Braving the Atlantic

Their crossing is undertaken in poorly equipped fishing boats or even rubber dinghies. The passengers face unquenchable thirst, seasickness and bone-chilling cold. The weak engines can easily break down, leaving passengers drifting for days if not weeks without sufficient food or fresh water. Bodies are thrown overboard. Some vessels sink or never make it ashore.

Yet tens of thousands of people have risked the arduous journey in search of safety or a better life in Europe. They travel through the rough waters of the Atlantic Ocean to get to the Canary Islands, a Spanish archipelago off the coast of northwestern Africa. They are most often trying to escape either political turbulence or economic uncertainty.

The tightening of border controls through the western and central Mediterranean routes has contributed to a dramatic increase in the number of people braving this longer sea passage. This has made these islands 1,600km (994 miles) off the mainland, a beacon for people coming primarily from Morocco, Western Sahara, Senegal and Mali. Many also arrive from the Ivory Coast, Guinea, Mauritania and Gambia.

People have used this route since the 1990s. The first big surge was in 2006, when 31,678 people reached the islands. It spiked again in 2020, and has not declined since, accompanied by a high death toll.

The human rights non-governmental organisation Caminando Fronteras estimates 4,016 people died en route in 2021, making it one of the most dangerous journeys into Europe. A total of 22,316 people reached the islands last year. Arrivals are on pace to exceed that number in 2022, with 8,268 arrivals registered in the first five months of this year.

After landing, a different challenge begins for the survivors. The Spanish government implemented a plan aimed at keeping refugees and migrants on the islands while organising repatriations whenever possible. They remain in limbo in basic camps, sometimes pitching tents on the beach. Asylum procedures have been delayed, with many waiting to apply for international protection even months after arriving.

“Mañana” – the Spanish word for tomorrow – resonates at the reception centre of Las Raices, in Tenerife. It is the answer everyone receives to questions about the future.

*Names have been changed to protect peoples’ identities.

A man from Senegal shows a mobile phone photo taken during his six-day journey to the Canary Islands. Passengers can face days or even weeks at sea. Shipwrecks are not uncommon due to adverse weather conditions.

A woman is helped by Red Cross staff after a rescue vessel came ashore in Arguineguin, Gran Canaria. During days or even weeks at sea, people struggle with seasickness, dehydration and hypothermia. When they arrive many are very weak, if not seriously ill.

Aisha*, 27, from the Ivory Coast, breastfeeds her baby son in a park near the Red Cross reception centre in Santa Cruz de Tenerife, where they are hosted. She had undergone female genital mutilation and left the country so that her five-year-old daughter would not face the same fate. “It’s too late for me, but not for her,” she said. The five-day sea crossing with the infant and little girl was very hard. “We ran out of water and food. My skin and that of my children was badly burnt.”

Maguette*, 45, from Senegal, and two of his brothers worked as fishermen and reported ever decreasing catches due to intense industrial fishing. “They sold our sea,” he said. A big proportion of the people taking this route come from fishing communities whose livelihoods are threatened by overfishing by European and Chinese fleets.

A young man from Senegal looks out at the horizon from the hotel where he is housed after reaching the Canary Islands. At the end of 2020, several hotels left empty by the pandemic began to host refugees and migrants. While offering dignified accommodation for those who had endured so much, this also provided some financial relief to a suffering tourism industry. However, after objections by some in the local communities, the Spanish government transferred people to reception camps, usually comprised of tents for men and basic buildings for women and children.

Mamadou*, 28, is from Mali. He and his brother embarked on a journey of seven days on a boat with 40 others. “My brother didn’t make it. I had to throw his body overboard,” he explained. Upon arrival, after such a traumatic experience, Mamadou was mistakenly registered as being from Senegal, as that is where his boat departed from. He has since tried to navigate the complicated process to amend his asylum claim. “I don’t know how to solve this; everything is very difficult,” he said.

A young man from Morocco carries food to his tent settlement by the sea near Las Palmas, Gran Canaria. Many people live in unofficial, improvised accommodation, due to the inadequate conditions of certain camps as well as the fear of being deported.

Ousmane* stands on the beach where he has been living in a small tent, in Las Palmas. His journey to the Canary Islands started in Mauritania. The boat had an engine problem, and the passengers eventually ran out of fuel and freshwater. As a fisherman, he had the most experience at sea of the 18 people on board, so felt responsible for their safety. “I told them to add three drops of sea water to the couscous to keep their energy up,” he explained. On the 14th night, he heard a ship’s engine and encouraged everyone to make noise to attract attention. They were brought to shore, exhausted, parched and traumatised.

A makeshift shelter used by a group of young men from Morocco on the beach near Las Palmas. Most of those who make it to the islands want to get to the European mainland for work or to reunite with friends and family. They can be stuck in limbo for months.

Youssef*, 23, from Morocco, overlooks the harbour of Puerto Rico on Gran Canaria. While working as a fisherman off the coast of Western Sahara, Youssef sometimes found the bodies of those who had attempted to cross, floating in the water. He had no way to identify them and thus contact their families. Youssef and other fishermen would bring them back to the shore to bury them. Despite having witnessed such tragedies, he decided to risk the same dangerous journey, confident in his knowledge of the sea.

A graveyard of wooden boats that came ashore. Hundreds of boats are towed here from their arrival point and cleared of the belongings left behind by their passengers.

Several boats used for the crossing have sunk in the port of Arguineguín, on Gran Canaria.