Il blog di Gabriele Del Grande. Sei anni di viaggi nel Mediterraneo lungo i confini dell'Europa. Alla ricerca delle storie che fanno la storia. La storia che studieranno i nostri figli, quando nei testi di scuola si leggerà che negli anni duemila morirono a migliaia nei mari d'Italia e a migliaia vennero arrestati e deportati dalle nostre città. Mentre tutti fingevano di non vedere.
Gabriele Del Grande's blog. Six years of travelling around the Mediterranean along the borders of Europe. In search of the stories that make history. The history that will be studied by our children who will read on the school text books that in 21st century thousands died at sea around Italy and thousands were arrested and deported from our cities. Whilst everybody pretended not to see. At least 19,144 people have died since 1988 along the european borders. Here are the proofs. Below you can find our reportages.
Directed by Gabriele Del Grande and Stefano Liberti Editing Chiara Russo, Photography Enrico Parenti
Family fathers, female workers, young boys and girls born in Italy. Many of them arrive every day in the Identification and Expulsion centres (CIE) of Rome. They did not commit any crime, nevertheless they risk to spend 18 months behind bars waiting to be expelled. They detention is validated by a Justice of the Peace. In the name of the Italian People. An expired visa is enough. According to the law. And this is also enough to reassure public opinion and delete the problem. However we decided to go and take a look. A short doc came out of it, a journey made of images and stories from the CIE of Roma. Since we believe that showing those places and listen to those voices means breaking a definition. As well as confirming that no human being is illegal. Not even when the law say so.
According to the following press review at least 19,144 people have died since 1988 along the european borders. Among them 8,822 were reported to be missing in the sea. The majority of them, 14,309 people, lost their life trying to cross the Mediterranean sea and the Atlantic Ocean towards Europe. And 2011 was the worst year ever, considering that during the year at least 2,352 people have died at the gates of Europe. These figures are based on the news found in the international press and are updated to the 3rd of October 2013. Here you can see our complete press review in Italian.
Click on CC for subtitles in Italian, English, French and Arabic
Bogusa does not know how to explain to her little Tareq that his father will not come back home. Therefore she decided to take him to Casablanca, so that they can be together for a while. Kabbour takes them around his neighbourhood, where he grew up as a boy, and yet now those very streets appear foreign to him. And he wants to go back home. To his home, in Abruzzo where he first arrived when he was only 11 years old. It is there where he studied, worked and where he married and had a child. It is there where he lived until the carabinieri picked him up from his house in order to repatriate him back to Morocco. With a piece of paper in his pocket which in the name of the Italian law forbids him to live with his own family.
Click on CC for subtitles in Italian, English, French and Arabic
We always do all we can to build unbridgeable gaps between “us” and “them”. They run away from hunger, war and desperation. They are refugees, illegal immigrants. That is why, as far as they are concerned, we never think of normal things. Of desires, of youth’s follies, of thirst for adventures or, why not, of love. You would never think, for example, that what triggered the most violent riot at the identification and expulsion centre of Chinisia, Trapani, was a beautiful and moving love story. We got wind of it by chance. So we decided to follow the story all the way and to make a short film of it. With the aid of an audio recorder, a camera and the collection of videoclips shot with their mobiles by Winny and Nizar, the protagonists of the film.
Click on CC for subtitles in Italian, English, French and Arabic
The identification and expulsion centre (Cie) in Turin is not easy to miss. It is stuck right in the middle of several blocks of flats. Hundreds of people in Turin every morning look out from their balconies onto the cages and curse the day when the prison spoiled the reputation of the neighbourhood. Abderrahim instead climbs on the balconies to greet from above his former cell mates. And he tries to do his best for them. He interviews them on behalf of a local radio station, does some shopping for them and takes part in the protests against the centre. Hoping that his friends will not be expelled, but that , like Amir, Hassan and Mahmoud, they will be released, waiting for better luck.
