The voyage from Libya across the Central Mediterranean to Italy is considered one of the world’s most deadly migration route on record and since 2014 has become the main route following attempts to stop comparatively shorter and safer crossings over the Aegean Sea by detaining anyone arriving on Greek islands under threats of deportation. But Europe’s strategy to deter migration in the Mediterranean has all but failed. The Central Mediterranean Sea is the main migratory route for millions of people hoping to reach Europe from the Middle East and Africa. Many are coming to escape discrimination and terrible poverty, while others are fleeing years of war and conflict. To reach Libya, most refugees and migrants arrive regularly by foot or by bus or by car. Those setting off from East Africa travel through Sudan, while those from West and Central Africa travel through Niger. To a lesser extent, those from West Africa pass through Algeria. Most migrants and refugees arriving in Italy, the country for which there is the most current data, are from Nigeria, with 15,317 people. Fewer but still sizable numbers of people have come from Eritrea, Guinea, Ivory Coast, Gambia, Senegal, Mali and Sudan. If one wants to talk about an urgent situation — rather than arrivals or asylum requests — then one must talk about deaths a sea.

SAMIRA, 27, CHAD

I was imprisoned for six years in Libya. When the terrorist attack from Boko Haram in Nigeria happened, my family and I moved to Cameroon. Once there an attack from Boko killed my father and my mother died of sorrow. After that I stayed with my little brother. There, I took care of him for a while. I was then kidnapped by Boko Haram and brought to Nigeria. Once there, another convoy was sent and kidnapped my brother. I stayed seven-and-a-half months in Nigeria with the guy who kidnapped me. He repeatedly raped and abused me. Then one day I had enough…I fled. I was with my little brother, we ran to another part of Nigeria. I met another person who offered to help my brother and I. I accepted. This man took us to Niger. He then beat, abused and raped me countless time. I then fled once again, with my brother. But this man tracked us down, and sold us to a man in Libya for money. So my brother and I were sold to another man. This time, a very light skinned man. We stayed in Sabha, Libya. He owned me and my brother. I was hit everyday by him and some days, he’d bring other men, many men who would then beat and rape me. A month ago, I found out someone shot this man. A friend of his offered to help my brother and I. I told this man I couldn’t go back to Chad. There’s no family there. I cannot go back to Cameroon, because everything my father built was destroyed. The men said he would try and help me, in anyway he can. I was scared of him because in Libya people are very brutal. I have the scars still from all the beatings I took. My brother said, one night, “We’re leaving, let’s head to the beach!” We jumped the gates from where we stayed. We ran to the beach and saw the boats. My brother jumped into the boat and as scared as I was, I followed him. When the water started to enter the boat in the middle of the night, I was getting more and more scared. Many men took their clothes off to ring out the water….but there was too much, the water kept going. Then we saw a plane. We had no idea where we were, whether it was Tunisia, Morocco, we didn’t know anything…we screamed, we screamed more. Then the men took their wet clothes to wave

SAMI, 19, SUDAN

I come from a lower class family, who are not well educated and not too intelligent, especially because we live in a rural part of Sudan. I escaped Somalia because I am gay, and then I was trapped in Libya. At home they will shoot me, because in Somalia it is not allowed to be gay. In Libya, they will also shoot me too. Maybe it’s even worse than Sudan, because I am a black gay man. I had very tough childhood in Sudan. There were a lot of obstacles I had to overcome to get here today. Homosexuality is rejected both culturally and religiously. From an early age, I was taught that being gay is wrong and shameful; it’s against nature and God. I have learned that homosexuals are going to hell and they should be stoned to death. My parents saw lots of flaws in me and I was told by my family and friends to be more of a man. I was blamed for every word, move or act I did; everything for my family was just too feminine and girly. Always getting yelled at to stop playing with girls, but the fact I was always interested in music and dance, which were mostly for girls. My father told me to play sports. Be a footballer. Play like other men. I was the only guy in these classes while other guys were playing football. That was a huge disappointment to my family. I recall my parents beating me a few times because of this. Also being insulted by other parents who saw me singing with the girls. You have to do things men do: like climb trees and play football and cricket. I, on the other hand, liked to play with the girls and play with hair and dolls. I have always felt that I’m different than others and that I don’t fit or belong. I was often bullied and people made fun of me for being so feminine. At school I have been given different names such as sissy and faggot. My favorite colors growing up was yellow and pink, not because all girls like it; but it was those colors I identified with. They spoke to be. Made me feel warmth. I also dreamed of painting my own house one day yellow. My father would beat me every time he saw me playing with girls or talking about dance classes to girls. One day my father hit me to the point where I felt I would die. I became very depressed.

