The men, most of them under 35, have almost no activities to keep them occupied or stimulated. In one bedroom we visited, the men had covered the small space between two sets of bunk beds with sheets. On the sheet they had drawn a large television, DVD player and games console. Using strips of bed sheet they had made two mock electrical cords, at the ends of which were two mock games controllers made from cardboard, with buttons drawn on them. ''We use this to pass the time. It is no laughing matter, we pretend to play and it brings back memories of home. We sit here and cry for three hours every day,'' a detainee told us. Some conditions, particularly the housing of detainees in P Dorm, violate the prohibition on torture. The dorm is made of corrugated iron, has no windows and only two small working fans for 112 men. The combination of stifling heat, sweat and moisture (and very poor ventilation) generates an ever-present and overwhelming stench. Asylum seekers reported finding snakes in their rooms and flooding when it rained. The men and the medical health staff are frustrated with services. They say the facility is unable to provide suitable treatment for those with serious illnesses and disabilities, including, asthma, diabetes, epilepsy, gastroenteritis, dwarfism and extremely infected mosquito bites.

Only one in five detainees at the facility has shoes, though we discovered that the men who choose to return voluntarily to their home countries, no matter how unfit the situation there, are given new shoes and fresh clothes. Lack of shoes severely affects what little recreation opportunity they already have, as the men are not allowed to go on excursions without the shoes, and those who play football within the razor fences of the compound must do so either barefoot or wearing rudimentary flip-flops on crushed coral ground. Whether they are fleeing war, chilling acts of torture, threats of death, or profound discrimination, asylum seekers are forced into a desperate situation, leaving their families behind to make dangerous boat journeys to Australia in search of ''a better life''. Now, ashamed and humiliated, many of the men on Manus Island have not told their families they are being detained. Worse, given the extreme lack of access to telephones and the internet, the only contact they have with loved ones by phone is limited to two 15-minute calls a week, strictly regulated, often in the middle of the night with no privacy. We met a Syrian man who had escaped his country after being wanted for taking part in a peaceful protest. His parents, wife and 2½-year-old son are all still in Syria. They were internally displaced by the war, and for a month he had no information about them - until a day before we met him. He finally reached them, and was so happy he was able to speak to them for five minutes on the phone. (He was only allowed to call at 4am, so his son was asleep.)

Perhaps worst of all, the men have no idea what is happening to them. They consistently raised the lack of information and the continuing uncertainty about their future as one of the main problems. Many of them told us that the uncertainty and delays contributed to a range of mental health problems, including depression, anxiety and lack of sleep. Trauma was worsening, especially for those who had come from war zones such as Iraq and Syria. One asylum seeker told us: ''We just need to have some certainty. I have lived in war zones, with bombs and explosions. I have never experienced what I am experiencing here with the uncertainty we face. If we had died in the ocean, that would have been better. I just need to know my destiny so that I can sleep at night. Just to know, so I can be prepared for what will happen.'' As one of the doctors said to us: ''This is the process of how you break someone mentally.'' Sara Saleh is a spokeswoman for Amnesty International.