We’ll Take Your Poor…Oh Wait, Probably Not
The Saturday before my birthday was probably one of the more memorable in Mosterios’ recent history. Not only was it the first ever graduation of 12th graders in the history of this town (before this year, anyone wanting to go past 10th grade had to go to school in São Filipe) but a boat with about 150 West Africans floated to Mosteiros.
I wasn’t in Igreja when the boat first made its appearance. I was helping out Lady S as she was doing family visits for the BØRNEfonden, where she now works. For the past few weeks, I’ve been going with her as she’s gone up the big hill to check up on the status of Bf kiddies. I go along and make little origami dogs for the kids, keep the records straight, and give Lady S some company.
One juicy tidbit from our conversations was her explaining to me that the reason I was frustrated by the fact that no one here can accept that I’m an American, is because the way I’ve been saying it has been wrong. Lady S claimed that if I tell people that my parents are from China, but that I was born in America, they would immediately understand. This is opposed to me saying that I am American, and then getting annoyed when they keep staring at me weird and questioning my nationality.
But anyway, while we were up the hill, I noticed what looked like a really large canoe off of the beach. I commented on it, but didn’t really think much about it. Getting back to Lady S’ house, we were told that it was actually a boat full of people who got stranded on their way to Europe.
So I made my way to Igreja, where crowds had gathered at the beach, in front of the hospital, and in the main square at the police station. People are running around everywhere, bringing food and clothes, taking the sick to the hospital, and trying to get the best view.
I hear that these guys speak English, and along with Myguy, we sneak in the police station for a minute, and talk with some of the men. We learn that they are mainly from Ghana, with a few from Sierra Leone, Nigeria, and The Gambia. They started out in Guinea-Conakry and had been on the sea for 14 days, when they ran out of fuel, and were just drifting. They had left with the intent of getting to the Canaries, and then eventually Spain.
The guy we were talking to though that the government could just give them more fuel, and let them get back on the boat and be on their way. He said if he was forced to go back to Ghana, he would commit suicide. Most of the ones from Ghana were fishermen, and said something about them having gotten the idea to do this after reading about other Ghanaians trying the same thing.
Later on in the night, they were loaded up into buses for the ride to São Filipe. Of course, they still ended up sitting around for an hour or so, so it was a good opportunity to talk. One older man who was half-Ghanaian and half-Nigerian was saying that there was absolutely no work in Ghana, and that he had to take the risk for this trip, because he had no other way to feed his family. He said that they on the boat hadn’t paid anyone, but that they had all chipped into to buy fuel, but for whatever reason, it just wasn’t enough. He asked me if I felt pity for him, and I stuttered out an answer about feeling a bit bad for them, but also respecting them for the risks that they took. I honestly can’t blame anyone who just wants to make a better life for their family.
At one of the buses, I was telling them that I had been to Ghana before, and was embarrassed when I listed the cities I had been in, since they were the typical tourist stops. Then one shouted – I wish I could remember exactly what he said – but it was a along the lines of “so, did you get scammed by the taxi drivers?” and I just had to laugh. I think I just ended up telling them that some of the taxi drivers I met weren’t too nice to me, and so they all laughed.
Some of the men I talked to really seemed to think that after being moved to São Filipe, that they would be set free to remain in CV. Some of them, when the buses were pulling away, actually waved and said “see you in a few days!” I’m not an expert on these things, but I’m pretty sure they’re going to get deported back to their country of origin. CV, especially since they have that desire to join the EU, wouldn’t want to help out any illegal immigrants trying to make their way to Europe.
It actually worked out pretty well that these Ghanaians ended up in Mosteiros, considering the number of people who speak English on the island. If they had ended up on any other island, there could have been serious communication barriers, but here, between the deportees and everyone else who knows a bit of English, communication wasn’t a problem.
