Dangerous Rescue in the Atlantic
Amidst treacherous three metre waves and 20 knot winds, an oil tanker identified 120 migrants in distress in the Atlantic on Tuesday.
These migrants, attempting to reach the Canary Islands, were aboard a fibreglass pirogue that had departed from Mauritania just two days earlier. However, for most on board, the true starting point was Mali, a country plagued by years of conflict.
The rescue, carried out under dangerous conditions, resulted in the survivors being safely transported to southern Gran Canaria by Salvamento Marítimo. Migration has become an ongoing reality for the Canary Islands, yet the arrival of a boat in Fuerteventura in 1994 initially shocked the islanders.
This August 28th marks the 30th anniversary since two young Sahrawis pioneered the Canary Islands migration route. Since then, a grim cycle of deaths and rescues has persisted, with ad hoc responses remaining the norm.
Pioneers of a Perilous Route
Thirty years ago, Baijea and Bachir made history when they landed on the beach of Las Salinas del Carmen. Within just 24 hours, they had traversed the 90 kilometres separating Fuerteventura from the African mainland. Since that fateful day, thousands have followed in their footsteps, reaching the Canary Archipelago’s shores, while countless others have perished in the depths of the ocean.
The Canary Islands route, fraught with suffering, agony, and the hope of a European dream, has evolved into Spain’s primary maritime migration pathway, and one of the world’s deadliest.
“I don’t see the end of people using small boats to reach Europe,” says Aboubacar Drame, a survivor of the 2006 crisis of the cayucos—small fishing boats used to cross to the Canary Islands.
On the morning of July 15, 2006, aboard one such boat in Canary waters, 25 migrants debated whether the distant shapes they saw were mountains or clouds. “We saw tiny lights from cars on the mountain, so it had to be a mountain,” Aboubacar recalls with a smile, marking their first moment of hope after three days at sea.
That initial joy at seeing land soon gave way to the reality of their situation as Maritime Rescue, National Police, and eventual placement in juvenile centres followed.
2006: A Year of Milestones and Mass Deportations
The year 2006, during the so-called cayucos crisis, was pivotal in shaping the migration policies of the Canary Islands.
It saw mass deportations enabled by readmission agreements with West African nations, the activation of Foreigners’ Internment Centres (CIE) in Hoya Fría, El Matorral, and Barranco Seco, and the conversion of military spaces into reception centres in La Isleta (Gran Canaria) and Las Raíces (Tenerife).
This period also marked the beginning of Frontex’s involvement in the Canary Islands and the waters off Senegal and Mauritania, reinforcing border externalization policies.
In the same year, a detention centre in Nouadhibou, Mauritania, was established for 250 deportees and potential migrants, ominously dubbed “Guantanamo.” Activist Helena Maleno recalls one of her most heart-wrenching memories from that facility: two young boys, Ismail, aged 16, and Bakary, who had polio and walked with crutches, were deported from the Canary Islands only to be abandoned in the desert.
The 2020 Migrant Crisis in Arguineguín
Despite substantial investments by states and stringent border controls, immigration and fatalities continued unabated. Increased surveillance on the Western Mediterranean route, driven by economic agreements between Morocco and the European Union and Frontex’s presence, reignited the Atlantic route in late 2019.
However, the growing influx of migrants was met with unpreparedness and improvisation by authorities, exacerbated by the COVID-19 pandemic. One of the darkest episodes occurred in Arguineguín, where 2,600 people were crammed into a dock without proper facilities, legal aid, or basic sanitation.
Industrial warehouses, hotels, and large camps were repurposed as makeshift reception centres for the new arrivals. Human rights organizations quickly mobilized to the Canary Islands, condemning the violations of fundamental rights and the chaos that had engulfed the islands.
In El Hierro, migrants were quarantined in cramped spaces, often mixing those with COVID-19 with those who had not contracted the virus. In Lanzarote, men, women, and children lived together in a warehouse that was inundated with sewage. The backlog in identifying minors resulted in children being housed with 40-year-old men, leading to cases of sexual abuse and exploitation within the centres.
This mismanagement of migrant arrivals triggered a wave of racism across the Canary Islands, with incidents of migrants being attacked in the streets. Journalist José Naranjo, a specialist in the migration phenomenon, notes that such hostility is not new.
