Meet Modou
Modou (Gambia) in Lampedusa, Italy. 8 December 2016. ©Pamela Kerpius/Migrants of the Mediterranean
by:
Pamela Kerpius
Recorded:
8 December 2016
Published:
December 2016
Revised:
1/9/25
Meet Modou.
24 years old and from Lamin, Gambia.
To reach Lampedusa he crossed six countries: The Gambia, Senegal, Mali, Burkina Faso, Niger, and the most dangerous of all, Libya.
His journey took eight to nine months. It was about one month to reach Agadez, Niger, before he then crossed the Sahara desert in the back of a pickup truck with 30 people. His water ran out after three days of the five-day trip, so the passengers who still had water in their possession rationed it among Modou and anyone else who had run out.
“It is very hot, that’s all I can say,” Modou said about the Sahara. “Thank god we didn’t have any casualties.”
The price of his trip across the dessert includes fees used to pay the men who rob you at the various checkpoints along the way to Libya. “You pay for bribery,” he explained, sort of like an all-inclusive ticket.
He lived in a camp in Sabha, Libya for about two weeks. He was out of money at this point and was forced to call his sister who could send him money to continue.
“The situation was so hard,” he said, “There was no hope.” His sister provided enough money to get him from Sabha to Tripoli.
In Tripoli he was kidnapped and held in a structure resembling an unfinished apartment. It had gates and windows; there was no electric light at night, and on days when the sun wasn’t shining it was difficult to keep track of time.
“Sometimes you don’t know what day it is,” said Modou. “Is it Monday, Tuesday? You don’t know.”
His kidnappers demanded money. A Libyan man spent nights outside on guard. During the day, a Nigerian man was hired to do the job.
To drink, he received a cup of water daily. Sometimes his captors would give him a bottle of water to share among 6-8 people, the number of people kept in each room. For days he would not eat. When he did, he got bread and sometimes rice, “but that’s not always,” he was quick to qualify.
Beatings and violence was a regular occurrence.
“If they’re in a bad mood because it’s been a long time since they’ve received money from anyone in the camp…[smugglers] would make it hard for us those days,” said Modou. “People like us, we didn’t have [financial] help, so it was very hard.”
He stayed in the prison house for one month, and finally plotted an escape with the others. He broke a window and got out, “we would all die if not.”
He didn’t know where to go, so he traced his way back to the place in Tripoli where he met the original smugglers. He hoped to reconnect and continue his transfer to the coast and onto the boat, but the kidnapping, the smugglers informed him, had voided the original transaction.
He managed a lower rate for the last part of his trip, and received financial help from a “clean-hearted” Gambian friend who he met there. The man chipped in enough so that he only had to ask his sister for a small amount of additional cash to get to the coast.
It wasn’t enough for the total amount though, so he stayed and found work in Tripoli for about three to four months. However, “we don’t get anything out of it,” he said. “The job is like, work to eat. You go out to work, but you just get food to eat, no money.”
Finally, he was “dumped” at the coastal camp in Sabratha, after receiving only food – some bread or rice – as payment for his work.
“It is like suicide. On the Mediterranean it’s like suicide in those rubber boats.”
He stayed in Sabratha for three months in a tent. Even the most basic amenities were scarce.
“Shower?” he said, “It’s, like, days before you take a shower.” Because Sabratha is a connection city and a departure point for the Mediterranean, there could be hundreds of people waiting there at any given time.
He drank well water, which was salty, like sea water, but not as strong. Bottled water was too expensive. He received bread to eat, and sometimes some rice.
One night, a boat was leaving. It was not his, but a smuggler had summoned him to help secure it in place while other passengers boarded. At the last minute he snuck aboard too.
Modou crossed he Mediterranean Sea in a rubber dinghy at midnight with about 140 people, including more than 10 women and two children, boys, who were about 5- or 6-years-old.
“It is like suicide. On the Mediterranean it’s like suicide in those rubber boats,” he said. “That’s how I take it to be. Because the amount [of people] in the boat and the type of boat you are using, it’s like suicide.”
The only thing he was able to see were stars. He felt, “just fear.”
He was out to sea for eight to 10 hours before he was rescued by a German ship, was transferred to the Guardia Costiera and landed in Lampedusa on 29 October 2016.
His family thought he had died, they hadn’t heard from him in months. His sister and father cheered over the phone when they got his call from Italy.
Modou is an amazing human being.
In a twist of irony, Modou was employed as an immigration officer in The Gambia before departing for Europe. Now, he wants to go to school, something he didn’t have the chance to do in Gambia. His favorite football team is Arsenal F.C.