Duration: 18 minutes
Direction and camera: Alexandra D’Onofrio
Editing: Antonio Augugliaro
Post production audio: Tommaso Barbaro (Redrum Murder)
Music: Dissoi Logoi
Produced by Fortress Europe with a contribution from Open Society Foundation
A five year old child who keeps on asking his mother about his father’s whereabouts and why he is not coming back home. The hands of a young man in love which shake out of anger closed in a cage, moments before the riot. And the limbo condition of a man who as a former inmate looks after his friends who are still behind the bars, counting the days still missing until their release. These are the stories of Kabbour, Nizar and Abderrahim. Three names which tell the lives of those who lie behind the statistics of the expulsions machine.
In this manner, the director Alexandra D'Onofrio tries to turn over the aestethics of the borders. So that the figures of the Ministry of the Interior may become once again men and women in the flesh. With a story which goes beyond the Cie (identification and expulsion centre), with a past and a future, inside and outside the cage. And with a universal feeling, be it love, paternity or solitude, with which we all can identify in order to have the certainty that in 2012 travelling is not and cannot be a crime.
Hunger strikes, self-harm, arson, escapes and out-and-out riots. 2011 will be remembered as the hottest year of the Italian Centres for Identification and Expulsion (CIEs). The rebels are the young Tunisian men who landed in Lampedusa and ended up in the thousands of CIEs after the agreement between Rome and Tunis of April 5, 2011. In the face of their inability to gain legal recognition for their right to travel, they decided to get it back with the only means left to them: their bodies. The same bodies that were exposed to the bullets of the Ben Ali’s police regime during January’s revolution in Tunisia. The bodies with which they crossed the sea and are now trying to jump over the cages where they have been locked up, risking a trip to hospital with broken bones from beatings, or to prison on charges of assaulting a public official.
We close our harraga music review of with an Algerian classic. This is an old track by Algerian singer Dahmane El Harrachi (1926-1980). In 1997 another Algerian singer, Rachid Taha (born in 1958), came out with a remake of it, a single that become a real cult, taken up again by Cheb Khaled and remixed well into the new millennium. The song is called Ya Rayah, You who leave. And it is a sort of invitation to stay or at least to return. It feels like the words are dedicated to all those who didn’t make it. Who are now prisoners of Fortress Europe. Without valid documents to work or travel, or perhaps detained in CIEs or held in prison for some minor offense. Perpetually torn between the longing for their country and their families, and the impossibility of returning without a success story and pockets full of money. Because in the rural areas of Morocco and Egypt, or in the working-class districts of Tunis and Annaba, the social imperative is very strong. You do not come back as a loser unless you want to face the shame of not having made it and of having needlessly wasted your youth far from home and loved ones. Dahmane El Harrachi already saw this back in the seventies with Algerians in France: "You who are leaving, where are you going? You'll end up coming back. How many naïve ones have repented before you and me ... And the days go by, and youth goes by, yours and mine". Below you will find all the lyrics translated into English.
His name is Bilal Mouffok, but in Algeria everyone knows him as the Cheb Bilal. Born in 1966, his is one of the voices of Algerian raï music. It all started with the conservatory in Oran and the first wedding concerts. Until in 1989 Bilal lands in Marseilles and begins working as a dishwasher - without documents - in a small cafè in the city. And it is in Marseille that he discovers his raï soul and begins to make a name for himself among the Algerian community in the city. Until, in 1997, he releases his first album: "Babour li jabni", which is like saying "Damn the boat that brought me". The song becomes an instant hit in Algeria as well as France, and sets him as the new raï musician. He sings about the disillusionment of those who have already taken the trip, the nostalgia for the country, and the sadness of distance. Feelings shared by thousands of harraga who arrived in Europe and remained prisoners of their dreams. Because, paradoxically, it is easier to get in the fortress than to get out. And once they’re left undocumented, it’s years before these young harraga can go back to their land, their family and friends. And in between there are all the lost opportunities. Be it the joy of a wedding or the mourning of a funeral. And the important ties that end up growing irreversably distant. Because once one is stuck in the fortress one discovers this too. That money is not everything. And that even the wildest dreams sometimes become nightmares. Below you will find the lyrics translated into English. Enjoy listening and enjoy reading.
