A Passage of Peril and Hope
Dario AntonelliGiacomo Sini July/August 2025Fleeing persecution, violence, or poverty, a growing number of children and young people are navigating the Canary Islands route—one of Europe’s deadliest migrant journeys.
The scorching sun warms the beach; some people swim, and some rest on the sand of beautiful Las Canteras. It is just a few steps from the center of Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, the capital of the Canary Islands, a Spanish archipelago off the coast of West Africa that attracts tourists from around the world.
Noor* sits on a low wall and stares out to sea. He is 18, from Pakistan, and has been here for three weeks. “I miss my mum,” he murmurs. “I feel lonely here.” Then he lowers his head. “I can’t find a job, and I have no money. I don’t know what to do.”
According to Caminando Fronteras, an organization that monitors migrants’ rights in Spain, the migration route to the Canary Islands continues to be the world’s deadliest, with 9,757 deaths at sea in 2024 alone. Mauritania, followed by Senegal, is the main departure point to the archipelago.
Three young men come running up the slope between the buildings in the old working-class neighborhood of La Isleta, near the port of Las Palmas. “We’re here; you can stop running!” one of them shouts, turning to a friend left behind in the run. In the evening they all return to the Canarias 50, an emergency reception center for migrants. The complex consists of large tents set up within the walls of a former military compound.
“I arrived last Saturday on the island of El Hierro,” says Aboubakar,* 24, from Senegal. “Tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. I have an appointment to apply for asylum,” he adds with a half smile. “Everything is fine at the center, but we are too many people for the services there. I hope to have the documents soon and go to Madrid.”
Mercedes de León Duarte, of the Canarias Convive project, which is mandated by the Canary Islands’ government to draft a new plan on immigration and coexistence, explains that the foreign population in the Canaries is 444,000 out of 2.2 million. “But only 9.4 percent come from Africa,” she says. “As many as 49.5 percent come from the Americas, and 35.8 percent from Europe.” Yet, she adds, “There is a toxic and instrumental narrative that represents the arrival of migrants by sea from Africa as an invasion.”
The Las Raices emergency center in Tenerife, largest of the Canary Islands, is built inside a former military area adjacent to the airport. Francisco Navarra of Accem, an organization that runs several centers in the Canaries and in Spain, explains how the center works. “We work with teams of operators specialized in psychological, social, medical support,” he says. “The centers’ equipment is temporary, such as tents and chemical toilets, because they are emergency facilities, so no construction can be done.”
Continuing beyond the entrance to the center, on the edge of colorful fields of lupine flowers, a group of young people listen to music. “I am from Mali; I have been here for a fortnight,” says Ahmad,* the youngest of them. “Everything is fine here, but there are many of us, and the city is far away. We are a bit isolated.”
Out here, the Aquí Estamos association holds Spanish lessons. With its Informa project, it also offers free legal support in the classrooms of the University of La Laguna, thanks to volunteer lawyers and student trainees.
“These Could Be Our Children”
On the quay in Arguineguín, a small town in the south of the island of Gran Canaria, two orange hulls stand out among the fishing boats and tourist ferries. These are the vessels of the Salvamento Marítimo, a service of the Ministry of Transport, sent to rescue the precarious boats carrying those trying to reach Europe in search of a new life.
Those involved in these rescues says that there is a lack of personnel, the work is psychologically and physically exhausting, and the shifts are overloaded.
Cristian Castaño, trade union leader of the Canaries Merchant Marine sector, says with emotion, “When rescues are your daily work, your heart and your body suffer. They don’t teach you this in nautical school. It could be us, in Europe, experiencing a crisis, and going to Africa to look for work! These could be our children; we must take them in.” Some of the sailors involved in these rescues say their work is necessary because the ocean route taken by the migrant boats “is crazy!”
“If you aim for El Hierro—the easternmost island—all it takes is a breakdown, a storm, and you get lost in the Atlantic,” says one. Unfortunately, it is not uncommon for boats to be found that have been drifting off the South American coast for weeks, laden with lifeless bodies.