It was also nice, even for a few hours, to see a more unselfish, less trash-talking side of Mosteiros. People were giving money to buy food, donating clothes and generally trying to be helpful. It was a nice change from what you usually see around here with the high levels of drama and things that just make you want to roll your eyes.
I wasn’t in Igreja when the boat first made its appearance. I was helping out Lady S as she was doing family visits for the BØRNEfonden, where she now works. For the past few weeks, I’ve been going with her as she’s gone up the big hill to check up on the status of Bf kiddies. I go along and make little origami dogs for the kids, keep the records straight, and give Lady S some company.
One juicy tidbit from our conversations was her explaining to me that the reason I was frustrated by the fact that no one here can accept that I’m an American, is because the way I’ve been saying it has been wrong. Lady S claimed that if I tell people that my parents are from China, but that I was born in America, they would immediately understand. This is opposed to me saying that I am American, and then getting annoyed when they keep staring at me weird and questioning my nationality.
But anyway, while we were up the hill, I noticed what looked like a really large canoe off of the beach. I commented on it, but didn’t really think much about it. Getting back to Lady S’ house, we were told that it was actually a boat full of people who got stranded on their way to Europe.
So I made my way to Igreja, where crowds had gathered at the beach, in front of the hospital, and in the main square at the police station. People are running around everywhere, bringing food and clothes, taking the sick to the hospital, and trying to get the best view.
I hear that these guys speak English, and along with Myguy, we sneak in the police station for a minute, and talk with some of the men. We learn that they are mainly from Ghana, with a few from Sierra Leone, Nigeria, and The Gambia. They started out in Guinea-Conakry and had been on the sea for 14 days, when they ran out of fuel, and were just drifting. They had left with the intent of getting to the Canaries, and then eventually Spain.
The guy we were talking to though that the government could just give them more fuel, and let them get back on the boat and be on their way. He said if he was forced to go back to Ghana, he would commit suicide. Most of the ones from Ghana were fishermen, and said something about them having gotten the idea to do this after reading about other Ghanaians trying the same thing.
Later on in the night, they were loaded up into buses for the ride to São Filipe. Of course, they still ended up sitting around for an hour or so, so it was a good opportunity to talk. One older man who was half-Ghanaian and half-Nigerian was saying that there was absolutely no work in Ghana, and that he had to take the risk for this trip, because he had no other way to feed his family. He said that they on the boat hadn’t paid anyone, but that they had all chipped into to buy fuel, but for whatever reason, it just wasn’t enough. He asked me if I felt pity for him, and I stuttered out an answer about feeling a bit bad for them, but also respecting them for the risks that they took. I honestly can’t blame anyone who just wants to make a better life for their family.
At one of the buses, I was telling them that I had been to Ghana before, and was embarrassed when I listed the cities I had been in, since they were the typical tourist stops. Then one shouted – I wish I could remember exactly what he said – but it was a along the lines of “so, did you get scammed by the taxi drivers?” and I just had to laugh. I think I just ended up telling them that some of the taxi drivers I met weren’t too nice to me, and so they all laughed.
Some of the men I talked to really seemed to think that after being moved to São Filipe, that they would be set free to remain in CV. Some of them, when the buses were pulling away, actually waved and said “see you in a few days!” I’m not an expert on these things, but I’m pretty sure they’re going to get deported back to their country of origin. CV, especially since they have that desire to join the EU, wouldn’t want to help out any illegal immigrants trying to make their way to Europe.
It actually worked out pretty well that these Ghanaians ended up in Mosteiros, considering the number of people who speak English on the island. If they had ended up on any other island, there could have been serious communication barriers, but here, between the deportees and everyone else who knows a bit of English, communication wasn’t a problem.
It was also nice, even for a few hours, to see a more unselfish, less trash-talking side of Mosteiros. People were giving money to buy food, donating clothes and generally trying to be helpful. It was a nice change from what you usually see around here with the high levels of drama and things that just make you want to roll your eyes.
posted by jende turtle at 1:11 PM
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