Neiat, Hadas, Tredos, Helena and Abraham recently arrived in Tel Aviv. After the Sudanese, it is now the turn of the Eritreans, who have arrived here after leaving their distant country. They told me their difficult adventure. They want to flee poverty, a hard and difficult military regime where young people – boys and girls – have to serve in the army for an indefinite period of time, without any logical motivations, for many years, as is the case in many countries where there is a dictatorship. They emerge psychologically and physically devastated from this experience.
They leave Eritrea as in an exodus. The first stopping place is Sudan, which costs them $700: this money is generally found for them by a relative who already lives abroad. After paying this money, all they receive is the direction of the path to take to reach a possible refugee camp: that’s all. Having been left to their fate, abandoned to hunger, thirst, heat and cold, the danger of bandits, abuse for the young women… $700 is the price of information. They walk; the luckiest are able to cover some stretches of the journey crowded like animals in a truck. Exactly like animals – they say – without any possibility of moving, or even stretching out or moving their arms or legs. The journey is long and generally they move at night. During the day, they rest, hidden, fearful of unfortunate encounters and to avoid checks. This is an ancient way of travelling, which has always stayed the same, and is part of walking in the desert, where the length of the journey is calculated in the number of nights it takes.
The second payment is made in Egypt. Another $700, for a difficult and hard crossing. There are a lot of checks. Those who are willing to take greater risks and have greater economic possibilities, go west, towards Libya and from its shores hope to reach Europe on board one of those rickety boats that we are now used to seeing on television. The prices for this last and highly risky part of the journey are very high.
For the others, there is the Sinai Peninsula to cross, in the middle of the desert. To survive, they eat a few biscuits; they drink water “laced” with petrol, to use the strict minimum. The frontier with Israel is the most dangerous. The Egyptian soldiers shoot on sight at whoever tries to approach the high metal fence with barbed wire on the top. For many – too many – of them, the journey ends here, shot dead. There is enormous fear but the despair, the will to live and the instinct to survive triggers off in some the motivation to climb the fence and jump into the Israeli zone. Some women have done this, tired and with their last ounce of strength, with their child holding on to them. They have reached the promised land where they have been given asylum as political refugees.
They stay in Israel with papers that are renewed every two or three months, which is the duration of the temporary residence permit.
The ones I have met are all Christians. After having spent some time in hospital to recover, they began to work in the only jobs they are offered: cleaning apartments and shops and restaurants. They do not know what the future holds for them and they do not have many prospects. Nevertheless, they thank the Lord and place their trust in Him. They cannot go back. Here – they say – there is work, food and a lot of fruit. By working, they can send a little money to their families who survive in a state of extreme need.
I have had the opportunity to visit some of them. I went to their apartment, in a basement near the central station of Tel Aviv, an area that has become a popular neighbourhood for foreign workers. They wanted me to try their traditional food and offered me coffee made with a very special ritual. They eat using their right hand to pick up the food, a little like all poor people who respect the tradition of food as sacred, to shared by all from one dish. With great delicacy, they gave me a spoon. A rope crossed the room with the things of a baby and a little girl’s clothes hanging on it to dry. A sign of new lives. In one corner, George, a few months old, slept soundly, protected by a holy picture placed on the cushion. His mother was out, looking for work. George had been left with a young friend who shared the apartment and helped to look after the baby. She is also a mother: she has a two year old daughter, Diana, and a baby boy, Rubiel, a few weeks old. At home to look after her baby, she is also a mother to George. These mothers help each other out. The strength of life prevails and offers signs of hope and joy.
Theirs is a hard life, and yet serenity never disappears from their faces. And they continue to place their faith in the Lord.
Fr. Arturo Vasaturo
They leave Eritrea as in an exodus. The first stopping place is Sudan, which costs them $700: this money is generally found for them by a relative who already lives abroad. After paying this money, all they receive is the direction of the path to take to reach a possible refugee camp: that’s all. Having been left to their fate, abandoned to hunger, thirst, heat and cold, the danger of bandits, abuse for the young women… $700 is the price of information. They walk; the luckiest are able to cover some stretches of the journey crowded like animals in a truck. Exactly like animals – they say – without any possibility of moving, or even stretching out or moving their arms or legs. The journey is long and generally they move at night. During the day, they rest, hidden, fearful of unfortunate encounters and to avoid checks. This is an ancient way of travelling, which has always stayed the same, and is part of walking in the desert, where the length of the journey is calculated in the number of nights it takes.
The second payment is made in Egypt. Another $700, for a difficult and hard crossing. There are a lot of checks. Those who are willing to take greater risks and have greater economic possibilities, go west, towards Libya and from its shores hope to reach Europe on board one of those rickety boats that we are now used to seeing on television. The prices for this last and highly risky part of the journey are very high.
For the others, there is the Sinai Peninsula to cross, in the middle of the desert. To survive, they eat a few biscuits; they drink water “laced” with petrol, to use the strict minimum. The frontier with Israel is the most dangerous. The Egyptian soldiers shoot on sight at whoever tries to approach the high metal fence with barbed wire on the top. For many – too many – of them, the journey ends here, shot dead. There is enormous fear but the despair, the will to live and the instinct to survive triggers off in some the motivation to climb the fence and jump into the Israeli zone. Some women have done this, tired and with their last ounce of strength, with their child holding on to them. They have reached the promised land where they have been given asylum as political refugees.
They stay in Israel with papers that are renewed every two or three months, which is the duration of the temporary residence permit.
The ones I have met are all Christians. After having spent some time in hospital to recover, they began to work in the only jobs they are offered: cleaning apartments and shops and restaurants. They do not know what the future holds for them and they do not have many prospects. Nevertheless, they thank the Lord and place their trust in Him. They cannot go back. Here – they say – there is work, food and a lot of fruit. By working, they can send a little money to their families who survive in a state of extreme need.
I have had the opportunity to visit some of them. I went to their apartment, in a basement near the central station of Tel Aviv, an area that has become a popular neighbourhood for foreign workers. They wanted me to try their traditional food and offered me coffee made with a very special ritual. They eat using their right hand to pick up the food, a little like all poor people who respect the tradition of food as sacred, to shared by all from one dish. With great delicacy, they gave me a spoon. A rope crossed the room with the things of a baby and a little girl’s clothes hanging on it to dry. A sign of new lives. In one corner, George, a few months old, slept soundly, protected by a holy picture placed on the cushion. His mother was out, looking for work. George had been left with a young friend who shared the apartment and helped to look after the baby. She is also a mother: she has a two year old daughter, Diana, and a baby boy, Rubiel, a few weeks old. At home to look after her baby, she is also a mother to George. These mothers help each other out. The strength of life prevails and offers signs of hope and joy.
Theirs is a hard life, and yet serenity never disappears from their faces. And they continue to place their faith in the Lord.
Fr. Arturo Vasaturo