In an unfinished building in the Tunisian capital of Tunis, a group of young men are playing cards.
Across its five floors, those in transit towards Europe sleep on thin mattresses or cardboard, eat whatever they can find, and chat about their future prospects. They see the sun set and rise across the skyline of mostly white buildings. They watch planes take off from the nearby airport, heading to far-off countries they can only dream of. “This view, we can’t see how beautiful it is,” one comments: they are too caught up with their own concerns.
A 26-year-old explains that the vast majority of those living in the building are Sudanese. They fled war but don’t have access to humanitarian visas or other safe routes of travel. Instead, they hope to make the often deadly journey across the Mediterranean towards Italy.
“I want to move to Europe. I want to get out from Africa,” the former student says. “I would cross the sea because there’s no solution here. Of course it’s dangerous but just you know, a human being must go.”
The devastating conflict in Sudan began on April 15th. Amnesty International has said war crimes are “rampant”, with thousands of people killed or injured. By mid-August, more than four million people had been displaced, according to the UN. More than one million of them have fled the country.
The Central Mediterranean migration route – between Tunisia or Libya and Italy or Malta – is known as the deadliest in the world by the UN, with more than 22,260 people having died or going gone missing on it since 2014
Communications have been difficult for many of those left behind. One Facebook page has amassed more than 313,000 members, with constant posts from people searching for missing friends and relatives, or posting pictures of dead and unidentified bodies.
No one knows exactly how many Sudanese have reached Tunisia – the north African country that has become the main departure point for Europe – in the past few months. The Central Mediterranean migration route – between Tunisia or Libya and Italy or Malta – is known as the deadliest in the world by the UN, with more than 22,260 people having died or gone missing on it since 2014, more than 2,000 of them this year.
Those now waiting to take to the sea hope to claim asylum and achieve refugee status, but they need to reach European territory first. According to UN data, more than 1,600 Sudanese people arrived in Italy by sea between January and the end of July.
Stemming migration
The Sudanese taking these journeys are partially victims, once again, of the EU’s anti-migration policies. Over the past decade, EU funding, aimed at stemming migration from Africa, has been seen to embolden the Rapid Support Forces – the paramilitary group once tasked with guarding Sudan’s western border, which eventually went to war with the Sudanese army, sparking the current conflict.
Those in Tunisia, who speak to The Irish Times, describe long journeys involving multiple countries – Chad, Niger, Algeria and Libya – as they dodged security forces and trekked through desert. In recalling these odysseys, they note repeatedly how helpful their fellow countryfolk have been: Sudanese people assist each other along the way with money, shelter and advice on how to approach the next parts of the trip.
This unfinished building in Tunis is one momentary haven they have discovered, though everyone living here has been told they will soon be forced to leave.
On the ground floor, a man sits in a chair among the rubble as another styles his hair. The cafe across the road is levying one Tunisian dinar (€0.30) to charge a phone for an hour.
He has tried to cross the sea five times already but has been repeatedly intercepted by the EU-supported Libyan coastguard. The last time, he says, he was shot in the hand and foot, and locked up for a year
One man approaches, saying he speaks fluent Russian. He was born in 1974, and studied economics in Ukraine. He has family in the UK, and a health problem for which he needs medication, he says. He hopes to set sail soon.
Advising new arrivals is a 35-year-old who asks to be referred to by the nickname Marshall. “We treat every place as our home because we don’t have a home,” he says.
Marshall left Sudan five years ago and spent time in Niger, Algeria and Libya before coming to Tunisia. He has tried to cross the sea five times already but has been repeatedly intercepted by the EU-supported Libyan coastguard. The last time, he says, he was shot in the hand and foot, and locked up for a year.
In Tunisia, he says, the situation is getting worse, with racism against black Africans hugely exacerbated since president Kais Saied suggested earlier this year that they were part of a “criminal plot” to change the demographics of the country. “All of them, they hate,” Marshall opined about Tunisians now. “It is so difficult.”
He has friends in Germany and dreams of attending university there or in the UK. “The situation in Sudan becomes so crazy. I can’t go back to Sudan,” he says. Other friends are trying to cross the sea too. “Sometimes they’re succeeding and sometimes they fail.”
‘Genocide’
A former law student approaches and agrees to an interview. The 25-year-old asks to be called by a fake name, Mohamed Ali. He was born in Darfur, with family in both Geneina, West Darfur, and Nyala, South Darfur. “Geneina is being destroyed, there is a genocide there. Civilians, all of them cross to Chad. In Nyala now I called my father and he said they want to move,” he says.
