Derna, once a coastal jewel,Now a stage for power’s cruel duel. Storm Daniel’s wrath tells a grievous tale.
Dead people linger on the streets of Derna after the storms. Click to watch the video.
In Derna’s ruins, the echoes wail,
Storm Daniel’s wrath tells a grievous tale.
Thousands lost to nature’s cry,
Under Libya’s tumultuous sky.
For years, neglected by politicians’ sway,
Derna suffered, its strength in slow decay.
Gaddafi, Haftar, and Tripolitania’s strife,
Left the city weakened, its hopes on life’s knife.
Derna, once a coastal jewel,
Now a stage for power’s cruel duel.
As thousands perished, infrastructure crumbled,
The people came together, undeterred and humbled.
Yet, international aid struggles to reach their hands,
Hindered by power-hungry leaders and political demands.
Silhouettes in the storm’s aftermath,
Trace the contours of our shared path.
Refugees, locals, hearts entwined,
In sorrow’s fabric, our fates aligned.
We, the refugees, your brothers here,
Send condolences sincere.
As refugees in Libya, we extend our embrace,
To those affected, sharing grief heart to heart.
Though we’ve endured hardships, unimaginable and vast,
We stand united, for every life lost is a tragedy unsurpassed.
Our plight is shared, our hearts bleed too,
In Derna’s pain, we stand with you.
May the world heed this tragic play,
Lend a hand, not turn away.
For NATO’s sins, For Europe’s guilt, may justice come,
The Libyan soul is not to be undone.
For Derna’s loss is ours to share,
A call to all, to show we care.
To rebuild, to heal, to rise above,
In the name of humanity, in the name of love.
For the people of Derna, we send our love,
A poem of hope, rising high above.
8 years ago there was Alan Kurdi.Today over 30 thousands alike and unnumbered in the deserts.
8 years ago there was AlanKurdi.
Today over 30 thousands alike and unnumbered in the deserts.
In the depths of the sea, where waves crash and roar,
Lies the tale of Alan, forever to explore.
A young Syrian boy, innocence untamed,
Trapped in a world of chaos, his dreams maimed.
With tiny hands and hopeful eyes,
He alongside his parents embarked on a journey, seeking skies.
But the waters were treacherous, the path unkind,
And the Mediterranean claimed his life, unkind.
Oh, little Alan, a symbol so profound,
Your image shook the world, yet change was not found.
For since that tragic day, so many have perished,
Their stories silenced, their hopes soon to diminish.
Invisible deaths in deserts vast and wide,
Fati dosso and Marie, their souls now reside.
At the Libya-Tunisian border, their lives were stolen,
Yet world leaders turn a blind eye, at a great cost.
Migration, a human right, often denied,
As policies and borders become fortified.
Today we remember these souls, their plight,
And we strive for a world where compassion takes flight.
For every child lost, our voices rise,
Demanding justice and an end to the cries.
Alan Kurdi, Fati, and Marie, we hold you dear,
Your lives cut short, but your memory we’ll revere.
Ukrainians, Africans, Asians , seeking refuge’s grace,Are they equal in the European space?Are they not equal in this desperate chase?
In a world of migration’s realm,
Europe’s policy comes with shame.
Italian right-wing view it as invasion’s might,a constant fight.
Politicians politicize, out of sight.
Common people, misled and swayed,
By media’s discourse, truth betrayed.
Freedom of movement, Africans non-negotiable right,
Yet Europe’s gates seem to conspire.
Libya; once Europe’s hope is today a failed weapon to use; for all it has is a strength decayed by greed.
Tunisia, Europe’s chosen gate,
Unable to stem the arrivals’ fate.
100,000 have come, this year alone,
But does Europe truly seek Africa’s peace,
Or stability’s illusion, a fleeting release?
How many more must perish at sea,
How many more must die and survive at thirst’s mercy, oh dear Fati dosso and Marie,
Denied visas, forced to flee?
European people, it’s time to decide,
Humanity’s approach or racism’s tide?
Ukrainians, Africans, Asians , seeking refuge’s grace,
Are they equal in the European space?
Are they not equal in this desperate chase?
Knocking on doors, asking for their rights to a free and non violent society?
Where shall my wretched heart take flight?
Oh, wretched hearts, where shall you go,
In search of solace, away from woe?
Escaping these confines, iron’s grasp,
And find a world where compassion’s clasp.
A migration policy that mends, not tears us apart.
Lampedusa, this island of profound grace,Holds more than words can ever embrace,Forever in our hearts, its memory will reside.
In a place called Lampedusa, where souls unite,
Voices, faces, and stories, shining lights,
Summoned by compassion, justice, and human right,
We stand together, courageous in our fight.
Alessandro, a beacon of light,
An ambassador, guiding us right.
With umbrella of commitment, he led,
With reverence and respect, respect in this noble space, we tread.
Matteo, youth’s energy ablaze,
Curiosity burning, truth’s maze.