In the tower of the Capitanía of the port of Santa Cruz de Tenerife, Dolores Septién Terreros, who heads the local Maritime Rescue Centre, unrolls the nautical chart on the table. “Here,” she says, pointing to a point south of the island of El Hierro. “When a boat crosses the 18th meridian to the west, we are sure that it will get lost in the ocean, and we have to intervene.” This center coordinates operations in the entire eastern sector of the Canaries. “We have to rescue all people who are in danger, regardless of their nationality or political or legal status,” Dolores says. The area for which the center is responsible is vast. “Just think,” exclaims Dolores in front of the map. “The Canaries are in fact responsible for 1 million square meters of sea, out of a total of 1.5 million for the whole of Spain—that’s two thirds!”
“The Dream Inside Me”
Saidou* lives in Las Palmas in a flat thanks to an Ecca Social project. He is from Senegal, is 18 years old, and from an early age had to work as a fisherman in Mauritania to support his family. “A miserable and hard job,” he says.
One day a friend told him about the trip. “It was a dream that lay buried inside me: to come to Europe to find myself and offer a better life to my family, of which I am the eldest.” He did not have enough money for the trip, but he managed to embark in Senegal. “As a fisherman I knew these boats well,” he says. “The captain wanted me on board so that I could intervene in case of mechanical problems along the way.”
Saidou takes a sip of water before resuming. “During the journey, the waves damaged the boat. We used plastic to plug the holes and continued our journey, pulling out the water that was seeping in.”
They spent seven days at sea before reaching the Canary Islands. “It was a terrible experience,” he says. “We lacked food, the strong winds slowed us down, and some of us got sick, vomiting all the time. We consumed only one meal a day, around 3:00 p.m.—a bag of biscuits and a bag of water each. But this did not worry me, because my only goal was to get to Europe to give my mother a better life.”
The most difficult moment, Saidou recounts, was “when we were only 30 kilometers from the Canaries and ran out of petrol. We were adrift until morning, when we saw a boat in the distance. We tried to call it, but to no avail. Eventually it alerted the Red Cross, which came to aid us and took us to the island of El Hierro.” After a pause Saidou resumes: “Many of my friends died at sea. Don’t make the mistake of leaving like that.” He recounts that when he arrived, he was taken to a center for minors: “There were 300 of us in a structure that was enough for a few dozen. I was there for a year and six months, without any schooling.”
Moussa* is entering the CEAR office in Santa Cruz de Tenerife. He is almost 20 years old and comes from Mali, and he also arrived as a minor. He has an appointment for a career counseling session. “I would like to learn to drive trucks,” he says, looking straight ahead. “Now, I am a waiter in a hotel, but I would like to be a driver.” He arrived in 2020, in El Hierro. “It was September; I was 15 years old. In Mali I had been working with cows since I was 8 years old. When I arrived, I was thinking about studying.” He does not want to reach Europe, at least for the moment. “I am fine here,” he explains. “I am calm; there are good people. I feel free to do what I want, and that is important. I would like to stay here working, studying, and, of course, playing football!” Moussa continues: “I play as a midfielder in Raqui San Isidro.” Now the Tenerife team, which plays in the Secunda División, has asked him to try out. “Let’s see how it will go!” Moussa says, laughing.
*Some names have been changed for security reasons.
Article Author: Dario Antonelli
Dario Antonelli is a freelance journalist, and Giacomo Sini is a freelance photojournalist, both based in Italy.
Article Author: Giacomo Sini
Giacomo Sini is a photojournalist from Livorno, Italy. He has visited 50 countries, photographing the social and political realities. Passionate about the Middle East and Central Asia, he has photographed many times the realities of conflict in Syria, Lebanon, and Kurdistan. He is interested mostly in refugees’ stories from conflict and post-conflict areas. He has been published inEl Pais, Neon Stern Magazine, L’Express, Humanité Dimanche, Il Manifesto, Corriere del Ticino, NZZ, Die Zeit, Taz, National Geographic, Il Venerdì di Repubblica, D Repubblica, The Week, and Kansan Uutiset.