International Relations: From Morocco to Spain: A Refugee’s Story

Inspired by the photography of Sebastiao Salgado by Grant Barbosa, July 16, 2002

I stand at the coast, looking forward to my future. I wonder is this the right thing. Leaving my family, heading to a new life. My father just turned fifty, you can see the wear in his face. I’ve decided I have to have a better life than this. A life where I can prosper. Even if this means leaving my wife and daughter behind, I need to, no I must leave. In a few years, I’ll come back for them.

“Come here,” a man says. I recognize his voice as the one I talked to earlier. He told me earlier that this trip is short, but not very safe. I told him even though most of us don’t know how to swim, I’ve spent a great deal of time training myself how. “Get in the boat,” the same man says, “and sit down.” I walk onto the boat. The boat starts tipping over as I sit down. By the time I’m down the boat finally is balanced.

“This doesn’t seem right,” I say.

“What is the matter,” the elder man sitting next to me replies.

“This water, it is too calm,” I answer.

“This is the best time to go,” the elder vocates.

The boat starts moving. The water seems calm, I wonder how far we have gone. I ponder this question when I feel a drop of water hit my right shoulder. I swiftly slant my head towards the sky and see the formation of a huge storm cloud. I feel a strong wind blow past my thin frame. A wave follows and soaks the whole of the passengers on the boat. I can easily tell that soon the boat will be overturned if we do not get away from the storm.

As the boat hurries to reach its destination, I see a small space of land. Another huge wave, this one almost flipped the boat, but with great luck it sent us closer to the land. I see a huge wave that quickly scoops up the boat and overturns it. I’m hit with the huge force of another wave and sent under water. Using all my might I swim upward towards the surface. When I make it I find myself gasping for air and the storm gone as quickly as it came. I quickly use the last of my strength to reach the Spanish land.

Here I am now, standing at the coast, looking backward to my past. I know I must run, quickly, for I can’t afford to get caught. I’ll go on to greatness for my wife and my baby girl. I still have to run, though, always running, because there is no way I’m going to end up in Los Capuchinos.*
*A prison in Spain