Seeking inclusivity’s embrace,
To give a better life, he’d chase.
Mohammed, from Sahel’s land oppressed,
Fighting ceaselessly, he’s not one to rest.
In occupied lands, his people’s plight,
For justice, he battles with all his might.
Iustina, a force campaigning for years,
To free Patrick Zaki from silence’s fears. An angel, her heart pure,
Four years of dedication she gave,
Until his release, her strength she’d brave.
Rachele, born of Eritrean descent,
Humanitarian spirit, she’s sent.
Strong and dedicated to all she meets,
Her compassion knows no bounds or feats.
Nour, defying Egypt’s regime,
Imprisonment and death, a haunting dream.
Yet he stands tall for refugees’ right,
His wisdom shines in the darkest night.
Sofia, a young flower, forever bloom,
At fifteen, she founded youth’s amnesty room.
Years dedicated to the cause she loves,
Sowing seeds of change, like gentle doves.
Lidia, with eyes searching for her passion,
Journalism her tool, crossing each nation.
Seeing beyond borders, building bounds,
Her words unite, where division compounds.
Tiziano, a hope from Berlin’s heart,
Fighting injustice, a noble part.
With revolutionary ideas held high,
Uniting the world, he aims to try.
Francesca, derived from socialist love,
Building the funds, like wings of a dove.
Treasure in her hands, amnesty’s gold,
Her generosity, a story to be told.
Angela, amplifying voices, representing with care,
Standing tall beside Alessandro, a dynamic pair,
Ester, a mother to all voyagers, kind and true,
Guiding our journey, our hopes she grew, Without her, reaching the summer lab would not be in sight.
And I, from South Sudan’s tumultuous strife,
Defied death, defied darkness, rebuilding my life,
Surrounded by these incredible souls, I stand,
Amplifying neglected voices, lending a helping hand.
But there’s one thing I cannot defy,
The nightmares that haunt, the scars that won’t die,
My bleeding soul, burdened by what I’ve seen,
A reminder of the pain, where hope has been.
In the summer lab, people from all lands unite,
Harmony prevailing, injustice we fight,
My heart weeps, it bleeds with relief and sadness,
As I bid farewell to the island, the moments of gladness tightly bound.
Together we dined, we partied, we shared,
Unexpectedly met comrades who once cared.
In Libya, we protested, demanding our rights,
Justice, accountability in the darkest nights. But denial was our fate, a battle we fought, yet we resisted, scattered across lands, longing to be free.
Tunisia, Morocco, Algeria they fled,
While nature sailed me to Italy instead.
Our meeting, a blend of sorrow and delight,
Thinking of thousands still trapped in the fight.
Frontex arrival, a sorrowful aftermath, our longing cut short,
With a heartfelt “Vale,” we bid them support.
Lampedusa, this island of profound grace,
Holds more than words can ever embrace,
Forever in our hearts, its memory will reside.
Lampedusa’s gate, witness to our pain,May it also witness a world humane.
At Lampedusa’s gate I stand so tall,
Where hopes and dreams have met their fall.
Thousands perished in the treacherous sea,
Seeking refuge, longing to be free.
For some, this island is a sanctuary,
For others, it’s despair and misery.
Descendants from African lands afar,
Driven here by life’s relentless scar.
Fati Dosso and Marie, their hearts were torn,
Rejected, sent back to Libya, forlorn.
Five times they faced incarceration’s sting,
Their dreams shattered, no solace could they bring.
As for myself, I faced rejection’s blow,
January, November, and months that followed.
But in June 2022, I finally arrived,
Yet, a sense of belonging was never derived.
Nightmares consume me in this foreign land,
Italy’s Giorgia Meloni, with her divisive stand.
An electoral campaign fueled by hate,
Anti-migrants and racism, sealing our fate.
Europe, too, wields a weapon unkind,
Against refugees and immigrants, it does bind.
Tunisia and Libya, caught in the storm,
Vulnerable souls, left to suffer and mourn.
The so-called “common European asylum system,”
A failed and deadly mechanism.
It promises safety, protection, and care,
But instead, it perpetuates despair.
But amidst the darkness, a glimmer of light,
Voices rise, demanding what’s right.
Together we stand, united in plight,
For justice, compassion, and a future so bright.
Lampedusa’s gate, witness to our pain,
May it also witness a world humane.
Where refuge is given, and hearts find peace,
A place where acceptance and love never cease.
In the sweltering dunes, their dreams met their end.
In desert’s expanse, a woman’s fate was sealed.
Her dream, a better life for her child, concealed.
With thirst consuming her, no oasis in sight.
Her hope, like water, evaporated in the heat’s might.
Tunisia and Libya’s border, a barren divide yet hijacked by the western politicians.
Where dreams are shattered, and humanity defied.
She yearned for safety, for a chance to provide.
Yet authorities pushed them to the desert, where hope died.
Her lips cracked and dry, her strength waning fast.
