M., a journey in a journey

I left in September 2011.
I left with a friend. I saw that many young people were leaving Gambia or I received stories of friends who had already left and managed to reach this distant land called Europe. In my land, there aren’t many chances for us young people: you can find temporary jobs with low wages, or the fate for most of us young people is to become a military man.
Even though I helped my father sell gas, my job didn’t allow me to support my family.
Therefore, driven by a great desire for a change in my family’s life and mine, I decided to leave for Libya, from where I could have reach Europe.
I knew it wasn’t going to be an easy journey, but I was so sure of my choice, so frustrated and tired about my life, that even in the darkest and hardest moments of my journey I never looked back, I never thought about going back.

So one morning I said goodbye to you, and to reassure you I told you I was only leaving for a few days, although in my heart I already knew from the beginning that we would not see each other for a long time.
I left with my backpack, some clothes and some food. I had no other documents than the electoral card, at least it had my name and a photo printed on it, because I had lost my identity card and I was waiting for a passport.
I had cut off the soles of my shoes and hidden some money inside them because, from what was said, at the borders, during checks, or along the journey, it could be very dangerous to have anything, especially money!
It was better to leave with the minimum necessary, even without a cell phone. I left with my friend from my hometown Kiang Jataba in Gambia and reached Senegal on a horse-drawn carriage.

When we arrived in Senegal we took a bus and arrived at the border area with Mali, in the district of Kayes. Here the military stopped us, checked the bus and asked for our documents. Those who had them, had to pay a fairly high sum to go on; those who didn’t have them, had to pay double. Those who refused to pay or tried to escape were beaten and taken to prison. I paid double, because I didn’t have the documents, and they let us pass.

Then we proceeded by bus to the capital of Mali, Bamako, where we were scammed by a fake bus agency. We wanted to rent one but, after collecting everyone’s money, they disappeared without accompanying us.

In Bamako my friend and I split up because he decided to take the bus to Burkina Faso since he had more money than me.
I, not having much money, together with other travel companions, we took mopeds to reach Mopti.

I, not having much money, together with other travel companions, we took mopeds to reach Mopti.
From Mopti to Gao to Libya it would have been faster instead of going to Burkina Faso and then Libya via Niger.
Only once I arrived in Mopti, I managed to get in touch with my family to tell them that I would not be back anytime soon.
Here I stayed three weeks with a young man I had just met, because I ran out of money. Together with him I got into debt with the “connection men” that are the migrant traffickers who hold the rent of the rooms (connection house) and they “help” you proceed along the way under payment. Therefore, to be able to pay them, we worked for 2 weeks as carpenters. We made some money and paid off our debts.

From the city of Mopti we waited to go to Gao because of the war. But the “connection man”, being aware of the developments, told us that the situation had calmed down and so, after a while, they drove us to Gao.
Gao is one of the cities in northern Mali under the control of the rebel Tuareg (Islamic fundamentalists).
We took a car to Algeria but during the journey we were stopped by a group of Tuareg who made us get off and raided everything. We gave them everything we had, that is, almost nothing. But they didn’t trust us because they thought we were “spies” and they took us to a prison in Gao. We stayed there for 3 months before their boss arrived, who was the only one who spoke English. My friend cried a lot and I got angry and banged my fists on the doors saying that we had to go, that we hadn’t done anything. They got angry and sometimes it happened that they hit us. Finally, one day, their boss arrived and we managed to make him understand that we were not spies but “mere migrants” on their way to Libya. Luckily, after a long discussion, he believed us and the next day we were released. From Gao they took us to a bus station nearby, were I met a local boy who helped the drivers find customers.

The next day we took a car and drove to Niamey (capital of Niger) before being stopped by soldiers at the border between Niger and Mali. They let us pass because the driver explained our situation to them, that the rebels had taken everything from us and that we were on our journey.
When we arrived in Niamey, without money or cell phones, we stayed there for about 1 month. Here too, we looked for a job. The search was difficult but in the end we found a job as a bricklayers, they payed us and one night we bought some phone credit to call our families and tell them where we were, that we were fine. They calmed down and after a while my friend got some money from his parents. He had more money than me, so I suggested him to move on to Agadez without me but he refused and told me that he would wait for me to continue the journey together.
So I worked a little longer and then it was time to leave.