He recalls that even in 1998, when few migrants arrived, fear-mongering and hate speech were already present. “Those who wish to criminalize migration will do so, regardless of whether 1,000 or 30,000 people arrive,” he asserts.
Structural Problems in Migration Perception and Media Coverage
Naranjo criticizes the political narrative that continues to frame migration as an emergency or a temporary issue. “We talk about the cayucos crisis, the 2020 crisis… We are running out of adjectives for these crises that aren’t really one-offs,” he emphasizes. “Migration is a structural reality for us Canarians.
The islands are in Africa, and the conditions in these countries of origin won’t change anytime soon. We need to start building a permanent reception system from this understanding.”
However, media coverage has evolved. “Initially, politicians reacted hastily, and journalists were also ignorant of the complexities of the African continent,” Naranjo explains.
Back then, terms like “illegal” and “wave” dominated headlines. “Today, only those new to the phenomenon or those intentionally trying to incite fear use such terms,” he notes.
The Asylum Process: Challenges and Changes
Aboubacar Drame, who arrived in the Canary Islands at 16, reflects on his journey and the shifting landscape of migration. Originally from Mali, he sought a better life, like many others.
By 18, he had secured a residence permit and began working as an educator at the same centre where he had once been housed.
Now, after 18 years in Gran Canaria, working as an interpreter and educator for foreign minors, Drame draws a stark contrast between 2006 and today. “Back then, most people migrated to improve their quality of life. Now, they move not just out of necessity, but out of obligation,” he asserts.
The effects of climate change are increasingly driving migration. In Mali, Drame recalls, where there were once lakes, trees, and birds, only desert remains. “The crops can no longer be watered, it’s getting hotter, and summers are longer,” he laments.
Activist Helena Maleno echoes this, noting that pollution of rivers and destruction of natural habitats by companies have left many communities “without the ability to sustain life.” Yet, climate change is not yet recognized as a valid reason for asylum.
Juan Carlos Lorenzo, who led CEAR Canarias during the 2006 cayucos crisis, notes a significant shift in the profile of asylum seekers. In 2006, most asylum seekers from Africa were fleeing war or political persecution. Today, a more diverse range of factors, such as sexual orientation, gender violence, female genital mutilation, and forced marriage, contribute to asylum claims. Lorenzo also highlights the growing number of women leading their own migration processes.
The Missing and the Families Left Behind
The tragic reality of migration is the thousands who go missing, leaving their families in despair. Names like Khadim, Baye Lamine, Sidy Magassa, and Mahamadou Coulibaly are just a few of the many who have disappeared on the Canary Islands route.
In the first five months of this year alone, the Caminando Fronteras Collective reported 5,054 people dead or missing. Many of these migrants left with the hope of improving not only their own lives but also the lives of their families. Now, in neighbourhoods across Senegal, Mali, Guinea, or the Ivory Coast, countless homes mourn those who are missing.
Twenty-five years have passed since the first recorded shipwreck on this route. On July 26, 1999, nine young Moroccans died when their boat hit a rock off Fuerteventura. Among the dead was a 15 year old boy.
Today, towns in Africa have lost dozens of residents, with some homes losing more than one family member. “We’re talking about a macro-victimization that affects entire societies,” says Helena Maleno.
Families are not only grieving; they are also criminalized, unable to express their pain openly.
Visas, Border Control, and the Persistence of the Canary Islands Route
The fluctuating intensity of migration routes between Africa and Europe often correlates with the externalization of borders. EU-Africa relations analyst Viviane Ogou explains that the European Union’s agreements with third countries often lead to stricter border management, forcing migrants to seek alternative, more dangerous routes.
This dynamic is particularly evident in countries bordering Europe, like Morocco, Tunisia, and Algeria, and in transit countries like Niger, where migrants are forced to traverse harsh deserts.
As authorities tighten controls, migrants are pushed to take longer, riskier routes. Boats heading for the Canary Islands now depart from countries increasingly distant from Europe, like Senegal, Mauritania, and even Guinea Bissau, over 1,700 kilometres away. The Canary Islands’ geographical location, combined with escalating conflicts in West.