His is a new face in Tunisian rap. He began rapping after the fall of Ben Ali’s regime last January. His name is Karim Kamkam and Kamkam the harqa is one of his first tracks. It may not have been around long, but it’s interesting for its lyrics. Because it leads us to what the majority of public opinion on the southern shore of the Mediterranean think. In other words, that burning the border is no longer worth the trouble. In his song, Kamkam tells of a young man, of his life of material deprivation and illegal expedients for making a living, and his dreams of a life in Europe that’s ‘too chic’. Things like meeting a Jennifer Lopez, having children with European citizenship, and returning with a Jaguar and the popularity of a star like Maradona. But the Europe he encounters is different. For the first time in his life he feels hunger, thirst and he sleeps under bridges in the cold, until one day the police arrest him without him even having the time to understand what is going on. At the police station, between one blow and another, an officer asks him what he is doing this side of the Mediterranean. And he answers: "A dream brought me here." Here, however, that dream has become a nightmare. And Kamkam does not hesitate to tell his peers not to leave, that it’s not worth it, rather that they should try to enjoy life in Tunisia. Because from Europe one is likely to return in a coffin. While in the meantime the best years of youth go by. Many young people feel the same now. And indeed it is no coincidence that in 2011, from Tunisia, with the borders out of control and the economy collapsed, ‘only’ 30,000 young men out of a population of 10 million left harraga for Lampedusa, and once they realized that there were no longer any crossings, the departures ceased. In short, the harraga culture is a minority now. It especially belongs to the youth of the working-class neighborhoods, who in the border see a possibility for redemption. But the majority of the people think differently. Everyone now knows there is economic crisis in Europe and that racism has reached unbearable levels. And at the same time, the political changes that have taken place in the entire southern shore this year, with the popular uprising leading to the end of dictatorship in Tunisia, Libya and Egypt, along with major reforms in Algeria and Morocco, have instilled hope and optimism in the first generation, daughter of the economic boom in these countries. This is just another reason to open the borders in the south of Europe, as was done five years ago with Eastern Europe. Because there will be no invasion; it exists only in our fears. So enjoy listening. And as usual, enjoy reading, because below you will find the translated lyrics of the track.
Balti, born in 1980, is one of the most popular musicians in Tunisia. Born and raised in the Qasbah of Tunis, Balti turned up on the Tunisian hip-hop scene in 2003 with his first album. But the albums that launched him were "Our real world", 2006, and "The album before the bomb", 2009. During last January’s revolution, when El General, the young rapper from Sfax, was arrested by Ben Ali’s regime for his writings against the dictatorship, many accused Balti for his silence. To regain credibility he has just released a new album: Baltiroshima, where there is something for everyone, although the games have ended ... In any case, this song is part of that album. It's called Yammi, mother. And it’s a poignant letter to a mother. Written in one go by a young man from the working-class neighbourhoods of Tunis, the night before making the sea crossing to Lampedusa. He knows he has a good chance of dying at sea, and feels the need to tell his mother how much he loves her, and how, in the end, this trip is also for her. Because if he does not die, he will return as a man, his head held high, to make her happy. Below are the lyrics translated into English. Read them and circulate them. It would be good for these words reach every mother. Along with photographs of the Lampedusa Spoon River. And along with the fears and prayers of all the children whose "mothers kiss them on the forehead before the water takes them away".
