Issue link: https://maltatoday.uberflip.com/i/712794
maltatoday, SUNDAY, 17 JULY 2016 17 Special Report no other alternative but to pass in front of the rescued group, whose screams pierced the ship. A sombre atmosphere takes over and everyone – crew included – is left star- ing into each other's eyes. No words are ut- tered. "It's the ones who don't make it that haunt me," the rescue crew would later tell me, standing on the bridge smoking a cigarette with a distant look in their eyes. Had MOAS not spotted the boat at the hour they did, the death toll would have been higher. Once aboard, the migrants are searched and any cigarettes or lighters are confis- cated. Some carry mobile phones, tightly wrapped in plastic to make them water- proof. One teenager had a scrapbook, with handwritten prayers which they would sing to the Virgin Mary. It was clear that, as Orthodox Christians, faith gave them the courage to proceed. Each morning and night, they would sing prayers. It would take two nights, 33 hours and 330 nautical miles to reach the port of Messina, where the migrants disembarked. Three of those rescued, an Egyptian, a Su- danese and a Moroccan, would be the first to touch ground in Messina. Contrary to the rest of the group, the trio were imme- diately taken away by Italian police. One of them had been carrying a wad of cash. The vultures of the seas It is not the first time that MOAS has been faced by questions suggesting that its operations served as pull factor for human smugglers. But dismissing the questions, the organization argues that with or with- out its presence, people still cross. MOAS was set up in 2013, following the humanitarian disaster that left 400 men, women and children dead when two boats capsized and sank. The Mediterranean route from North Africa to Europe is just one route used by human smugglers to traffic people. Smug- glers do not care whether the people make it safely to land or not: all they care about is the money pocketed from every individual who is desperate enough to place their life in the hands of criminals. Smugglers have expanded their business: depending on the numbers, they make use of wooden boats or rubber dinghies. The use of cheap rubber dinghies – bought from China and sometimes imported through Malta – has increased, mostly because the navy vessels have started blowing up wood- en boats. The crudeness of the traffickers' spirit of criminal enterprise was best illustrated by the image of two lonely boats on the hori- zon biding their time until the rescue was completed. The MOAS crew on Monday had rescued 133 migrants on board a rubber dinghy that had left from Subratha. Whilst the rescue was underway, three men on two boats could be clearly seen circling the Topaz Responder like vultures, in the hope of recouping the $100 China- produced dinghy, along with the $5,000 Yamaha 40HP outboard motor. Their plan failed as the dinghy was towed away and handed over to the Italian mili- tary. Migrants on average pay between $2,000 and $5,000 to secure their place on a boat – excluding the money paid along the way to get to Libya and to buy their way out of a prison. On rare occasions, they are given a satellite phone but they're mostly advised to sail north, keeping the sun to their right- hand side. For just one departure, a smuggler can earn a minimum of $332,500. Take the conservative estimate: a dinghy can hold at least 133 migrants, with males sitting on the sides, feet dangling in the sea, whilst el- der people, women and children sit in the lower extremities of the boat. Multiply that by a conservative fee of $2,500 and you have your figure. If the smugglers are feeling generous enough, they might even throw in some raspberry yoghurt or juices or croissants – but even for this they usually charge. Considering that the daily departures are far higher than 133 migrants, the smugglers are making millions in profit every week – which has now led to fights among smug- glers, even sabotage, who want to ensure business remains their own. 'I would do it all over again' It may take three months, two years or 10 years to reach Europe, but they would still do it. As the sun sets and the air is cooler, I sit down to chat with the migrants. Some of them can communicate in English, other times I needed the help of Johannes, a cul- tural mediator with Emergency. Each with their own story, but it always boils down to, "I would do it again". "I never expected the journey to be so hard and I thought that people were trying to discourage me because I thought they didn't want me to have something good." Mariam, 19, is from Gambia and is an eco- nomic migrant. "My father gave me away at 13 and I have four children. I used to sell vegetables at the market, but it's very hard now. We do not have anything to eat and I have six younger sisters. I need to help them." Salih Muhammad, a pharmacist, is 47, and he's with his wife – a nurse – his three daughters and son. They used to live in Dar- fur, Sudan, but had to leave three years ago after he lost his job. He tells me he's a Mus- lim, but not from an Arab tribe. Together with his family, he entered Libya legally in the hope of finding a job. But last year, fighting intensified between two mili- tias close to where he lived and it was no longer safe for his family. "Schools were bombarded, I had no job and we couldn't even afford to buy milk every day. This is no way of bringing up children. I want them to have an educa- tion." It's very easy to learn your way out of Libya, he adds. "You can ask anyone, any person in the street and they will point you towards the right person… including the police and the army." Salih paid 2,000 dinars. On the day of the departure, the smugglers sent a taxi to pick them up from Tripoli and drove to Subra- tha. They were placed in a house where they were first stripped naked and clothes re- turned once they had been robbed of their possessions. Mibrak is 44 years old, has a daughter and had been in Libya for two years before the escape. She used to teach English and Mathematics in Asmera, the Eritrean capi- tal. With tears in her eyes, she recounts how she left her daughter behind with her broth- er as their only chance of survival. "We do not have enough money … we couldn't live." She spent a month travelling the Sahara desert, as others perished along the way. Another survivor – who was held by ISIS in a prison and tortured – says he saw decapi- tated bodies. Mibrak did not pay smugglers in cash but spent a year and a half working as a house- maid. Her left eye was swollen, a reminder of the multiple beatings she was given by a Libyan smuggler to ensure that she does not move on the boat. The man on the right cries after regaining consciousness and realising that he was out of harm's way on MOAS's rescue vessel Mibrak did not pay smugglers in cash but spent a year and a half working as a housemaid. Her left eye was swollen, a reminder of the multiple beatings she was given by a Libyan smuggler to ensure that she does not move on the boat.