WIDE-EYED AND PENSIVE, Ramadan Nemr sits in his home in Shedmoah, a small Fayoum, gathering his thoughts before speaking of his dead son. When he finally opens his mouth, it is with a pained expression, that of a man who lost his entire life savings on one throw of the dice, but knew that if he had another chance to play the table, he would take it.

“I found out gradually,” he says. “Of course everyone in town knew before I did, and every time I spoke with either friends here or people in Italy they would tell me lies or try to distract me. I found out six days after it happened. In the end, it was my gut intuition that led me to ask around.”

His son, Ahmed, was one of five relatives who drowned when their boat capsized en route to Italy in the last days of October 2007. While the numbers remain murky, it is thought that at least 22 Egyptian economic migrants who drowned in two separate incidents off the Italian coast near the Sicilian town of Siracuse. One of the boats left from Libya and the other from near Alexandria.

For the government, the recent fatalities merely serve as a reminder of an ongoing problem — illegal migration.

Each year, thousands of unemployed Egyptians gamble with their lives trying to cross the 1,500 kilometer gap that separates poverty from the potentialriches awaiting them in Italy. An independent study conducted for the Egyptian government by Dr. Ayman Zohy showed that 61 percent of Egyptians who intend to emigrate to Europe, whether legally or illegally, have chosen Italy as their destination.

“Ahmed was a great kid,” Nemr says. “He had aspirations of a better life, and I couldn’t get in the way of that.” Both Nemr and Essam, Ahmed’s cousin, explain how young unemployed (and underemployed) men in Fayoum are trapped in a social tug of war. Those who aren’t fortunate enough to reach Italy and return with the money to set up an apartment and get married are left with a feeling of inferiority. “It comes down to jealousy, but not greed. Everyone has ambitions of improving their living standards; you can’t blame these kids for trying to make something better of themselves. By the same token, when your friend is successful at jumping up a few social classes, you feel the desire to do the same,” says Essam.

Mohamed Allouba Ramadan Nemr lost his son to the seas: “He had aspirations of a better life, and I couldn’t get in the way of that.”

The pull of wealth is strong, and having just finished his mandatory two-year military service, Ahmed had visions of a better future.

“You know, it’s not just about inflation and the need to marry. Eid, Ahmed’s cousin [who also drowned], was 27 with four kids and unemployed for the past 15 years. I’m 42 now, and I make LE 280 a month If the timing is right, I might just try to go to Italy, too,” Nemr says.

Nemr was well aware of the dangers involved in the trip to Italy , but he still believes that his son was taking the best opportunity available to him. “Of course I knew, but it’s God’s will and I can’t complain. You can’t expect to be happy with the good things he gives you and not upset with the hard things. Of course, nothing will ever take the place of my son. The most valuable possession to a father is his son.”

The story is painfully familiar. Every few months, the television and newspapers speak of another ferry crammed with desperate Egyptians who encounter disaster en route to Europe. One rarely hears the stories of lucky ones who made it.

Mohamed Allouba The grave of an Egyptian whose illegal migration ended in disaster.

Just ask Mohsen Zaki, a 23-year-old illegal immigrant who has been living in Italy for the past three years. After growing up in Mansoura, Zaki decided he was fed up with his life in Egypt and at the age of 20 decided to jump the fence to greener pastures.

Zaki is the second youngest of three siblings and the only son, so when he told his family he was dropping out of school and taking off for Italy in a tiny wooden boat, it’s not a surprise that his parents were unenthusiastic. “It took a few days of convincing,” he says. Zaki’s own father had spent time working in Italy and Zaki wanted the same opportunities for himself, so when he finally received his father’s blessing, he knew it was the right decision.

“I would wake up, go to college, and come back. I had a license but no car,” he explains. “I’m 23 now and I want to get married. There was no work in Egypt and even my friends who’ve had degrees for a long time haven’t found anything to do.” Zaki continues in a fervent tone, adding “life is tough there.”

And that’s when he surrendered to the Siren’s song. With his cousin by his side, Zaki took the first step without looking back. They had heard of a well-known hustler living in a town near them and decided to pay him a visit, as well as LE 20,000, for a one-way ticket to the alluring paradise they call Italy. Ten thousand more would be collected as soon as they arrived.

The plan was to cross into Libya before braving the Mediterranean Sea in a rickety wooden yacht. “My cousin and I made arrangements with him, we signed a contract. He told us, ‘When you get to Libya, call me.’

Mohamed Allouba Escape from poverty motivates those risking the trip to Italy.

“After a day or so of riding trains, buses and cars, they crossed the border and called him. “He gave us someone else’s number when we got there, and we met with him. Two guys picked us up in a car and told us, ‘Don’t look left, right, or behind you’.” Terrified of what was to come, he slumped in the back seat, gazing at the lonely stars hanging over Libya’s desert.

Relinquishing all control to a pair of thugs, Zaki didn’t know what to expect. After what seemed like an endless drive, he and his cousin were taken to an abandoned one-story house in the empty desert with two rooms and a reception area.

“We were to live there for a month, without electricity [] 70 of us in that small flat. They got us food every two to three days; we cooked since the place had a stove. [There was] a hose and faucet outside because there was no water inside,” says Zaki, dwelling on the miserable conditions. For a full month, Zaki, his cousin and the other would-be emigrants were isolated from society with only their aspirations for a better life to accompany them.

“We were locked in from outside with a steel door, and if someone passed by and heard a voice, he would come in and beat him. Every one had a mat for sleeping on the floor, and if there wasn’t enough space well, we were all stuck together for a month.”