So I left with other guys and after 3 days we reached Agadez, there I contacted my friend saying everything was ok, he told me he was leaving but in the end he decided to go back. From that moment on, we have never seen or heard from each other.
I stayed in Agadez for 1 month, staying in a “connection house”. In this city, since I have never managed to find a job, with the little money I had left, I stocked up at the bread and sauce market and I cooked during the night and resold on the street in the morning.
After I managed to make some money, I went to the bus station and paid for the bus ticket without paying the “connection man”.
In the evening we left for Arlit.

From Arlit we took a taxi to Assamakka and here we paid a connection man who accompanied us along the desert with 2 pickups (we were about ten people) to take us to Tamanrasset.
During the night, however, they left us off saying they would have come back but we didn’t see them anymore.
So we started walking in the desert until we saw some lights in the distance, it was the city of Tamanrasset. The next day we managed to get inside.
I stayed in Tamanrasset for 3 months because I found a job as a bricklayer again.
Once I collected some money, I went to Adrar and then to Ouargla, where I worked as a bricklayer and where we lived in a large abandoned factory.
After that, we took a bus to Ghardaia and then, through the city of Oran, to Maghnia.

I spent almost 3 months in Maghnia working as a gardener.
We slept and lived in a makeshift camp for migrants, the police occasionally came to raid.

To survive, we went to look for food in the city of Nador. We knocked on the houses’ doors to beg for anything.
Often, the inhabitants helped us by giving us blankets, clothes and food. We find water in a spring of freezing water near our camp. We went there to get the water to heat to wash ourselves.

Then they took me to the border between Morocco and Algeria in a Country near Oujda. There I found Shelter in the porch of an abandoned house and the villagers helped me by bringing me medicines and healing the wounds I had all over my body.
My leg hurt a lot. But I resisted. I stayed there for some time, I remember it was very cold and I often lit the fire to warm myself. When I felt a little better, using two sticks to help myself I started walking again towards Mount Gourougou. After a day of travel I arrived at the mountain but given my health conditions I could not go up its slopes. So, seeing some guys passing by, I asked them to tell my fellow Gambians to help me go up the mountain. They came to help me shortly after and I remember they were very amazed to see me and happy that I was still alive. When I arrived at our camp, my knee was very swollen and I couldn’t walk for a month. Even the police, when they did their usual roundups, found me alone and did nothing but mock me for the fact that I was still alive and that I didn’t go back to my country. If you were sick or injured there was no problem for them, they would live you alone, since you could not run and climb the barriers, so you would not have created any problems. The problems only arose if you tried to cross the barrier as Europe paid the Moroccan police to guard the border. I remember very well the words of the Moroccan agent who found me at the camp: ”If you want to stay here there is no problem, if you go there you make us look bad because it seems that we are not working”. After my return to mount Gourougou and after spending a month stuck in the camp due to my broken knee, another 5 months have passed. In the meantime we have tried many other attacks to enter Melilla, but by now I was tired of the situation. It was very hard to go on surviving in those conditions and very dangerous to try to cross the barrier.
So I decided to leave the mountain and go back, to go to Libya. So I retraced the route in reverse: I went by bus to Oujda, then Maghnia, Orano, Ghardaia and Ouargla. From Ouargla by car towards In Amenas, Deb Deb, Ghadames up to Tripoli.

When I arrived in Tripoli, I immediately looked for a job to be able to pay for the trip by sea. I was there for a month and it was very difficult and dangerous because there was a war between the Libyan military and the rebels.
I often found myself in dangerous situations between the two sides. You left the house but you did not know if you would come back. There I lived in a “connection house” too.
One night they decided that we would live, they told us that we would live in 75 people, instead in the end we were 120 people. They picked us up in the city with their cars, called us by name and took us to the beach. Here we inflated the dinghy. The traffickers are smart, they didn’t come with us. They look for migrants who can drive the rubber dinghy and they teach us how to use a GPS.
I paid “only” 700 euros because my stay in the city was quite long and they knew me “well”. Many, on the other hand, paid up to 100 euros.
We then left at night and the following evening the boat began to deflate.

My first journey can be said to have ended that morning when the Italian coast guard, after having sighted and rescued us, left us at the port of Salerno.

We arrived in Salerno in September 2014, they visited us, we ate and then they called us by name and divided us in different buses.

To my family,
to my brothers,
to the friends left at home and to all those scattered around the
Great Earth.
To all traveling people,
to those who have already arrived and those who are still
traveling,
to every migrant of the past and present,
of any will and any circumstances,
to the trip,
to the freedom of every man,
to the land without barriers.

Starting from the traumatic experiences of those who suffered in Monte Sole to listen to the close memories and distant tales that migrants bring with them.

Go to Anna Rosa’s account and explore her story.