His name is Azzedine Nebil, stage name Azzou. And together with Ismail and DJ Bdri forms the rap group Hood Killer active on the Algerian scene since 1998. Harraga is one of his last tracks, and is dedicated to the youth of the working-class neighbourhood Annaba who have left over the past five years en the route to Sardinia. This song is a journey, "a journey to Sardinia". Azzou says it in his lyrics: "Come on, I'll tell you how we almost didn’t make it." In it there’s everything. The pain of a life with no hope and no choice to practically inevitably burn the border. "My destiny is the boat, but I leave reluctantly, mama forgive me, forgive me father, I love my country, but God has decided for me." The rest is a sort of reportage. The organization of the trip with friends, buying the boat and the GPS, the fear of dying at sea, the prayers, and finally the rescue off the coast of Sardinia. Regarding Italy there is only the detention centre at Elmas, in Cagliari and an expulsion that comes after ten days "which feel more like ten years" for all the humiliation suffered. Washed like paddles, tied up like sheep, and treated like lepers: "An Italian comes to us speaking through gestures, he turns to us from a distance, as if he were afraid of the plague." Even for Azzou, as for Lotfi, the track closes with a thought to the hundreds of young men of Annaba lost at sea. "Thanks be to God we were saved, look at those who died, their life ended with no meaning, a mother waits for a son and a fish has eaten him." Enjoy listening to the track. And enjoy reading the lyrics, because below you will find the entire text translated from Algerian darija into English.
Lotfi- you either love him or hate him. Because his lyrics are blunt. He earned his fame as a rebel singer from the outset. It was 1997 and the police stopped a concert in a theatre of Annaba to censor the content of his songs. It ended with a semi-revolt and with Kamikaz, his first album recorded at the age of 26 with his friend Waheb, with whom he forms the duo Double Kanon. Since then, every year is a success. Albums such as Kamikaz, Kondamné, Kanibal, Lakamora, and Kauchmar have confirmed him as the king of Algerian rap. And this piece is taken from the album Kauchmar (2008). It's called "Oh ya lebhar," which means "O sea" and is a kind of ode to burning the border. Because there is no difference between dying in a boat and dying in the middle of the sea. Because the only real blessing is to do away with poverty. They all leave: lawyers, teenagers, the unemployed, painters, men, women. And there is only one thing they ask from the sea: " Just let me cross over ’cause here I’m stressing out! just let me cross over, cause here I have no joy!" Below you will find the lyrics translated into English. Read them carefully, because this is one of the most important harraga rap songs. Both because Lofti is very popular, and because he is a native of Annaba. And this song is like a dedication to the youth in the working-class neighbourhoods of Annaba, where he grew up. Annaba in fact, was the city of St. Augustine many centuries ago, and for the past five years has been the capital of harqua in Algeria. From its neighbourhoods overlooking the sea, thousands of young men set sail for Sardinia, and hundreds of them died en route for Italy. The song in fact ends in their memory. So enjoy listening. And enjoy reading.
After Algeria and Tunisia, our harraga rap tour takes us to Morocco. The piece is called Mzeyra and is sung by Bramfori, emerging voice of the Tangier underground rap scene. Tangier has always been a frontier town because of its geographical position at the crossroads between two seas and two continents. Europe can be seen from here with the naked eye. Simply go have tea at the Hafa café, above the Kasbah, to see the lights of Tarifa across the Mediterranean. With the hydrofoil, you can cross the Strait of Gibraltar in thirty minutes. But most of the inhabitants of the city are not allowed to travel. Because without a bank account with enough money, it is impossible to have a visa. And so, for the youth of the working-class districts there is no choice but to hide under the cargo trucks that board every day for Spain, Genoa, and the rest of Europe. Like in Patras and Calais. Yes, because Tangier is the Mediterranean capital of freight transport. Here, the Tangier Med has recently opened, which will be the most important freight port of the Mediterranean sea. And here the Saudis are investing heavily on five-star tourism. Yet, the paradox of modernity, for the working-class youth, travel continues to be prohibited. Unless they gain that right with their own bodies, running to the port and trying to hide with the freight, almost as though it were a dare in the era of globalization. ‘We all want to save ourselves’ they say, and ‘we apologize to our fathers’ if ‘in our country we cannot find peace’. All that’s left to do is to ‘cross’ the Strait of Gibraltar, because ‘from there I’ll start my life over’. Enjoy listening. And enjoy reading, because below you will find the English translation of the lyrics.
