Switzerland, Thoune. Photo : T@H!R (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)

A couple of weeks ago, during a long chat, a friend asked me: «How easy is it to integrate into Swiss society?» She happens to be a native of this country. My answer was, «It’s not easy but if you really want to, you can».

My mind then quickly reflected on the words of a well known South American revolutionist, Che Guevara, who said «Revolution is not an apple that falls when it is ripe. You have to make it fall». Integrating into the Swiss society needs a gradual change of both mind and body. You might say it is just like that everywhere but the Swiss community is particular. With strict time keeping of the public transport, extreme cleanliness and several languages, one has to put in lots of effort to fit into this unique society.

I remember the first day I saw snow. I spent some extra minutes in the window admiring the wonders of God, to a person who comes from an equatorial climate; you can imagine how I felt. This though made me miss a train that eventually led to arriving late to work. At that time, I was attending an occupation program at Botza in Valais. My supervisor was not happy and I was sent to explain to the overall Supervisor. On that day, I learnt that in Switzerland, be it snow or sunshine, work is work and time is time. In my country, the day seems slower and more relaxed.

Some months ago, as it’s an arrangement in our commune to have dinner each month with all the people from the commune, one of the people, a retired doctor asked us how we were finding the commune. We complained of people being so reserved. He told us something that I will never forget: He said «Here no one needs to look for friends, many people have their families and friends with whom they share with the same culture. It’s up to you as new comers to try to make friends. I am sure we are welcoming; inviting you to such dinners is an indication that we love you and we want to be with you. Those of you who are Christians, try to go to church, you will meet people there, talk to people and always be good…». The old retired doctor, I take him as one of the most sincere people I have ever talked too. I highly value his advice.

Being in the asylum process, waiting to be accepted or not into Swiss society as reminds me of the road to Jericho. This oldest inhabited city in the whole world is depicted as a unique city below sea level surrounded by mountains. For those of you who read the bible, you will know the popular story of The Good Samaritan. I will not bore you with the whole story but what we know is that the road to Jericho is a winding, meandering road. It’s really conducive for ambushing. As the process of the asylum application meanders, you get ambushed by stress, mistrust…

As you meander around waiting for the answer from the authorities about your asylum application, you hardly sleep well during the week as police can easily pick you up any morning. I did not know that people can stay in prison for months without a crime!! I can tell you that I get my good sleep only on Saturday and Sunday mornings. To those who make it Jericho, miracles happen there!

Allow me to also continue to paint the relationship between some people here and the refugees. To some, every refugee is a Samaritan. As you all know, the relationship between the Jews and the Samaritans was not so good. That is why when a Samaritan helped the Jew who had been beaten on the way to Jericho, he came to be known as The Good Samaritan. I would love to tell you, not every refugee is a criminal. A few times, some young people end up asking you for drugs just because they think everyone your color is a dealer.

Many of us have families, children, young brothers and sisters so we cannot allow the young generation to waste in the lovely country that is hosting us.

I totally appreciate the care given to refuges here. In Africa, refugee camps are made of tents. Many of you have seen such images in television and fellow Africans know what I am talking about. I am so happy that here one gets a chance to sleep like a human being with some dignity. Where else can you find such care? The willingness to teach you a new language to fit into the society is also something special.

I have come to learn so many things in the period I have been around. One of the most important things is endurance just the way good soldiers do. It’s also important to think positively, to concentrate your thoughts on things you can change and leave those that you cannot change.

Marcus

Membre de la rédaction valaisanne de Voix d’Exils

A young man from Kurdistan is crossing the Mediterranean sea in 2009. Exclusive photo: Voix d’Exils.

I was a little bit lonely during the summer holidays, and maybe that’s why I was able to follow the London Olympics Games, from the opening ceremony up to the closing. The London Games were going to remain perfect in my mind, if not for the fact that a few days after the closure, I learned that the dream of a Somali athlete, Samia Yusuf Omar, had ended in the Mediterranean sea.

I must confess that I only came to know Samia through the report of her death, when she died in the sea trying to make her way to Europe, and London in particular to represent her country in the Olympic Games. I wonder if she would have been able to participate, or if she would have even struggled with immigration issues? The courage of Samia from Somalia, a country torn by war, is not only explained by sport’s ambitions but also her sense of survival!

