Moustapha’s place is on a side street just off Avenue G. Pompidou. It’s only 1.5 kilometres away from the harbour, but it’s taken over half an hour to get here. The truck parks in front of a huge doorway. The driver hasn’t opened the doors of the container yet as there’s a group of men hanging around in the hope that they’ll be asked to unload the truck. Moustapha doesn’t have any employees.
In Africa, especially in the cities, there are always a couple of men in the area ‘by chance’ who are willing to either unload or load something. Moustapha haggles with the men over how much he’s willing to pay them to unload the truck. They agree on 2,500 CFA francs, which is around €40 euros. After they’ve carried the second bundle of clothing into the building on their shoulders, the men are sweating so much that their faces begin to shine. They are closely supervised by an associate of Moustafa, who keeps track of how many bundles of clothing they have carried on a piece of paper. This piece of paper won’t be kept for Moustapha’s records, it’s just a way of making it clear to the workers that they are being watched, so nothing goes missing during the unloading process.
The bundles of clothing won’t be in Moustapha’s possession for long. News of the arrival of new merchandise has spread like wildfire, and curious locals have flocked to check it out. But the problem with the bundles of clothing is that there are ‘good’ bundles, and there are ‘bad’ bundles. In good bundles you can find 10 or 20 good pairs of stonewashed jeans with frayed legs. But in bad bundles, there is only clothing made from linen – trousers made of thick cloth and shirts in boring colours. People only want to buy the good bundles – but the challenge is to work out which are good and which are bad. No one is allowed to open up any of the bundles – otherwise everyone would look through them and only take the good stuff. From the outside, it’s very hard to tell which of the bundles are good. Africans are very fashion conscious, just like Europeans. The young Senegalese find out what is popular in more developed countries through adverts in newspapers, films or online. No one wants to buy light blue jeans from the second hand shop – they’d rather have no jeans at all!
Cotton, Boubous and Why Africa is
Losing its Colour
When we think of Africa we think of the Serengeti with its elephants, lions and wildebeest, and above all a boisterous mixture of people wearing colourful clothes. Two out of every three items of clothing in Africa are the product of clothes recycling. Thousands of tonnes of old clothes are brought from Europe every year to West Africa. East Africa gets most of its recycled clothing from North America. These imported clothes actually cause many problems for the people who live in Africa. The clothing is sold even more cheaply than the clothing produced locally in West Africa. A lot of people would have worked hard to produce these traditional clothes: from growing the cotton and spinning the thread, to sewing the items. In Ghana it’s completely different: here, people only buy clothes that have been made in the country. In Mali the boubou is a status symbol. It’s a long, celebratory robe with fine embroidery – and it’s produced in West Africa.
Among the people looking at the clothing bundles is Aisha, a 38-year-old mother of five who owns a market stall in northern St. Louis. Aisha got up at 4.00am this morning to get to Dakar to buy clothes for her stall. She’s looking for bundles, which through the packaging, seem to have more blue and bright red as hopefully these bundles will contain jeans and colourful dresses, which have been selling well lately. Aisha has to pay 80,000 CFA francs for her bundles, which is around €120 euros.
A boy accompanies Aisha – fifteen year old Mohammed. He won’t leave her side for the whole day and takes care of all the heavy lifting. Mohammed carries the bundles to the bus station, the Gare Routieres de Pompiers, near the Grand Mosque, to where the ‘taxi-brousse’ are parked (the ‘bus-taxis’). These minibuses only have 12 actual seats, but the drivers make extra, makeshift seats out of wood, folding benches or simple metal rods. That way, with a bit of pushing and squeezing about 30 people can fit inside. The minibus won’t leave until it’s full, and it takes two hours to squash enough passengers into the bus to fill it. No one can turn or lift their arms, and Aisha and Mohammed sit in silence, sweating. Why isn’t the bus moving? A man appears at the driver’s window and gives him a package. There is much talking and gesturing, which they hope is the signal to leave! The driver starts the minibus’s engine, zooms on to the main road without looking right or left, and heads north.