This week, the UK’s Africa minister Andrew Mitchell said war crimes were likely being committed against civilians, particularly in Darfur.
“The UK is extremely concerned by the growing body of evidence of atrocities against civilians being committed in Sudan,” he said in a statement. “The continued widespread violence across the country and significant civilian death toll are horrific. Reports of deliberate targeting and mass displacement of the Masalit community in Darfur are particularly shocking and abhorrent. Intentional directing of attacks at the civilian population is a war crime.”
Ali was at his university in Khartoum when the war began.
“I woke up to the sound of a gun,” he recalls. “I called a friend and asked what was going on. He said that there is a war between the RSF and the Sudanese military. So I… took only my shirt and my trousers. We ran… I left my passport, all my stuff was there, I just brought myself.”
He thought he could return to his room later, but says it proved impossible because of the level of danger. “We moved with the people,” he says. “If you went to Sudan you would know.”
After two weeks spent sheltering in a friend’s house, Ali contemplated his options. He heard South Sudan was hard to work in, and Uganda was expensive. He travelled to Chad in a vehicle “usually used to transport goods, with about 100 people in it”. From there he continued to Niger and on to Algeria, where he was caught and imprisoned for not having a visa.
“They have no exception, [even] if you’re [from] a country in a war… They took everything, our money, our rings. Nothing with value they left us.”
When he was released, he found other Sudanese people. “They were so welcoming, they give me water, food, say ‘you are our brother until you manage yourself’… Sudanese everywhere are like this. They will give you everything. They will help you.”
Kind and charitable
Around midnight one night, he approached the Tunisian border with 12 others from Sudan. They were separated after they saw the torches of Algerian security guards. He hid in a forest, and eventually made it on to Tunisian soil alone. Ali arrived at the unfinished building two days before we meet, after running into a friend from Darfur in the train station in Tunis, and other Sudanese people who lent him money for a taxi and told him where to go.
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He would like to see people of other nationalities be as kind and charitable to those fleeing war as the Sudanese are to each other, he says.
“The African Union and European Union and all organisations, they don’t do much about humanitarian aid or [extending a] humanitarian helping hand to Sudanese,” he adds. “Really I am so sad about my African people. They try to cross all these deserts, they face deaths.”
‘It’s only for young men,’ one says about the journey to Europe, because the road is so fraught with danger. ‘All of us, we are still single’
“I want to go to Italy, and then go to the UK,” he continues. He describes how people are pooling together to buy boats, with contributions of about 1,500 Tunisian dinars (€445) each. Tunisian smugglers used to charge much more, he explains. They find someone who is able to drive, and that person and their assistant travel for free.
From Tunis, those heading towards Europe alternatively often catch a louage – or minivan – to Sfax, a port city about 270km away, which in turn lies about 130km from the Italian island of Lampedusa.
In the centre of Sfax, thousands of black Africans have gathered, with many sleeping rough and begging for food and water. They congregate by nationality: Sierra Leoneans in front of the shops; Gambians by the medina. A windswept park off a large roundabout offers a temporary home to hundreds of the Sudanese and South Sudanese.
Some are very young: one boy says he is 14 and has travelled alone. “The day after tomorrow I want to go. Lampedusa,” he says. Others are older and list their qualifications: one man says he is a graduate with a university degree in animal protection; he has been in the park for a month.
The Sudanese are all male. “It’s only for young men,” one says about the journey to Europe, because the road is so fraught with danger. “All of us, we are still single.” Their families instead attempt escapes to neighbouring or nearby countries. When the men get to Europe, they hope to send back support or may attempt to apply for family reunification.
‘I want to cross’
Many have come from Darfur. “They’re killing people there. They rape the women and kill the children. All the villages they’re burning. Everyone who lived here has died,” says a 25-year-old from Fashir, North Darfur, who asks not to be named. He has gone three months without being able to communicate with his father, he says. “I don’t know is he still alive or [if] he is killed.”
He sits, surrounded by others, who all have the same dream. “I want to cross,” he says about the Mediterranean. “I need a safe place. I want to protect my life.” He expects to pay between 2,000 and 2,500 dinars (about €590 to €740) for a place in a boat: money he does not have. “Sometimes if you have your friend in Europe they can borrow you some money,” he says. “Just now, I’m waiting. When I get a chance I will enter.”
