Under the starry sky the sea was calm, the water, still and dark beneath the raft. Then a sudden noise of wood against stone, the small boat slightly bounced against the rock and stopped. For its tired passengers, legal dreamers, illegal travelers, the journey seemed to have reached the end. From the coast of Morocco to the Canary islands it must have been a long way. Now, as many before them and a lot more to come, they have made it to Europe.
Only they did not know. They did not know that Europe was still twenty meters farther, that the coast was there at their reach but their raft was stuck on a "u"-shaped reef. So close, yet so far. In the darkness of the night, obscured by exhaustion and anticipation they fell into the dark waters and sank, the burden of hope too heavy for them to bear.
They have traveled as stowaways, guided by false lighthouses, monitored by evil satellites. They would have arrived as castaways and would have lived as outlaws, feeding on hope while sending money back to their families.
These ten just did not make it. They drowned tragically last night, near Risco Verde in the Gran Canaria. They were not the first, nor will be the last.
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