Everyone enjoys the air that streams in through the open windows, but they only get to enjoy it for a moment as the heavy traffic makes them keep stopping. As soon as the traffic allows, the driver hits the accelerator. It seems that he wants to make up for all the time he spent waiting at the bus station. The passengers are shaken our of their seats, and those sitting close to the windows start to fear for their lives.
Mohammed whispers a prayer for protection. Aisha on the other hand is familiar with this journey. She sits sideways so she can always see the back of the bus. The worst thing for her would be if one of her bundles fell off the back.
23 November 2007
Created by French colonists, the port town of St. Louis is the Venice of West Africa. The centre of the city is situated on a long island between the river Senegal and the sea, joined to the mainland by a 500 metre long bridge. The bridge’s curved arches, made by French engineer Gustave Eiffel, were made from the same steel he used to build his famous tower in Paris. The old city centre consists of tightly packed, stone colonial houses, which are becoming more and more run down. Aisha lives here with her family.
After a bumpy 10 hour journey with one bus change, Aisha, Mohammed and the bundles make it home in the early hours of the morning. Aisha will open up the bundles and lay out her new wares on her market stall by the beach. She does some calculations in her head. The bundles cost €120 euros each. Her family need around €120 euros to survive for two weeks, so she needs to make at least €240 euros. She usually meets her target, but not always. Sometimes, smaller traders like Aisha buy a dud bundle. A couple of weeks ago, she got a bundle that only made €100 euros, so it didn’t even cover the cost price. In Africa, it’s not possible to get refunds for bad products. People are used to getting by on strokes of good or bad luck and instead of moaning about it, they try to find other ways to make ends meet.
3 December 2007
There are lots of wooden fishing boats on the beach at St. Louis. Most of them are elaborately painted and have whimsical names like Gift of God or Merciful Heart. Tourists are always stopping to photograph them. The beach looks especially beautiful when the fishermen return with their catch. The beaches overflow with people when this happens because everyone wants some delicious fresh fish. However this scenic picture is deceptive; the fishermen only used to have to go to sea for one or two days. They would then be forced to return as their ships were so loaded down with fish. Nowadays, even after a whole week at sea the catch is still poor. Huge commercial trawlers are to blame for this – they take the fish from right under the fishermen’s noses.
Among the people on the beach is 18-year-old Adrame. He comes from a small inland village where there’s been virtually no work for many years: cotton can’t be grown as there’s too little water and growing peanuts is no longer profitable.
West Africa and Europe: A History of Suffering
Fishermen often end up selling their boats to human traffickers because they can no longer make a living from fishing. This is largely the fault of European trawlers – these trawlers depend on the fish on the West African coast. The European Union has provided around four billion euros to boost the fishing sector. Much of this money was used to buy the rights to fish off the West African coast. The money didn’t go to the local West African fishermen however, but into the Senegalese government’s pockets. The EU funding should have been used to protect jobs, but instead the money was used by commercial fishing companies to buy bigger and more powerful boats. Often the West Africans who work on the Europe
an ships do so for low wages, especially the Spanish trawlers. In short: West Africans are being exploited with help from EU funding, and are having their livelihood destroyed at the same time.
Due to much criticism from the media, the EU have now placed much stronger constraints on European fishermen: they can no longer take so many fish from the West African coast, and have to use looser nets so the younger fish don’t get caught. The aim of this was to protect coastal fishing for the West Africans. The Senegalese government promptly sold the fishing rights for even more money to Korea – without any protection for the Senegalese fishermen.
Adrame spent some time in Dakar, but he was only able to get small odd jobs here and there. He has no relatives in Dakar and doesn’t know anyone there either, which is what you need to get a job. That’s why he wants to go to Europe. In fact, Adrame wants to go to Europe more than anything, mainly because his old school friend Adbouleyle told him what it’s like. Adbouleyle has done really well there. He came back to visit his old village about six months ago. He was well dressed and had a huge watch, big sunglasses and a white woman at his side. The woman was his new wife.
