Diallo is a survivor. He tried to reach Europe by sea and land. He even entered Ceuta twice, only to be warmly rejected by the Spanish authorities. In Morocco, he boarded a boat toward the Canary Islands but bad weather pushed the vessel off course. The journey stretched five days at sea before the Moroccan coast guard rescued them. Ten people on the same boat died. He still regrets not achieving a European arrival like some of his peers. He describes life in Morocco as a daily test of endurance.
Five years have passed since he left Guinea-Conakry, and now he waits for a chance to return home. If no solution emerges, there is nothing more they can do, he muses. The man known here as Diallo says his father is sick and longs to see him again. He is the youngest in a family that has already suffered two losses. He explains that if his father dies, he would want to be there, even if poverty weighs heavily on them all.
He calls the financial route to Europe extremely complicated, especially due to criminal networks. They exploit migrants, imprison them, and leave them trapped unless someone pays release money. He crossed the desert on foot after being robbed and running out of funds for transport. He walked for more than two weeks, and in the harsh heat a companion was left behind, momentum gone, while everyone else checked for a slim chance to survive.
morocco border
Trying to cross from Algeria into Morocco near Oujda felt like a scripted scene. A fence stands there, and Algerian police say those caught are beaten and driven far into the desert. On the third attempt he finally made it. In Morocco he moved across the country seeking a way to Spain, hoping for a new life, but police kept him away from the frontier with Spain.
Diallo jumped the Ceuta border twice. He recalls slipping into a forest near the city with others and walking three kilometers through the trees until Spanish police apprehended him, sending him back to Morocco and then by bus to Tan Tan, more than a thousand kilometers south. It was the end of 2021 when he tried a second time, but the outcome was the same.
Back in Morocco, he worked several seasons in tomato fields around Agadir, earning six euros a day for eight hours of labor, with little rest. The bosses had broad sway. If a worker lacked a certificate, dignity felt like a scrap of paper. Speaking up to authorities was not an option for many who faced abuse,
heading for the canaries
He left Dakhla with the hope of crossing to the Canary Islands in January 2022, just south of Western Sahara. He remembers that day as a moment when only faith kept him going. Forty-eight people embarked, including women and children. After a two-day voyage, rough seas forced them to turn back.
They spent nearly five days at sea in total. Fear, tears, and even moments when people leapt into the water filled the cabin. Food and water ran out fast. Ten lives were lost, and he recalls thinking they might all die. The refrain he repeated in his mind was a creed affirming faith. Then the Moroccan Navy appeared and rescued them.
When he learned his ninety-year-old father was ill, he chose to return home via Dakhla. He reached Rabat and sought assistance from the IOM, the United Nations agency for migration, to pursue voluntary return.
Data from 2021 shows 2,457 migrants in Morocco who chose to return to their home countries through IOM programs. The majority hailed from Ivory Coast, Guinea, and Senegal. Funded by the European Union and partner countries, the program has been active since 2005 and represents a peak in voluntary returns.
“My luck is not here”
Mohamed, a Guinea-Conakry native who uses a fictional name, faced a similar path. He too tried repeatedly, seeing friends reach Europe while he did not. He says that if he keeps pushing, perhaps one day his fate will change—though he fears the ocean might swallow him. He reflects that God did not will Europe for him.
The 38-year-old man lives in a crowded, modest home in one of Rabat’s poorest neighborhoods. He worries about rent, has little mobility, and fears police attention due to his uncertain status.
Six years have passed since he left his country by plane, chasing a new start. He spent three years in El Aaiún and tried several times to sail out, only to be stopped by the police or rescued by the Moroccan navy. He was also deceived by a man who promised passage for a fee of 1,500 euros and then vanished. He notes that his appearance as a Saharan makes his status less visible to authorities.
The worst moments came when a three-day drift nearly ended in disaster before Moroccan fishermen rescued them. On other occasions, authorities drove groups inland by bus. He recalls a Ramadan morning when police stormed the place where they slept, broke the door, and relocated everyone to Tangier, about 900 kilometers away.
Now he waits in Rabat to return to Guinea-Conakry. If he returns home, Mohamed hopes to start a small business with aid from IOM. He longs to see his two children, aged 11 and 10, who have watched their lives unfold from their phones for years. He wanted to go to Europe to send them money, and that dream lingers, even as the day-to-day grind remains a burden.