XAVIER, 22, CÔTE D’IVOIRE

When I was fourteen years old, my dad died; my mother raised my brother and I. We’re very poor. My brother and I could not pay the school fees, so we had to both drop out. As my mother is older, she cannot work often, so I do most of the work now. I can only read a little and I’m not good at writing. My little brother, he is much worse off than me as he can barely read and write. I remember my father well. He ran a small restaurant in town, and made good money to support our family. He was a loving man; family always came first for him. But when he passed away, my mother and I couldn’t keep the restaurant. So we had so sell it. My mother is ill now, I’m worried about her. I knew it was time to leave my country, it was sad to say goodbye to my mother and brother, and my studies. Who would provide for my mother!? My young brother is only twelve. It was my time to fill my father shoes. My homeland is a beautiful place. There are no jobs here, as we’re a country still recovering from civil war. There are still a lot of conflicts and terrorist attacks that happen here. I packed a bag, kissed my mother and hugged my little brother goodbye! I first found some work when I arrived in Algeria. I worked many jobs, cleaning, laying bricks, unloading cement, and selling fruit. I mainly slept on the streets, as whatever money I made I mailed home to my mother. I never told her I lived on the street. I lied saying I lived with a nice family who took me in. I wish this were true. So many nights I was scared living on the street. While I was walking home after work, a couple of men came up to me, saying they could give me work in Libya. They spoke about oil jobs, factories and there are plenty of farms to work on, take care of animals and mow grass. I was so excited! I remember jumping to my feet the morning the men came to pick me up. Then I noticed other men in the truck, some of them did not look well. Very sick, some beaten. As I got into the truck, one of the men punched me in the face. I was taken to a small warehouse where they hit me on the soles of my feet with large cables. I have scars from this. In December of this year I arrived in Libya. Once I healed from my injuries, everything was organized by the smugglers to start working on a farm. The work was very long hours, with barely any pay. Many black men like myself were traded back and forth everyday. This quickly proved to be a nightmare. In Libya nobody is friendly to each other. Every day people are abducted here on the farm, every day people are taken hostage from here, and I saw many people killed every day. I was imprisoned on this farm in Libya for six months. I was beaten with hands and sticks. Everyone had a weapon, even the children, like ten-year-old boys. They would beat us.

LEILA, 24, SUDAN

My family has come to the point of no return. It is difficult to describe the conditions we were kept in. I try not to imagine it, but there was roughly 1,500 people living, eating, sleeping and defecating in one large room. It was a shack. People were laying over one another. We pushed dead bodies to one side of the room. The women! We women endured a lot. I saw many, many women being raped. One day a couple soldiers entered. They grabbed one woman and ripped the baby from her arms, they tossed the baby to the ground. She started crying, as the baby was not moving. Next, the soldiers stripped a few women naked. Then a soldier grabbed one woman and held a knife to her throat and began to rape her. Eight soldiers took turns to rape four of the women over the course of several hours I would say. It was horrible having to watch and not help. I was so scared the men were gonna pick me or my friends. I kept telling myself, I must not reveal any weakness in front of other women. I held my head high. Then four or five soldiers began taking women away in groups of five to seven. I could hear so much screaming. We all tried to look through the holes to see what was happening, but the men took them further away. After a half-hour, the same men came back and grabbed a woman from Sudan, they slit her throat in front of everyone. I started crying. I couldn’t believe my eyes seeing what was happening in front of me. Afterwards, they beat the women with wooden sticks then left and locked the door. This was almost a daily sight for us women. I was raped. They had guns pointed at me while they stripped me to take turns one by one. I don’t remember how many of them raped me but at one stage I had lost consciousness from screaming and trying to fight them off.

“Everyone has the right to leave
any country, including his own,”
reads the Universal Declaration
of Human Rights. Migration, not
just asylum, is a human right.