She clung to memories, her love unsurpassed.
Her child, once full of life, now gasped for air.
Their dream, a fragile ember, fading in despair.
Through scorching sands, they journeyed hand in hand,
But the world turned a blind eye to their demand with some denying that this happened in Tunisia, some say it was in DRC or CAR a country with no trace of desert.
In the sweltering dunes, their dreams met their end,
As the desert claimed their lives, it refused to bend.
A mother’s love, a child’s unfulfilled dream.
Lost in the desert’s vast and merciless regime.
May we remember their plight, their tragic demise, no matter where this happened, and strive for a world where compassion never dies.
I wanted to have a dream.
“I wanted to have a dream”
Sometimes they us call us “desperate”, with our eyes emptied by miles of sea crossed on little more than rafts. One can only be “desperate”, I think, to decide to entrust one’s existence to unscrupulous traffickers…
I am 25 years old, the energy of all the young people in the world, but in my eyes are weights that are only few in the world.
I knows what it means to be born in a non-country, South Sudan, which became independent in 2011 through wars fought by children kidnapped from their families.
I knows what it means to escape from the militias, a child soldier without a day of school behind me, and I knows what it means to see people die: of war, of Ebola, of heat and thirst, of torture, of shipwrecks.
I knows the borders of twenty-five African states, because my refugee legs have learned them: From the East to Central, South to the West and then to the North: Mauritania, Uganda, South Africa, Chad, Egypt, Rwanda, Mali, Morocco, Niger and many more, then Libya.
I knows the price of that phantom journey on the cargo ships that from Cameroon or Benin will take you to the Promised Land – Cuba!, Brazil! – and then it will never leave, and will force you to work for months, scrape to gather money, try again – and lose everything again.
I knows how to describe the political situations of African states and tell the work of NGOs better than the foreign correspondents of newspapers, and I knows what lies behind the international agreements that fill the headlines of the news. The truth I knows is not written in ink, but in the blood that I have seen flowing in refugee camps and Libyan prisons, before deciding that I had no more strength to attempt another journey (the fourth), I didn’t have any strength to hope for something better for myself, but I had the duty to resist the temptation of suicide, to improve the condition of others, so that all that anger would not be lost. Thus, exploiting the power of social media, I co-organised the RefugeesinLibya.org movement: a voice of protest that in a few years reached the UN headquarters. A movement, not a personal action: because «An “I” doesn’t change things. A “we” does».
I knows being threatened for my desire for justice, and I have learned to escape: on foot, on vehicles, in sewer tunnels, curled up in boxes in the hold of a ship, to escape in disguise; to escape from gunfire. And my escape finally reached Italy in the summer of 2022.
From only one thing I can’t escape: from my story and from the call to tell and seek justice, knowing that this won’t erase my wounds, but can avoid them for other people.
I also knows the price of this choice: nights full of nightmares, as I repeats my journey to schools, assemblies, associations, institutions. Meanwhile I has started studying again, because my dream has never died out; on the contrary: it has become a dream for someone else…
I now awaits a return (perhaps a new departure) – back across the Mediterranean, on the hated Libyan coast, to see again with my own eyes, to let me see; and then rewrite in the sand the trail towards South Sudan, and continue to look, understand, denounce, and try to change things, with the strength of a “we” that expands on the world map.
Because behind every departure there is no desperation: down there, beyond the night, silently awaits a little hope.
We survived
This year, I did nothing but survive. I survived every suicidal thoughts that came into my mind, I survived every negative thought that made me feel I’m nothing. I survived the miseries to my failures and I started to hope and believing that the hour of success is coming tomorrow.
I did nothing but motivate myself to wake up with a positive mind. I mustered everything in me to keep myself from falling off track and give it all up because I felt so tired, the kind of tiredness that rest could never make up for, the kind of tiredness that makes you wish you could sleep for days and wake up just when everything’s alright. but in the end, I commend myself for trying, for surviving because after all, I get to see these beautiful things in front of me, feel this overwhelming love around me, and appreciate what I could grasp in my hands. I survived and so did you. with that, i’m glad.
•A survivor of the idiocracy•
Tomorrow will surely bring happiness but will have hard times looking for me
This is normal, and I often reach this point these days, instead of locking myself inside my own room and overthinking about certain things, I will sing until I become voiceless; run until my feet no longer have the courage to walk; cry until my body feels numb of everything. I look for calmness in between words and lyrics, roads and places, sobs and tears. Exhausting, but I will always seek for a rest after it.
The kind of sleep where all I could feel is like I am floating in free air. And it will take me quite a long while to regain my sanity; but at least, once I close my eyes, I will no longer care about the world around me; my head will only be filled with nothing. And I apologize for not replying for days; by that time, I decide not to answer any questions, because I am tired of feigning happiness.
Surely, peace will have a hard time looking for me again, but it will be back. I put all my trust in it.
•A survivor of the idiocracy•
YAMBIO DAVID 