Since the Arab spring erupted in early 2011 in North Africa, the world carries more interest in crossing accidents in the Mediterranean sea. As the Italians and the French were arguing on how they should share the refugee burden, to me, the major interest was the way people, in their quest for survival, undertake hazardous journeys, board over crowded boats, with great risks of drowning and most end up losing their lives, drowningt in the dark waters of the sea. The more I tried to read about the sea deaths, the more I was surprised as I learned that on average of 1500 people drown per year as they try to cross from Africa to Europe. This makes these waters, the worst of the world, with the biggest number of dead people annually. Some media suspect that the number might even be doubled since there are many boats that disappear with no recorded number of people on board.
When I reached Switzerland, in August 2011, I met a young man called Abu, who gave me more details about the dangers of crossing the Mediterranean sea. Abu was 25 years old, single, and is originated from Nigeria where he was working in Printing and Press before facing problems that forced him to leave his country. He told me horrific details of his journey, from Nigeria to Morocco, and then later crossing to Europe.
Abu’s journey started with the crossing of the hot Sahara desert. He told me how the group of eight people he was part of kept reducing with deaths due to sand and dehydration. They had started off by hiring the services of a gang who had a speedy Land Rover Defender vehicle, which enabled them to cross the Sahara. They had water and other necessities and the initial destination was Morroco, where they could find the boat connection services to Europe.

Lost in the middle of the Sahara desert

The Sahara desert. Photo: Dan.be. (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)

After driving for several hundred kilometers, possibly a quarter of the desert, the car broke down. After several manoeuvres to repair the engine, the refugees were told to get out to see if the car could be pushed to start again with less load. The pushing succeeded and the car started. But yes, it was the beginning of the horror, as the two transporters just sped back leaving the refugees stranded more than a hundreds of kilometres inside the desert. They had been robbed of thousands of dollars, which they had paid to be transported to Morocco. Well, food and water had also been removed to reduce the weight in the car. The poor 6 men and 2 girls just realised that they had been conned to their death as they were to later die one by one.

After four days of walking (usually during the nights, to avoid the unbearable sun in the desert), only 3 people were still alive. They had been surviving by drinking their urine and strictly rationed food. Among them was one girl, Abu and another boy. Its was during the night of the fourth day that they were rescued by patrolling moroccan border guards with barely tired, dehydrated, with now skeletal bodies. They were immediately rushed to the Red Cross facility for intensive medical attention to recover from hard beatings of the Sahara. The girl was to later lose her mind, as among those who had died on the way was her brother and her boy friend.

Lost in no man’s water sea
Abu did recover from the desert trauma, and spent two years of hard life: sleeping on the streets of  a maroccan port, begging money to survive, and doing odd jobs on the black market; hoping one day he would get enough money to pay the boat to Spain illegally organised by gangs in Morocco.

A young man from Kurdistan is crossing the Mediterranean sea in 2009. Exclusive photo: Voix d’Exils

After being rejected several times by the gangs which organise clandestine journeys to Spain, for lack of sufficient money, a gang leader he had approached fifteen times during his two years in Morrocco, finally felt sorry for him. The gang leader told him, “I am taking you on my boat because I feel pity for you. You should have tried to go back to your country, but I know you cannot cross the desert again. Lets agree on one thing: in case of trouble in  the sea and  if we need to throw things off the boat, you will be the one to be thrown out first, because you have paid the least”. Abu promised the man that he would jump into the water  voluntarily before being thrown out in the case of trouble.

The journey was expected to take 15 hours if all factors remained constant. First, the boat raised with Abu’s fear as it was fully packed. They started off in the afternoon with 70 people on board. Among the refugees was a pastor, who started to pray and assured the trembling travellers of God’s protection and then each one started to pray in his or her own language. They all knew that thousands had died in that sea in their attempt to cross to Europe.

The journey started with hours of quietness but for the sobbing of children also present and the constant roar of the boat engine. The majority of women had children, and some had conceived as a result of rape in Morocco or other places where they had passed on their way to Europe. There are gangs who use the desperate girls as sex slaves forcing them into prostitution and some end up getting pregnant.

It was late at night, the sea was dark as hell, in sight of stars in the sky, then fear erupted because suddenly the engine stopped ! After several attempts to re-start the engine in vain, Abu thought that his time of voluntary plunge into the Mediterranean had arrived. The captain ordered all the luggage to be thrown into the water but, in the meantime, he attempted to fix his engine with cries filling the air from the  boat’s occupants as they waited for their death.
These transporters always rely on 2 things, the compass and the spanish coastal patrol. There is a point in the ocean where the telephone network is cut out. The transporters usually have two phones, one for Moroccan network and another for Spanish connection.

