24.01.2006

A journey into hell

Every year hundreds of people arrive in Tarifa looking for wind, sun and surf. Others come just to get away, there is something about the deep blue colour of our sea, something in the touch of our soft sand and our little town shining in the hot summer nights that year after year more and more people want to come.

Text_Patricia Yllera
Fotos_Patricia Yllera

Every year hundreds of people arrive in Tarifa looking for wind, sun and surf. Others come just to get away, there is something about the deep blue colour of our sea, something in the touch of our soft sand and our little town shining in the hot summer nights that year after year more and more people want to come.

Every year too, there are others who come from that very sea, touch that very sand and walk in that very town. That is, if they survive the journey. A journey that begins far, far away in Africa.
We might hear the helicopters fly above us or the sound of the ambulance sirens. We might see their faces on our TV screens and by now, we might even be quite used to watching those expressions of disbelief, fright and bewilderment. So why? Why do they risk their lives to get to our shores?

These people are quite prepared to go through absolute hell just to give their families back at home a helping hand. It all begins one month to three years before they actually make it with the hope of finding “the promised land”. Some manage to get the money for the crossing from family members knowing that at the current exchange rate once it is repaid it will be multiplied by ten.

Others, though, are not so lucky. They have to borrow from organized mafias and go through some religious ritual where they eat parts of a live chicken’s heart and swear not to disclose information about the people involved in ´the project.´ Theirs is the saddest story of all, as they usually end up here on some street corner at night until all the money is returned to their ´madam´, as they call the person who lets them have the loan.

When they get here there will be endless phone calls from their families and friends and the pressure for these women to get money from anywhere will be intense. Everybody wants a cut of the cake. Remember, they have reached ´the promised land´. Their journey begins with the crossing of the the Sahara desert on Jeeps which will carry up to 30 or more people. Some loose their way and end up dying of thirst in the sun. There have been times when they drank each other´s urine and other bodily fluids trying to stay alive.

When they arrive in Morocco they have to hide. Some do that in the hills and forests around the town, feeding on any scraps of food or vegetation they can find. Others will end up living up to two years in backstreet rooms where their babies are born to life and to death as the mothers are too afraid to go for assistance if anything goes wrong in case they get thrown back in the desert where they have just come from. Their means of survival are not many so hunger and depravation continues and insists in being their most faithful companion.
If they are caught by the police they can be sent back to a place between Morocco and Algeria which they call ´no mans land´.

In this small stretch of land sometimes there have been shootings between the police of opposite fronts. Some of these women have become victims as in the case of a woman called ´miracle´. She was named this because she survived against all odds after a bullet went right through her stomach, killing the baby in her womb and consequently having to spend three months in a hospital in a coma.

And so the much awaited day arrives, all the bodies are cramped in the "patera" at night, there really is no time for complaining. Babies are haggled next to their mother´s cold shivering bodies, pregnant women are shoved about and men are no stronghold for their wives as they are very often left behind. The sea is cold and threatening, dark and frightening and for many this is their first time in the water.

The journey can take anything between 8 to 18 hours depending on the weather or the sheer incompetence of their captain, whose pockets have been filled already and he has no intention of risking his neck on their behalf. Often he tells them to jump to shore where the water is too deep knowing quiet well that they can not swim so he can get back swiftly and clean before the police find him!

To cross the stretch is not an easy thing to do especially if the weather turns against you. We know very well by now that many, many lives of women, men and children have been lost trying to do just that. To some it is a trauma that will stay with them for many years to come. For the children, it will be a slow process of learning through laughter and love that the same waters that swallow up their families and friends can become a place of fun. It is at this end that we see their faces in our TV screens, that is, the faces of the ones that have made it.

These faces, beautiful black faces with beautiful black eyes are like deep wells of human sorrow. They tell us the story of a people who will go through hell to get another chance in life. The people who will come to our town because they have been told that here they can have a decent job, here they can make an honest living, educate their children and live without the oppression of a corrupt government.

These are the people who have something to show to us, these are the people who deserve our respect and admiration for what they have gone through in order to achieve something that we so easily take for granted. And let me tell you, these women have taught me what it is to fight with dignity. They have taught me the meaning of the word ´endurance´. Believe it or not, even after all they have gone through they have learned to laugh again and their story is a lesson to us all.