By Malia Politzer and Emily Kassie
The biggest refugee crisis in recorded history has engulfed continents, swung elections and fueled the rise of nativism.
It has also made a lot of people very, very rich. These are the stories of the CEOs, criminal masterminds, pencil-pushers and low-flying vultures who have figured out how to profit from global instability, also known as human suffering.
PART TWO
The Transporters
Francois (not his real name) is a charming and friendly man in his early 30s with blindingly white teeth and a neat goatee. He’s very well connected—one of our interviews took place in the compound of a close relative of the current prime minister of Niger—and his business has made him an upper-class citizen in Agadez. He runs a fleet of vehicles: 10 white 4×4 Toyota Hilux pickup trucks and six Toyota Land Cruisers that he sends between Libya and Agadez. But he never does the driving himself. He’s merely a truck owner, one of the cushiest jobs to have in the human migration business. He leaves the risky stuff to his drivers.
Every Monday, a military convoy leaves Agadez for Libya to escort legitimate (or “legitimate”) businesses that conduct trade between the two countries. Many migrant truck drivers tag along, paying around $400 in bribes and tolls for the privilege of doing so. But Francois’ fleet avoids this route, preferring secret paths through the desert that circumvent the many roadblocks, bribes and vehicle searches that hamper traditional routes. This also allows him to ship cargo of a more illicit nature.
Polishing off a plate of french fries at an Agadez hotel restaurant, he illustrated his business model with a napkin and a pack of cigarettes. He unfolded the napkin. “These are the migrants,” he said. Then he placed the pack of cigarettes on the table. “But this is where we make the money,” he continued, draping the napkin over the cigarettes. “The migrants—they’re just a cover.”
Before Francois’ trucks leave for Libya, drug bosses pay to fill them with kilos of hashish, cocaine and tramadol, an opioid painkiller. Francois hides the drugs in secret compartments, or in innocuous-looking “migrant” luggage. Other times, the cargo isn’t drugs, but millions of dollars worth of foreign currency. Once the freight has been securely stowed, he calls his drivers to pick up the trucks and load them with migrants. For security, he never tells his drivers what else they might be carrying.
Once they arrive in Libya, and the migrants depart, drivers park the vehicles at a pre-established drop point. There, out of sight of the drivers, the drugs are removed from the car and parceled out to the drug bosses’ Libyan contacts. Before returning to Agadez, the trucks are serviced and filled with new contraband, usually weapons. According to data published by the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime, Agadez has become a wholesale marketplace for illicit arms, most likely including Kalashnikovs and lightweight machine guns. Some of these weapons will end up in the hands of al Qaeda in the Maghreb, the Islamic State, secessionist groups in Niger and Boko Haram in Nigeria, among others.
Francois won’t disclose what he makes from moving drugs or weapons. But his profit on migrants alone is substantial; he reports making about $3,500 per trip, after paying routine expenses, which include bribes, gas and car repairs, as well as his driver’s salary of about $700 to $800. “It’s a good business, and it has a good future,” he said, smiling as usual. “I don’t see it slowing anytime soon.”
The Drive North
When the migrants get picked up for their ride out of the ghettos of Agadez and into Libya, they have little idea of the risks ahead. They cover themselves with scarves to protect their skin from the scalding sun and hold onto sticks to keep from being jostled out. Not that that’s likely. Migrants are so tightly packed that they barely have space to move.
It’s hard to overemphasize the dangers of the Sahara—the largest, hottest desert in the world, which covers 3.5 million square miles of land, including large swaths of 12 different African countries. In the summer, temperatures can soar above 125 degrees Fahrenheit and, in the winter, can drop below freezing. There are scorpions, poisonous vipers, deadly sandstorms and 600-foot sand dunes. Much of the desert lacks obvious landmarks, making it easy to get lost. Those who do will likely die of dehydration or exposure—a painful process that can take days, ending in hallucinations and convulsions.
To lower their chances of steering off-course on the two- to three-day journey, the drivers keep in touch with one another via satellite phones and memorize the locations of the few lifesaving rivers and oases. But it’s not possible to avoid hazards entirely. Trucks break down, and cell phones run out of batteries. There are no search and rescue teams; a simple vehicle malfunction can mean death.
And many do die. A report released earlier this year by a group called the 4Mi, an affiliate of the Danish Refugee Council, suggested that more migrants are dying in the Sahara than on Mediterranean crossings. Based on the witness testimony of 1,300 people that had made the trip between 2014 and 2016, the report estimated 1,245 desert deaths in Libya, Sudan and Egypt alone. “The relatively small number of migrants interviewed … suggests the 1,245 figure is a conservative estimate of those who actually perished,” the report said.
When they reach Libya, migrants will call their passers in Agadez to tell them they’ve arrived safely. At that point, the passers will pay the truck owners a portion of the migrants’ fee in cash. Some migrants try to cheat the passers by not paying at all. That’s a bad decision. According to Amnesty International, those who choose that option are routinely imprisoned by passers’ contacts in Libya and are forced to work off their debt. Others are made to call home, so their horrified families will hear them being beaten.
For some, the journey will end in Libya. Without a government and without rules, Libya can be punishing on migrants and refugees. They can be kidnapped by militias or enslaved by businessmen. Even those who are able to leave still have to secure their places on a rubber boat and cross the turbulent Mediterranean Sea, a passage that human rights activists have coined the “migrant graveyard” for the thousands of deaths by drowning over the years. But all the pain and the risk is worth it, they say, because a better life awaits them in Italy.
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Malia Politzer – Freelance Journalist, Writer & Editor , Institute for Current World Affairs, Granada, Andalucía, España
Emily Kassie – Investigative Journalist, Filmmaker & Photographer. Founding Creative Director
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Huffington Post
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