His name is Reda Tamni. But they all know him as Reda Taliani. Reda the Italian. He got this nickname when he was only a child of eight, because of the way he dressed. Since then he’s come a long way. And today, at thirty-one, the designer-labelled child of Kolea is one of the stars of the Algerian music scene, thanks to a sound that mixes raï, chaabi and traditional styles of the Maghreb, and thanks to lyrics that sing of the aspirations of Algerian youth. Chenoui Kheloui is one of these. Originally, it is a song of the supporters of Mouloudia, one of the football teams of Algiers. The text is light and sometimes the meaning is lost in favour of rhymes and wordplay. The chorus, however, has become a real cult. There is a ‘Chinese’ man, which is the name given to the supporters of Mouloudia in 1999 when the team won the championship and the youngsters who filled the streets in celebration were so numerous they were compared to the Chinese population. In this case, however, the Chinese man is solitary, kheloui, which here also indicates someone raised on the streets. And so the Chinese man ends up alone, roaming the port, watching the boats. The harraga boats. He lists the names. And he begins to dream of travelling the world, first visiting Rome, then Malaysia, and finally deciding to settle in Italy. You can easily download the mp3 file from the Internet. Some of my harraga friends even have it saved on their mobile phones, along with other memorable tracks that compose the soundtrack of a true harqa pop culture. Below is the full translation of the text. Enjoy listening.
Christmas-time is holiday for everyone. For the blacksmiths, who were supposed to repair the damaged locks of the cage the night before, December 24, but were on holiday. For the police and the military on duty, who surely must have the right to open their panettone and uncork a bottle of sparkling wine. And especially for the inmates of the centre for identification and expulsion (CIE) in Turin, who on the evening of December 25 instead of waiting for their presents, proceeded to break through the gates of the cages and throw themselves en masse against the perimeter wall onto Corso Brunelleschi.
Music and harraga. Another song. This time from Tunisia. The track is from 2010 and is sung by Samir Balti and Loussif. Balti, 29, is one of the strongest rappers on the Tunisian music scene. While Samir Loussif is a folk singer, particularly of mezoued music. From their collaboration came ‘Mchaou’, which means: ‘They've left’. The young men have left. The young men of Tunis. But not the children of the bourgeoisie and the middle class. Rather, the young people who ‘grew up in the working-class neighbourhoods’. Those who studied in these neighbourhoods, who got drunk there, and who had soon had enough with unemployment and poverty. Until ‘they saw friends of a lifetime return from Italy’. And they decided to ‘gamble it all’ too to become a ‘harqa’. Because burning the border is the only ‘solution’ to ‘fill their pockets’ and ‘make their mothers happy’. The same mothers who are now ‘waiting for them on the doorstep’. The same mothers who are ‘scared’ after seeing the news footage of the young men who have died at sea. ‘Too young to die’. And so you have it, the ‘deception’ of Europe. Which ‘makes you rich but you cannot buy life’. And so the myth of adventure and redemption gives way to tears. The tears of mothers who ‘cry thinking that her child has returned’ and fathers who ‘look for their children in hospitals and prisons’. Because ‘the sea takes you where you want to go, but the wave is a liar.’ It either takes you where you want or it takes you to the grave’. Lyrics such as this could not be more relevant. Because the most tragic year for the youth of Tunisia was 2011, when hundreds of young men lost their lives attempting to cross the Strait of Sicily to reach Europe. And so, in the name of their memory, enjoy the music. And enjoy the reading, because below you will find the English translation of the Arabic text. We want to put these notes and these words in circulation, so that they may let us help over 1,000 statistics understand the greater aspirations of youth in our beloved Mediterranean.
A week of music, on Fortress Europe, to better understand what happens at the border. Yes, because now there are many rappers on southern shores of the Mediterranean who sing of the adventure of the crossing. And many different things can be read into their words. Seen from the suburbs of Annaba, Tunis, or from the countryside of Khouribga, the frontier is not only a geographical border, it is much more. It is a challenge, the courage to reach an elsewhere where lifelong dreams can be fulfilled. To the point that from Morocco to Tunisia, travelling without documents is called harraga, or ‘burning’.
According to the following 
