being arrested following a demonstration.

Vietnam has a poor record on human rights, with Amnesty International confirming that arbitrary arrests and imprisonment are not uncommon, while beatings, intimidation and harassment on the grounds of religious or political beliefs have also been reported.

His solicitor, Andrew Bradley, says his client is at risk if he returns to Vietnam “due to his religion and political opinion”.

However, the Home Office do not accept this and also dismiss claims about his political activity as "not credible".

The man in this case - who has paid more than £I5,000 to traffickers to come to the UK - will also need to wait to find out his fate.

Staff at the hearing centre tell me that emotions often run high here, with people sometimes in tears in the waiting area.

In 2007, one asylum seeker even doused himself in petrol at the court and set himself alight rather than risk being sent back to Nepal. He later died in hospital.

I am left wondering what will become of the people I encountered in the waiting room, what life that little girl and her mother will have.

Their futures are now in the hands of the immigration judge they appeared before and I can only hope that the law ensures they are treated fairly and compassionately.