“When you first get there everything’s so easy!” his friend told him when they were alone. “You can get a permanent job. I work in a restaurant called McDonald’s; it’s the largest restaurant chain in the world. Do you get me?” He pinched Adame’s side. “It is pretty cold there, but you can afford all the clothes in the world. You see something and then you just buy it! No more second-hand clothes for me.”
After his friend had left again, Adame couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d been told. Dakar was no longer his goal, he wanted to go to Europe; he wanted to be in paradise just like his friend. For days he’s been looking for a boat that will take him to the Canary Islands. He’s stopped caring how big or how old the boat is that takes him, or even how many people are on the boat. The only thing that matters is that he has the €350 euros for the journey over, which he had great difficulty borrowing from family and friends.
The skipper beckons Adame over, and tells him it costs €500 to €600 euros per place on the boat. The skipper has to buy the boat from the fisherman and he needs to hire an experienced sailor. He also needs to pay for the petrol. On top of this, the many contacts he has looking for immigrants to fill the boat will also want payment.
7 December 2007
As Adrame wanders through the town looking for a ride he hears a lot of terrible things about the journey to the so-called European ‘paradise’. For the last few days radio announcements, made by the government, have been being playing day and night: “Your dreams will not come true!” he hears, over and over. What these messages are trying to say is that most refugees will never make it to Europe. They drown or are deported. If they do make it, they are treated as illegal immigrants. They must work in horrible jobs, are badly paid and can’t even visit a doctor when they get sick. But the people on the beach say: “The Europeans pay for those radio announcements!” Today in the café someone told Adrame that the government has allowed European aeroplanes, helicopters and speedboats with machine guns to patrol the borders to international waters. They tip the boats over and then they shoot everyone inside them.
“Rubbish!” someone calls out. “You don’t really believe that our government would let foreigners kill us?”
“Our government cannot be trusted!” replies a third person, “they would have us all sold as slaves if someone would pay for us!’
This was followed by a long silence. Suddenly everyone felt insignificant and defenceless.
Adrame manages to ignore all of these comments but then he hears something he cannot get out of his head. Many ships are damaged during storms or go round in circles because they’ve lost their way. In the most dire situations, the boats capsize and everyone on board drowns – then their bodies wash up on the coast of Morocco.
That can’t happen to Adrame. He decides that he will visit a mage – also called a marabout.
The people of Senegal are Muslim, but many of their ancient rites and spiritual beliefs date from the pre-Muslim era. These beliefs are inspired by nature; that there are good and bad spirits everywhere, but only marabouts can see them. If a good spirit hovers above a person or a journey then everything will be fine. If a bad spirit is present, then a marabout might be able to help you. If he is not successful though, you should give up your plans. Adrame haggles with the marabout for a long time. Money exchanges hands, and then the marabout seeks advice from his ancestors and his invisible helpers. He drinks a strange liquid from a bottle, sways backwards and forwards and his eyes begin to roll back in his head.
He blesses Adrame with a magical spell, places his hands on Adrame’s head and sprays a little liquid into his face. Finally, the marabout murmurs words Adrame can barely understand: “You will . . . reach . . . your goal – but . . . beware . . . long . . . shadow over your boat . . . they are following you . . . protection . . . something that glows . . .”
Protection . . . something that glows? Adrame wants to ask what exactly the marabout means, but the marabout awakens slowly from his trance and simply says: “Go now, I am weary!”
Should Adrame protect himself with something that glows? Or should he protect himself from something that glows? For half an hour, Adrame wanders through the town until he sees the red fleece body warmer at Aisha’s stall – perhaps this is a sign.
Sounding a little naive, he says to the stall owner: “It looks magical!”
“Yes,” she says, “it’s made from a water-resistant material. Water cannot get through it and you don’t sweat in it. This body warmer really does have magical powers . . . If I really think about it, 150 francs is too cheap.”
Adrame has to question this: “Why hasn’t anyone bought it yet then? Maybe there’s a curse on it. It doesn’t even really look that good.” Adrame unfolds the body warmer.
