A Senegalese woman’s perilous journeys marked by exploitation and sexual abuse

Senegalese migrants are increasingly relying on smugglers for their journeys to Europe. This reliance, however, is routinely fraught with abuses of various kinds, particularly for women — including transactional sex in exchange for passage. Arguably, this is the result of global practices and restrictions on asylum that governments have been implementing in the past few years, as well as controversial ‘fast-track’ systems that seem to prioritise migrants from specific countries while neglecting asylum requests from migrants originating from other countries.

I’m a 33-year-old woman, originally from Guinea-Bissau and raised in Senegal. I left Senegal 18 months ago. First, I went to Nouakchott in Mauritania, where I stayed for three months. Then, I moved north to Nouhadibou for 11 months. From there, I crossed by pirogue [small canoe] to Tenerife and stayed for about six weeks. Afterwards, I was sent to Barcelona for three months, and finally to Madrid, where I am now. I’ve been here for six months.

Map of flight route from Spain to Africa.

In Tenerife, the police kept me for three days. Then they released me with papers ordering me to leave. In Barcelona, they told me that only asylum seekers could stay in the centre. At first, I hesitated because I had always heard that Senegalese never received asylum, that it was pointless to apply. I was completely by myself. I had no family or friends and I didn’t speak the language. Later a social worker explained things better: asylum would give me protection, time, training, a chance to learn. So, I applied. My request was accepted for processing and I was transferred to Madrid.

I left because I had no choice. When you have no choice, all options are good, including risking your life at sea. If I could have lived safely at home, I would have never left.

When I was thirteen, my father forced me to marry the son of his spiritual guide. My husband was powerful, surrounded by lots of disciples, and he even practised black magic. He mistreated me. I had children with him, but there was no love between us. He abused me and traumatised me.

At one point, I couldn’t take it anymore and I tried to kill myself. His disciples found me and took me to hospital. Later I tried to report him to the police, but my husband knew lots of people within the police, so he found out what I was up to. He threatened to kill me or lock me up. A friend warned me never to return home. He gave me money and I fled to Mauritania. I left because I had no choice. When you have no choice, all options are good, including risking your life at sea. If I could have lived safely at home, I would have never left.

In Nouakchott, I slept at the station for two nights, then I met an elderly Senegalese woman who offered to help me. She gave me a bed for the night and took me to a Senegalese religious association during the day. I stayed there for three months, working in her restaurant. She always promised me that she would look after me, but then she never paid me. She was taking advantage of my situation. Because so many people travelled back and forth to Senegal, I was afraid someone would recognise me and inform my husband. So, I moved to Nouhadibou, hoping to find a boat to cross into Europe.

Women were often told to stay with smugglers as ‘wives’ until they could cross. This basically meant that smugglers would be free to sexually abuse them.

Life there was much harder. If you had money, you paid smugglers and left quickly. If you didn’t, you suffered — especially women. Women were often told to stay with smugglers as ‘wives’ until they could cross. This basically meant that smugglers would be free to sexually abuse them. They even went as far as to say to us that, if you’re pregnant, it’s easier to get papers in Europe. It was all a lie, but many women got pregnant. I refused. I swore I’d never sell myself again.

I met a very old man who was selling goods, so I offered to help him during the day and I slept outside in a little corner at night. This went on for almost a year. During the day, I would work and then I would walk for hours and hours to the embarkation points to see if there was a pirogue ready to leave. Each time I returned with nothing. Finally, one smuggler who had seen me for months asked why I never boarded. I explained I had no money. He let me on for free.

The sea was rough, our compass broke and we got lost. We thought we would die. Many boats never make it. More people drown than survive.

The crossing lasted four days and it was a catastrophic experience. The sea was rough, our compass broke and we got lost. We thought we would die. Many boats never make it. More people drown than survive. Nobody would choose this route if there was any other option, because nobody wants to go back to Senegal.

Things are OK here in Spain for now. I have NGOs that help me, and I feel safe. I only had one problem, once. In some shared accommodation, I had a conflict with a Latina woman who accused me of attacking her. It wasn’t true, but when the police came, I couldn’t defend myself because I didn’t speak Spanish. In the end, I was moved to another place. Since then, I have lived with other asylum seekers and have been treated well. Spain was always my destination of choice, but I have no family here. My husband turned everyone against me, even my brothers in France and Italy. They no longer speak to me.

If we had the choice, we wouldn’t come at all, or we would come on planes.

What worries me most is the asylum process. People say Senegalese almost never get it, while Malians, for example, are accepted more easily because of politics. It feels unfair. Only part of Mali is at war, but anyone from there is granted asylum. And then you have people like me, who faced the abuse and violence of a forced marriage and had to escape to save their lives, who are always rejected. I could say I’m Malian and get the papers, but then I would be lying and I don’t lie.

The system should treat everyone fairly, it should look at each person’s situation instead of just their nationality. Migration is never easy. If we had the choice, we wouldn’t come at all, or we would come on planes. Malians with money can pay smugglers directly and cross quickly. For Senegalese without money, it is much longer and more painful, with months of waiting, exploitation and violence. And for us women, it often means having to sell our body for sex. My future depends on the asylum decision, but I believe an opportunity will come.