The engine died unfortunately where neither Morocco nor Spain could be reached via telephone. The option for Spain is always the best, because if they can call the Spanish rescue services, it means that they are already in Spanish waters, thus Spanish territory. Unfortunately, this time, they belonged to no man’s waters.

They had been spotted by the patrol chopper after 3 hours of floating waiting for their final minutes of drowning. The chopper called the vessel and they were officially registered in Spain as refugees. 5 months in economic stricken Spain turned Abu into a beggar again, like he had been in Morocco.

The unpleasant surprise of Europe

While Abu was narrating this story, he was no longer in Spain but in Switzerland. A young intelligent man now getting depressed, because Europe had given him an unpleasant surprise, like many other African immigrants who were living in Spain : living in very inhumane condition in deserted houses, and so on.

The Alps. Photo: f-l-e-x (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)

As he concluded his tale and no more sure of his fate in the Alpine country where he had moved from the suffering of Spain, he asked me: “Marcus, do you think it is worthy for all the fellow Africans to go through these difficulties to make it way to Europe?” I answered him: “ Some have no choice, but to run wherever they can”. He then broke down and cried, murmuring how he has wasted 3 years of his youth.

Abu was later arrested and deported to Spain, because of the Dublin Regulation, as he had already applied for asylum in Spain. When I was told of his arrest, tears came down my cheeks. The question that came to my mind was: who is to blame of all this? The wars? Poverty? The gross abuse of human rights that lead to thousands of refugees? But then, I stopped thinking because I recalled the biblical quote of Luke, that goes: “Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven”.

La traduction française de ce témoignage paraîtra prochainement sur Voix d’Exils

Marcus

Membre de la rédaction valaisanne de Voix d’Exils

Shawn Wakida, rédacteur à Voix d’Exils

Just like me, there are so many cases where by many immigrants who are not dealers find or have found themselves in prisons and even found guilty of drugs dealings. This is because of their friends who are dealers or because of the miscalculation of police investigations.

In August 2007, while at the Centre d’enregistrement et de Procédure de Vallorbe (CEP) for my asylum procedure, I was residing in a room of eight persons. During an afternoon, I was approached by one of my roommate who offered to show me how it is like making real money without hustling. I listened to him carefully, but he never told me what the real job was. He told me that if I was interested, I had to follow him to Lausanne that day for a night, and that’s when he will show me to the people who will give me what to do. And this is what brought me hesitations because I was not allowed to sleep even a single night outside CEP – Vallorbe without the permission of the authority. I therefore decided to go and talk over it with my friend who is a person that I had started having a little trust in and he is also a devoted Christian. He advised me not to go and that person has no job for me other than recruiting me into drugs business. I took his advice and I never went to Lausanne and that was that.

My transfer from Vallorbe to EVAM foyer at Crissier

I was later given a transfer after being in Vallorbe for two months but with a negative response my asylum procedure. And I was sent to the EVAM Centre at St-Croix where I stayed for two months and later transferred to EVAM centre in Crissier. But while in Crissier, I decided to go for a Sunday Church service and once again, I met this same former Vallorbe roommate and he asked me what I was doing with my life in Switzerland. I told him that I am always at the EVAM centre in Crissier doing nothing apart from eating and sleeping but can’t even go for French lessons because Bern sent me a second negative response on my case. And therefore I have no right on anything in this country. And this time, he really talked to me seriously on how it is like living in a country where they no longer want you anymore and worst of all sitting there doing nothing. “What if they send you back home today, what will you show for yourself as a benefit from Switzerland?” He asked, and I just remained silent thinking about it. In fact I was even hungry at that time because I had no money to buy even bread because EVAM had two weeks earlier stopped giving me financial support. And then, he continued telling all kinds of encouraging things that when I started thinking about it all. I was indeed a poor neglected person who needed serious spiritual and financial help. As he was leaving, he gave me CHF 50 and told me to buy some food for myself and for me CHF 50 was just like CHF 500. And he also gave me his telephone number and we then departed in different directions. But deep inside me, I felt he indeed had a generous heart more than even EVAM and ODM. I later went to the centre and as I was lying on my bed, I began thinking of all my friend talked to me and even started crying wondering if really Switzerland wanted me to have a good life. I believed him in some areas of what he talked to me and even started having positive thinking on joining drugs business. But as usual, I knelt down and turned to my Lord for guidance and as I pray something told me that drugs are not meant for me, and I promised my Lord never to indulge myself in drugs or related stuff.

