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The German magazine Der Spiegel published following story 6.18..

An African Dream
 
"I'll Make it to Europe, or Die Trying"

Africans looking to leave the continent for Europe face a long journey across the Atlantic in rickety boats. Many don't make it. But that doesn't deter the thousands looking for a better life.

Henry Mafarna was still a child when he lost his home -- barely 14 years old. Militias swept through Liberia in 1990 and the West African country was torn apart by civil war. In the ensuing chaos, Mafarna, who is now 29, lost track of his parents. Today, he has no idea whether they are still alive.

Ever since then, Mafarna has been a refugee -- sometimes staying in refugee camps, sometimes finding shelter with relatives in neighboring countries. But he hasn't stayed anywhere for long. Confused and restless, he has moved frequently. But one goal has remained constant -- he has repeatedly tried to find a way to leave Africa.

For the last six months, Mafarna has been in Nouadhibou, at the northern tip of Mauritania for what he hopes will be the last leg of his trip. Last month, he was planning on squeezing into the hull of a small boat under cover of darkness. The boat, he was hoping, would take him to the Canary Islands -- some 1,000 kilometers (620 miles) into the Atlantic Ocean -- where he planned to start a new life. "I've got just two options," he said. "I'll either make it to Europe or die trying."

No future in Africa

He's got no future in Africa, he says. "There's no education system, no work -- just violence." Yet all his efforts to leave the continent have so far failed. He tried applying for an Australian visa; later he tried his luck with the Canadian visa program. But he was rejected every time. "There are just too many people who want to get out of here," he says with resignation. "I don't know anyone who wants to stay."

Henry is just one of thousands of African refugees waiting to travel from Mauritania on the west coast of Africa to Europe. His story is like that of many others living in the refugee slums of Nouadhibou -- a life of war and poverty, without any future to look forward to. In the end all that remains is despair -- a despair that makes people willing to risk everything. Even the last thing they own: their lives.

Africa's west coast has become the new gateway to Europe.
Henry has worked hard to earn his ticket to the future. Every day he joins other men from Senegal, Mali and Guinea in front of the entrance to the harbor. They stand around waiting for the next small job: It could be a job on a construction site or one helping a fisherman unload his boat. No one earns more than $3 a day -- usually less. Henry generally most of a day's wages just to pay for his shabby room. The rest he saves for his risky trip to Europe. The $600 he's managed to ferret away so far, he reckons, should be enough.

Men like Henry are willing to run any risk at all. A man from Senegal lives not far from his little wooden shed. He's already tried to reach the Canary Islands once, but the Moroccan harbor patrol stopped him a short distance from the island of Lanzarote. A few hours later, the haggard man was back in Nouadhibou. He's working again, saving money for his next attempt.

"It was hell out there"

Many others die chasing their European dream across the rough waters of the Atlantic. Those who don't, experience a nightmarish journey they're unlikely ever to forget. "People started to vomit shortly before we left the coast," the Senegalese man remembers. Many of the travellers have never been on a boat before; the waves terrify them. "Less than an hour had gone by when the first people started screaming." People often needed to be punched before they quieted down, he said.

No one is allowed to stand up or lie down during the trip. Some 80 people are forced to sit closely side-by-side for three or four days, their knees and legs are soon covered in bruises. Their joints begin to ache. Salty seawater mixes with urine and feces, causing a painful burning sensation in open wounds. A terrible stench develops. "It was hell out there. All I did was pray it would be over soon," says the Senegalese man.

Even worse, the refugees never know exactly where they're going. Hours of darkness and cold are followed by days of hot, baking sunlight.

When the Moroccan police finally discovered the boat the Senegalese man was travelling on, most of his companions had been reduced to a state of mindless torpor. A number of them had to be taken to hospital, where they're still suffering from dehydration and panic attacks. The Senegalese man says he was glad the trip was over; he didn't care that he didn't make it to Europe.

Many refugees die of dehydration during the trip. Others drown in shipwrecks or are thrown overboard by other refugees. The Spanish and the Moroccan police find their corpses almost every day. Mohammed Wal, the chief of the nautical police, collects their photographs in his records. They're a chronicle of horror: deformed and bloated corpses, partly eaten by fish. The pictures are sorted by date. He adds new ones every day.

Good news by text messaging

The chief of police likes to present his pictures to foreign journalists. He would prefer showing them to the refugees living in Nouadhibou's slum neighborhoods. "Many people still aren't aware of the risk involved in crossing the ocean," he says. "They think of it as a day trip." He says he's powerless to prevent further boats leaving the port, meaning his gruesome documentation is sure to continue growing.

Henry Mafarna knows the horrible stories and he's seen the pictures on the Internet. But he's still able to exude forced optimism. "I have no choice but to try," he says. "I promised my son I would."

Macpena, Mafarna's son, is 14 months old and lives in Guinea with his mother. Mafarna has decided he's going to take a picture of the curly-haired boy with him on the trip -- nothing else. If he doesn't survive the trip to Europe, Macpena's mother will never mention Henry. That's the deal he made when he left.

But Henry doesn't want to think about death. "Many people make it," he says. Some boats do indeed arrive. As soon as they reach the other shore, they send SMS text messages to those still waiting to make the trip. The news travels like wildfire in the slum where Henry lives.

"Even if I have to live on the streets in Europe, even if people there look down on me, it can't be any worse than here," Henry says. When night begins to fall, he proposes a bet. He asks me to give him my e-mail address. "I'll write to you from Spain," he says grinning, "and then you have to come and visit."

So far, he hasn't written.