“Hey, there’s a huge stain on it!”
“Okay, 130 francs!” Aisha says quickly. “Discounted price. Give me the money!”
And the red fleece finally changes hands.
9
Some are Thirsty, Others are Not: A Showdown in Tenerife
14 December 2007
At sunset, the refugees assemble on the beach. Today should be the day that they finally set off on their long jouney. After his €350 euros has been rejected countless times, the skipper finally accepts the money. “Don’t expect any luxuries. That’s just about enough for the boat and the petrol.” The skipper looks devious. For a few days, nothing happens. Adrame comes to the beach every afternoon and looks for the skipper, but he is always told: “Not today! Maybe tomorrow.” Twice the refugees have all gathered at the beach expecting to leave, but the skipper thought the weather was too poor. If the waves are higher than two metres, an open boat stands no chance.
Today’s the day. The skipper collects all the money. He also takes everyone’s passports and documentation, so he can burn them. “Is that everyone’s papers? If there’s a single document on board, we’ll all be sent back. If they catch you in international waters, you can’t have any papers on you. Say your name, but not where you come from. That way, they can’t send you back to Senegal. They’re not allowed to. Whatever happens in the next few hours, keep your mouth shut. We have to make it to international waters!”
Adrame’s friend had told him to check over the whole boat. Are there any holes in it? Has it got a good motor and enough petrol? Does it have a navigation system on board so they can find their way? But how can Adrame find all this out? It’s dark, and they’re led onto the boat at the last minute. The skipper looks mean and has a huge knife sticking out of his waistband. Adrame has paid a cheap price for the journey. If he asks any questions, he’s sure that he’ll be thrown off the boat and won’t get his money back. So Adrame doesn’t take a close look at the boat before he climbs on board, and instead squeezes in amongst the other 62 refugees. He sits at the front of the boat, which isn’t a good s
pot but for the price he’s paid he can’t complain. As the boat makes its way through the surf, everyone at the front gets wet. Adrame’s wearing the red fleece body warmer.
How Can a Senegalese Person Make it to Europe?
There are three ways in which a Senegalese person might successfully make it to Europe:
1. The safest method is to marry a European. But how does a Senegalese person find a European to marry? Very few tourists come to Senegal looking for marriage. So, to find a European to marry, you have to be in Europe.
2. The cheapest route is not to take a fishing boat, but to go by aeroplane. A ticket from Dakar to Paris costs around €300 euros, but you’ll also need a visa. A fake visa will get you past the customs officials in Dakar, but once you get to Paris you’ll be found out and flown straight back.
3. The most dangerous and most expensive method is to cross the Atlantic Ocean in an open boat by paying human traffickers to take you into Europe illegally.
Up until 2006, the main route for African refugees was through the Strait of Gibraltar towards Spain. It went straight through the Sahara to the Moroccan coast, so a lot of the journey was on foot. But since 2006 this route has been more strictly patrolled and the Moroccans come down hard on illegal immigrants. So now the new routes go around Morocco. The eastern route runs through Libya, across the Mediterranean towards Italy or Greece, and the western route runs along the Mauritian or Senegalese coast and across the open Atlantic to the Canary Islands.
These journeys last four or five days and cost around €600 euros. The price depends on the relative safety and comfort of the ship: are the boats made from wood or steel? Are they motorised and do they have a navigation system on board and so on. The young Senegalese used to have to rely on word of mouth from friends and families to discover the answer to these questions, but now they can learn a lot from the Internet. People trafficking ‘tours’ are offered alongside ‘normal’ trips. You can see the weather forecast for the Atlantic on the Internet too: which direction is the wind blowing? Will storms be brewing in the next few days, or will the Harmattan, a wind that carries sand from the Sahara, make it impossible to see? However those who are trying to prevent people trafficking have upgraded too: The European Union have founded the border defence organisation Frontex, which patrols the West African coast with reconnaissance planes, helicopters and boats so that they can prevent refugees from entering international waters.
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