Born free: The migrants' quest for freedom

About 1,000 Africans have fled Libya and arrived by boat to an ambivalent welcome in Malta. Christian Peregin puts two faces to the numbers.

One of the migrants is wearing a leather jacket, the other a warm woollen jumper. Beads of sweat appear on their foreheads as a blaze of morning sunshine pierces through the barred window. But instead of moving towards the shade, they face the sunshine and embrace the heat.

Both men consider themselves to be Eritreans even though their nationality has been more of a scourge than a source of pride. One of them is 31. The other is “about 30”.

They arrived together two weeks ago on the first boat to reach Malta from Libya. Their journey took 40-hours and was shared by more than 300 others. On their arrival, the press gathered eagerly to hear their stories but the authorities prevented journalists from making contact.

Now, the government has allowed interviews to take place, making Sultan Mohammed Saeed and Mulugeta Tafere the first two people to break the silence.

Their life stories are as complex as the political conflicts that characterise their home country and its surrounding region. But one aspect of their lives is surprisingly similar.

Mr Saeed is a Muslim who fell in love with a Christian girl. Although his parents are Eritrean and still live there today, he was born and studied in Sudan, so he dealt with immigration officials frequently. When they found out he was marrying a Christian girl they made his life miserable, throwing him in and out of jail for no reason until he decided to leave for good. Her family did not want trouble and eventually persuaded her to divorce him. So he fled alone, broken-hearted.

Mr Tafere is a Christian who fell in love with a Muslim. When it came to marrying, her family did not approve and they used fists and knives to manifest their disapproval. His scars tell the story vividly. In the meantime, Mr Tafere was asked to become a soldier and fight the war against Ethiopia but he wanted to continue studying physics. He fled with his Muslim wife.

Before the violence erupted in Libya, Mr Saeed and Mr Tafere had been residing in Tripoli for a few years, living in fear of being thrown in jail indiscriminately. They hoped to eventually leave and reach Europe. Since patrols were beefed up in recent years, this dream became increasingly unlikely.

Then, pro-democracy protests kicked off in Benghazi and Muammar Gaddafi’s forces retaliated, with rumours spreading that African mercenaries were flown in to attack Libyan people.

“There was a lot of hate. We were scared the Libyan people would kill us because our brothers were being brought over to kill their brothers,” Mr Saeed explains, adding that sub-Saharan Africans chose to spend most of their time indoors. In the meantime, the Libyan government was handing out weapons to ordinary people, making the situation more precarious.

“Some of us were even ready to go back to our home countries where we would have been imprisoned or worse,” says Mr Saeed.

The rumours, however, were not all negative. They also heard that smugglers, who had been imprisoned, had now been released. And the government said Africans were free to leave.

The smugglers, who, they say, had operated with the tacit approval of the Libyan government in previous years, restarted their business, offering voyages at an average €700 apiece.

“The decision was ours. If any of us says he left just to leave Libya, he is lying. Everybody comes to Libya just to cross the sea to Europe,” Mr Saeed says. “There was 90 per cent chance of dying but we had to hold on to the other 10 per cent. Better to drown seeking freedom than to be killed.”

Despite the overcrowding and the sense of uncertainty, their voyage was not particularly tempestuous. “The weather was perfect,” smiles Mr Saeed as he stares back at the sunshine as if to give grace.

But Mr Tafere reminds him of the fog that engulfed the boat at intervals, filling them with fear, particularly because they doubted whether the captain knew where he was going. “We had no more food or water, so if we stayed for another two days we would have died.”

Eventually, they saw a fishing boat and asked for directions to Lampedusa or Sicily, which is where they later thought they had reached when they eventually saw land. But the fishermen had directed them to Malta and their dreams were shattered when a small boat with a couple of Maltese soldiers on board said they had reached the island where they run the risk of being in detention for 18 months.

They were then given a choice: either to take fuel and supplies to continue with their journey or enter Malta and be taken into detention.

“We preferred to go to Italy but the Somalis wanted to get to land and be safe and they were in the majority.”

In fact, about 40 of the Eritreans remained on board until “the major” told them they could not leave because it was against the law.

Now the men have been in the Ħal Far detention centre for two weeks. Although they are grateful to the soldiers for their treatment, they say they are overcrowded, with about 100 people in six rooms.

“We want a telephone so that we can tell our families back home that we are okay,” Mr Tafere says, pointing out that other boats did not make it.

“We miss the sunshine,” says Mr Saeed, annoyed that his freedom is still elusive after so many years.

But for eyes that have seen the ugliest parts of human nature, his are still full of peace and hope, especially as he talks about what he loves about Europe. “I like that a human is treated like a human. When God created me, when my mother gave birth, she made me free. I see these things in European countries and I hope to get it. And I will get it, I’m sure.”