When current MSF team member Ismail had to leave his home country, he faced a life-threatening journey to reach safety. In the months that followed he faced detention, sickness, violence and kidnapping, and saw many people who did not make it. Now he works for MSF, using his eight languages to help others who have been through similar experiences to access the health services they desperately need.
In 2015, I was studying engineering at university when a beloved family member died. I took a break from my studies, but my focus was gone and the situation in Eritrea was getting worse.
In Eritrea, if you are not a student or government worker, you will be forced into the military, with no option to leave. The situation in the country has been well documented by the UN and other organisations.
I had no choice but to go. Seeking asylum in neighboring Sudan was not a good option as there are around two million Eritrean refugees there, many of them in refugee camps, who were and still are suffering. I had one choice: travel to Libya.
There’s no legal route from Sudan to Libya for someone in my situation. Near the border, I was held for a month by the people smugglers until I could pay. Conditions were barbaric. There were so many of us crammed into a windowless room that we slept on our sides, like sardines in a box. They fed us very little, as a tactic to make people pay.
Beaten and sick
I got sick. My head pounded. I couldn’t eat. People told me it was malaria. I was told there was no possibility of seeing a doctor. When we were finally driven towards Tripoli, I was too weak to stand, and a guard hit beat me. When I couldn’t climb back in the truck, he threatened to shoot me. I said, ‘I’m dead anyway, go ahead’. I really thought I was going to die.The guard was startled, and thankfully people pulled me inside the truck.
After the drive we were held for two weeks until we paid again, for the trip to Italy. The final stage of the journey was a 12-hour drive through the desert hidden in an empty water tanker. This was so we wouldn’t be kidnapped, which is a constant risk in Libya. We had very little choice. There were 50 of us inside: men, women and children. It was easily 45°. People were vomiting and fainting, burning every time they touched the hot metal walls of the tank.
Kidnapped
In Tripoli, we waited two weeks for the right sea conditions. It was the middle of the night when we finally set sail.
I had heard stories about capsized boats, about people drowning. I had programmed my brain to be prepared. The worst that could happen was that I would die. And at every stage of my journey dying was better than staying where I was or going back.
Another boat approached. The gunmen on board were part of a kidnapping gang. They threatened us and brought us back to Libya. They said we’d have to pay $1,500 to be released. At that point I was ready to die before I’d ask my family again – it was only because of them that I’d made it this far. There were 350 of us in the center, about 200 of them paid something. Those who couldn’t were starved, tortured, beaten or shot at.
Leaving Libya
Then unexpectedly, we were released. In Tripoli, our original smuggler allowed us on the boat again. It was an incredible relief.
If I’d had to stay in Tripoli I don’t know if I would have lived. The government at the time was almost not functioning, there was zero safety on the streets. I’ve met people who escaped from the place where we were held, only to be kidnapped again the same day, and tortured until they could pay. I had nowhere I could go, and no one I could trust.
650 people were crowded on. I was in the cargo hold: the worst place. It was dark, there was no room, people started fainting. After 11am we used the satellite phone to call for rescue. I didn’t know what would happen, but at last we saw a ship approaching us. It was MSF.
The pregnant women and children were transferred first, then everyone else. We were given food, water and blankets. It’s hard to explain how it felt, how great the relief was.
I had seen a lot of people die on my journey, from the heat, the limited food, the lack of access to medical care., the torture for those who couldn’t pay. Not everyone survived. The whole journey was survival of the fittest.
When we got on the MSF boat there were doctors and nurses, we got dry clothes, medication and help. I felt safe. That was September 2, 2015.
Not ready to stop
We docked in Crotone, in southern Italy. The refugee centre was surrounded by guards and 2.5m high barbed wire. Everyone was scared. We had absolutely no information about the rules, the law, or what would happen to us.
Later we were bussed to a new camp in Bologna. They asked us if we wanted to stay in Italy, and 99% said no. Many of us knew of people who had stayed in Italy and were suffering. They had no support, they’d been turned out on the streets, they couldn’t find a job even when they had the right to work. We were all carrying the traumas of our journeys and the situations we’d got out of, the pressure of the money we’d had to borrow, and the weight of our families at home who needed our help. Having got 99% of the way to our destinations, hardly anyone was ready to stop.
The kindness of strangers
Then by chance I met Vittoria, Rosa and Yakob, a family who helped refugees. I will never forget their kindness. With their help I was able to contact my family and rest for a few days.
Then I travelled to Germany. We could come and go from the refugee center in Munich, but the way the police and security officers behaved, and the racism I heard, made me feel I had to get away.
My uncle lives in Germany, and he helped me buy a ticket to Belgium, where my aunt lived. It was the first time I’d seen him in real life: he left Eritrea in the 70s and was not allowed to return. I can’t explain what I felt then.
At his house I met my cousins. We talked all night, and I contacted my wife in Eritrea. The next day I travelled to Belgium and met my aunt.
A new struggle
In Belgium I was granted asylum. I started studying Dutch as intensely as I could. I hoped to be able to continue my engineering studies at the university, but my Dutch skills weren’t at a technical level yet. So, on the advice of the Employment Office, I started training to become an electrician instead. I also began working on a family reunification visa for my wife.
It took seven years and multiple applications, denials and appeals, for my wife to be granted her visa. During this time, she had to take a very dangerous journey to Ethiopia, and then live alone and in worsening health for years. I was desperate, and worked every hour I could to afford the lawyers to work on our case.
Finally, in October 2023, the visa was granted, and that same month, we celebrated her birthday together in Belgium. It was a beautiful moment.
Helping others
I’ve been living in Belgium for eight years. I now speak eight languages, which I use in my work as an MSF community health worker supporting refugees and migrants to access healthcare.
Mostly the people I’m supporting are Eritreans like me. Daily I see people with post-traumatic stress conditions because of what they’ve been through on their journeys. But often they say that they had to take these risks, because the situation they were leaving behind was worse.
Sometimes they’ve been able to cope until they reach Europe, when harmful policies leave them isolated and without hope, and their mental health collapses. Every year in our community we have suicides.
It’s now much harder to access the services I benefited from in 2015. The MSF project I’m part of works mainly with the people who are cut off from this support. People are forced to live in squats, camps and shelters, and the outreach team I’m part of aims to connect them with mental health and medical care, health promotion, and infection prevention and control. We specifically see people who are the most marginalized and the most excluded from access to care, shelter and protection.
It’s a special feeling doing this work with recent arrivals who have been through such a lot, because so many years before I was in their place.
A humanitarian heart
There are many stereotypes about migrants. But I know thousands of people like me: I had to leave a very difficult situation, and since I got here, I’ve mostly worked seven days a week. Even now I work as a courier delivering food orders alongside my MSF job, so I can continue to support my family. Refugees and migrants contribute to the economy and development of the country in which they live. We just want to build a future.
Sometimes I think back to a moment on the MSF ship, at time when we were rescued. I spoke to the cultural mediator then, an Iraqi man. I asked him what qualifications I would need to do a job like his one day, helping people when they most needed it. He told me there was no special degree needed, just strong communication skills and a humanitarian heart. All these years later, here I am.
