Anyone who has stayed in Bermuda for more than a few months knows about rock fever — but the four Uighurs who famously landed on the Island a year ago today have yet to experience it.

They laugh when The Royal Gazette asks them if they have suffered the common local affliction of feeling hemmed in by 21 square miles and a whole lot of sea.

"We have not had it before and we do not have now," says Khalil Mamut, 32, shaking his head and smiling.

The youngest of the group, 30-year-old Abdulla Abdulqadir, becomes serious. Referring to "that hell Guantánamo Bay", he says: "That was very difficult but now we are free we can go out, we can go around. There, we just had the cell. We couldn't move. Anything we wanted to do, we were taken out by the guards and put into shackles."

Khalil adds: "We have spent so many days in 8ft by 6ft [cells]. In comparison to that, here we are working, we come, go, come, go. It seems like time flies.

"We have been embraced by the people of Bermuda. They gave us their land, their hearts. These things are enough to take and to live here."

The question about rock fever may have been lighthearted but the reality is that Khalil and Abdulla, along with their countrymen Ablikim Turahun, 39, and Salahidin Abdulahad, 33, have no choice but to stay in Bermuda for the foreseeable future.

When their release from Guantánamo was being negotiated after seven years of detention without conviction, they were promised passports after 12 months in Bermuda.

That hasn't happened and nor is it likely to any time soon, if comments made this week by Governor Sir Richard Gozney are anything to go by (see separate story).

While their lawyers here and in the US assess the options for their future, the four Muslim men bide their time patiently on the Island they now consider home.

They have every desire to settle here permanently; preferably with wives, if they can find them.

Abdulla explains: "In our country and culture, if we don't have families, it is not a correct life for us."

Khalil adds: "We try to find the ladies here but we could not. Especially I look for, but I did not find the right lady. But it takes a little bit of time. Marriage is not like trading."

This newspaper last sat down with the Uighurs six months ago and the huge improvement in their English is immediately noticeable.

Khalil and Abdulla are the most chatty, with the latter referring to our meeting starting slightly later than planned with the good-natured words: "It's OK — we are on Bermuda time."

Earlier that afternoon, Khalil was chatting online on Skype with a fellow former Guantánamo prisoner — one of six ethnic Uighurs taken in by Palau in the South Pacific.

The friend was getting married and was sharing his news at 4 a.m. in Palau, which is 12 hours ahead of Bermuda.

Abdulla explains that they speak regularly with the other Uighurs released from Guantánamo and given refuge in Palau, Albania, Switzerland and Sweden.

But he adds sadly that there can be no contact with the five who remain in the notorious US detention camp. "It is forbidden by the US authorities," he says.

None of the four here like to dwell publicly on their time at Gitmo. Khalil says: "We don't want to remember these bad things, these bad days. What happened, happened in the past. If we remember, maybe we feel sad."

He adds, unsurprisingly, that life was harsh in Guantánamo. "Before we were leaving Guantánamo Bay, we left everything behind. It's our destination arranged by God. That's why we don't really dip in this topic. It's finished up."

Instead, the men are focused on forging a new life here while keeping in regular touch with their families in Chinese Turkestan — the place they fled almost a decade ago for the Tora Bora mountains of Afghanistan due to alleged oppressive government rule.

Six months ago they were unable to call home as the authorities had blocked telephone lines and computers. Now Khalil rings his family at least twice a week; more if he can manage.

But he believes all calls are monitored and dares not ask for news about friends, in case he gets them into trouble.

"Government will go there and say: 'What's your connection with him?' We cause him trouble. I am 100 percent sure if I do, it happens."

Khalil says some of their spare time is spent reading news about their homeland on the Internet. "We read about what's going on and how the Chinese Government is oppressing our people."

It's unlikely the Uighurs' families will make it here for a visit. Khalil explains that the expense would make it almost impossible but he's hopeful that one day they will get to meet outside of Turkestan. "We hope in the future we can travel and see them and hug them," he adds. "Sometimes when we speak to them through Skype or phone they say: 'Be patient, my son. In the future you can see me and I can see you.'"

Like many foreigners who come here to live, friends have become a kind of family for the Uighurs. Khalil and Abdulla play football every Sunday and talk with affection of their teammates and their families.

Barbecues are a regular occurrence and both men are suffering from colds — possibly, suggests Abdulla, from too many hours spent in the sea. "We are adapting to the culture," says Khalil. "Sometimes I go to the beach and walk along myself. On Friday, we attend the mosque. After work [at Port Royal Golf Course, where the men are groundsmen] we come and cook."

He's keen to point out that they count "Muslims, Christians and others" among their friends and says the overwhelming sense they have got over the past year has been that Bermuda welcomes them.

There has been just one negative incident, when they were told to go home by someone walking past them in St. George's. "After that, nothing," says Khalil.

Although they remain the only Uighurs on the Island, Khalil insists it's not a problem. "For me, facing foreignness is OK. I went from my home country to Pakistan. I studied there and I had friends from overseas. That's why I'm not shocked when I meet others."

Their initial fame has worn off, to an extent, and they now lead entirely ordinary lives. "At 6.30 a.m. we go to work and after we come and stay at home," says Khalil. "Nobody bothers us. Everything is normal."

l To see video and photo footage of the Uighurs — and to hear Khalil's open letter to Bermuda — visit www.royalgazette.bm.