Zaki started to rethink his decision to put his life on the line for the sake of an unknown future. “I thought about going back, but you just can’t. One time, a guy wanted to go back; five of them, in fact, wanted to return to their village next to Mansoura. When [the organizer] got us food, they told him they wanted to talk to the ‘boss’ because they wanted to go home. So he told them he would go get him, and came back later that night with the stick. He took them into the room [...] He asked them, ‘You want to return to Egypt?’ They said ‘no’, of course. These guys were scrawny too; they couldn’t handle a beating like that.”

Finally, one day, they were shepherded outside and onto four microbuses, each carrying around 15-20 people. Anyone who objected was clouted with a large bow stick. “We had to sit with our heads on the seats and knees planted on the floor, so no one could see us in the bus. The buses headed together towards the meeting point, where the ma’lim [ring leader] was.”

The group was taken to a villa that was still under construction where they were herded into a basement like cattle, one following the other. The clock struck midnight. A large number of new groups joined up with Zaki’s group. The thugs began shouting incessantly, the walls echoing with their voices. After hours of sitting fearfully on the floor of the basement, a man led them to the ocean and ordered them to strip off their belts, watches and shoelaces, to make sure that they wouldn’t hang themselves.

Given only a bag of halawa, bread, cheese and water, the men spent the next 23 hours on the high seas. “And that was the last time we would see those guys. They left us to fend on our own once they dropped us off at the boats. So we swam to the row-boats [] The boat that took us was around 16 meters long, it was kafran [in dire need of repair]. Half an hour into the trip, the boat was going to capsize,” said Zaki, recollecting the terrifying voyage.

It was four in the morning. The captain of the boat warned the 175 people aboard the tiny vessel that if they didn’t cooperate as a team, they would either die or be captured by the police. With each wave’s blow, they were tossed around like rag dolls. People began to vomit. With only a compass to illuminate their path, they surrendered to destiny. “I was scared but I left [my fate] in God’s hands.” When they neared their destination, the captain fled on a small rowboat attached to the yacht, leaving the passengers to find their way to coast.

After nearly a full day in the ocean, and weeks trying to avoid authorities, the Italian police spotted the boat and reeled them in. “They took care of us; whoever was sick or injured was treated. Those who needed urgent attention were taken care of first. Then we went to the Red Cross camp, all of us.”

For three days, the worn out but relieved travelers were pampered by the humanitarian organization. They were given clean clothes, sneakers, food and shelter. “They even got us cigarettes,” recalls Zaki, laughing. “My cousin and I were separated at that point because, on the line for the ferry, he was in the front and I was in the back. Those in the back left on a large ferry towards an island called Lampedosa. Those in the front left on a small private plane. At Lampedosa, they took photos of us, along with fingerprints and other records. Then we got on a bus that dropped us off at a train station.”

After another 18 hours aboard the train to Milan, the police gave the awestruck immigrants official papers for a legal stay of five days, after which they would be deported if they were picked up. Then they were released. “The first thing I did when I got [to Milan] was say Al-Hamdulila.”

After breathing a sigh of relief, he called a cousin who had been in Italy legally for six years, and they reunited to celebrate.

Now living in Italy, Zaki tries his best to remain invisible. He doesn’t have a car yet, but he manages to get around, visiting his cousins and getting whatever provisions he needs. “One time, in a supermarket, police questioned my cousin because he had an expired international driver’s license and has been there for six years. So they asked him about me. He told them that I had just gotten there two days ago and that I was staying with my father, but forgot my papers at home. They didn’t do anything; the police here are very decent.”

Through his uncle’s connections, Zaki landed a job working at a cow farm near Brescia, for an Italian farmer who is aware of his status. Dwelling in the ground floor of the owner’s two-story villa, he doesn’t have to pay rent, but food and cigarettes are his own expense. “I get paid 1,400 (LE 11,500) every month for milking cows with machinery,” says Zaki, holding back laughter. When asked for his opinion on this new income, he seems hesitant, as if dreading envy that may come his way. “Honestly, it’s a great salary. Italians and legal immigrants get a lot more than I do, plus they get benefits But I’m definitely not complaining.

“I spend 150 shopping [for food], and about 150 on cigarettes; they’re very expensive here. And another 300 is spent on phone calls.” Zaki gives about 2,000 (LE 16,400) to his family every three to four months, sending it with anyone who’s going back, and plans on saving enough to open a car dealership when he returns to Egypt. “Hopefully I’ll get [Italian] residence then go home, marry and come back for two or three years and finally return to raise the kids.”

In Zaki’s eyes, the worst thing about living in Italy is being separated from his family. “I really, really miss my family. I call them every week or so. Also, because I don’t have papers I can’t go anywhere and I love to travel and do whatever I want. That’s essential.

“[All in all] I am very happy, Al-Hamdulila. The best thing about Italy is that it’s so beautiful and organized, and the women are very, very beautiful. The greatest thing about life here is the peacefulness. After 7pm everything is closed and life slows down. Sunday is off. My expectations of Italy [were] definitely met. I don’t regret coming at all. Life here is great.”

As for his hopping the fence, Zaki wouldn’t recommend a fellow friend to take the risk. The grass may be greener, but getting there could kill you. “The risk was worth it for me because I made it, and I’m living happily. But I know I was just lucky. If I went back in time, I wouldn’t go through with it again. I get a big salary here, but the experience I went through getting here was tough. [The organizers] could’ve killed us at any moment just for the hell of it I would not advise a friend to come the way I did. It was very dangerous!” et