The time for prison

I was later transferred from Crissier to the Foyer d’aide d’urgence de Vennes believed by immigrants who reside there as “the swiss Guantanamo” regarding it to the Guantanamo prison in Cuba. I lived in this centre in a room of two persons for one year and eight months but with serious health problems. So on Saturday the 29^th August, 2009, I went to my friend’s place for a weekend and stayed there until Monday the 31^st. I left there at around 22hrs, and by the time I reached Vennes, it was coming to midnight. When I arrived at the Foyer d’aide d’urgence de Vennes, the Security personnel at the entrance told me that I have been transferred to Bex, and I wondered how I could get a transfer without a letter of transfer notice. But I argued with him for a while and he told me to wait from one of the rooms opposite their office which I obediently did. As I was barely 10 minutes in that room, three police officers swung in and handcuffed me immediately and told me not to say anything. I was taken to the police cells at Hotel de Police in Lausanne. But I defied that after reaching at Hotel de Police and I asked them why I was being held, “we are not allowed to tell you anything therefore the inspector will explain to you why you are here when you meet him tomorrow”, one of them responded. I spent the entire night in the a room and on leather mattress, oooh men it was damn cold in there, and I never even thought of sleeping wondering what I might have done wrong to face all what I was going through at the time.

The next morning of the 1^st September 2010

Now its 10h17 the next morning and two traffic police officers come in to open the door of my cell and they ask me to follow them of which I did. They put me in a lift and we went to another floor where I was put into another cell for another one hour. And later the inspector came in to take me to his office. Reaching his office, he asked me if I knew why I was at the Hotel den Police and I responded with a big “NO”. Then he showed me one photo and asked me if I knew the person it represents, “Yes, he is my roommate at the centre”, I replied.  “And what’s his name?” He asked. I gave him his name. He kept quiet for a few seconds and then opened a cabinet and brought out a bunch of white stuffs and asked me if I knew what it was and of which I replied with a “no”. He then became mad and banged the table, “this is cocaïne!”, he said. I couldn’t imagine myself before police because of drugs something I have refused to deal in. I told him I have never seen cocaïne before in that form and the one I usually see on televisions are not like that. He then told me that I was just a witness who had to cooperate with them if not I will as well be considered a suspect. I assured him of my cooperation on everything I know. He later called in a female judge who appreciated my cooperation but asked me if I was mistreated at the time of my arrest and detention. “Yes Madame!” I replied, “I was handcuffed and am still wondering why they had to handcuff an innocent person like me and above all why I had to be detained through a ruthless cold night”. She forwarded the question to the inspector who replied by saying that “anyone can be handcuffed if they try to resist arrest”. But I told them that “I never resisted arrest and the whole process of my arrest was done without my resistance”. All in all, I was later released at 2pm after they had taken a photo of me and finger prints. It’s one of the days I will never forget in my life.

The police’s perspectives on african Immigrants and what the swiss police has to do

My case is far to be an isolated one! The swiss police has come under serenity for the way they look at african immigrants in the name of fighting drug trafficking. I myself remember one story from the then free news paper called le Matin Bleu, one UDC politician was quoted saying that when police officers pass a black man without controlling him, they are bypassing drugs. And I believe the police have responded well to this. It’s really very rare that a black immigrant can pass police officers without asking him to stop and they control to extent that one has to remove all his clothes to prove to them he is clean. And this has brought anger within the majority of african immigrants towards the police and most of them have vowed not to cooperate with the police in fighting drugs trafficking even when they know the drug dealers. The police has to create a better image before the immigrants to show that they are indeed not fighting immigrants but rather fighting drugs if they need help from the immigrants on fighting drugs trafficking. The police has to put it in mind that not everyone who talks to a drugs trafficker is a trafficker. There are so many innocent immigrants who innocently associate with traffickers when they don’t know who they are. This is not easy to know who is who, but with the help of more intelligence, this can be over came and fewer innocent people will suffer in the process. When you are given a place to sleep after the transfer from the Centre d’enregistrement et de Procédure (CEP), one can never know who they are going to share a room with. And this makes it so hard to avoid sharing a room or associating with a trafficker.

 Conclusion

Drugs trafficking are not only done by african immigrants, but also a lot of Swiss and European people are in this business. Yes, it’s true there are many africans on the street hocking drugs but who are the suppliers?

 Shawn WAKIDA