The Routes Journal is an experiment in participatory writing along the routes where every day people on the move try to “burn” the borders of Fortress Europe. We are a collective with our correspondents, undocumented travelers, at its core.
Those of us who are on the move come from very different backgrounds. There are artists, laborers, hairdressers, nurses, university graduates, and farmers. In any case, we are not silent victims. We are vocal, we document and tell stories that do not fit the dominant narrative in which we are nothing but passive victims in the hands of traffickers.
In a world that does not recognize our right to universal freedom of movement, we try to travel using all the resources that are available to us, including peer-to-peer solidarity and services offered in exchange for money along the routes. Often our worst enemies are the border police forces, which are funded by the European Union. We are often arrested and deported, dumped into the desert, shipwrecked… and yet we keep moving. We do not lack determination or persistence. Our destiny is in God’s hands. In any case, we tell our stories on thousands of social media accounts through which we produce and disseminate collective, shared, and free knowledge that is useful to overcome the obstacles we encounter during our journeys.
The Routes Journal is not meant for us. We know how to move, we know the obstacles and opportunities along the routes. This project is aimed at those on the other side of the Mediterranean, so that they can develop a broader perspective on undocumented migration. That is why our collective is also made up of artists, activists, refugees, and people who have already reached Europe.
The images you see here refer to a space of movement that holds together Tunisia, Libya, and Algeria. States deport us, but we keep moving upstream against this pointless and deadly violence, attempting to reach Lampedusa. There are always two dogs in our makeshift encampments: one is called Lampedusa and the other Salvini.
We have invented our own spaces and places, our own lingua franca, and a pan-African identity; we rebuild everything that is destroyed. States arrest us, often unleashing an out-and-out hunt against black people, but we have learned the art of escaping and camouflaging. Our correspondents have all been deported from Tunisia to Libya and sold to fuel the kidnapping industry. However, we are still here to tell the story and we want to celebrate those who are no longer with us with our words, our memory, and by continuing to fight for our freedom.
SOL: “I used to be a nurse, but my passions are also dancing and football. I come from Cameroon. I lived in Algeria. I tried to take the boat to Lampedusa several times. I spend some time living in cities to work; sometimes I go down to the encampments when I want to do Boza. I often pray, in Cameroon I used to help out at the local parish.”
YUSSUF: “I’ve had all sorts of jobs. Now I’m working at an olive oil mill, picking olives for less than 10 euros a day. Tunisia lives off black gold – us, black people – and green gold – the olives we pick. The two industries are linked. We accept exploitative jobs to collect the money to travel , we try not to get scammed by the various middlemen and, in the meantime, we get on with our lives. Here in Tunisia we often get attacked on the streets and accessing healthcare is almost impossible. We have to be smart and find the right moment. Meanwhile, we hide. We live in hiding.”
TOUSSAINTS: “I left the Ivory Coast, I worked in a bar in Libya, then I ended up in Tunisia because traveling seemed easy, but the president got so much money from Europe and Italy to block our lives. It’s not easy. I was deported once, but I managed to escape. I hid under the desert sand at night while the Tunisian guards were selling our black brothers to the Libyan police. I also spent a month in prison in Tunisia. No lawyers visited me. Then they threw me in the desert and I walked back to the encampments. Now I’m taking care of myself, resting, and collecting money for the trip.”
