Perilous voyage to Europe is only half the ordeal, say migrants

Lamin Dampha was a political prisoner in Gambia before he escaped to Libya, where he was kidnapped, beaten, imprisoned, made to work without pay and eventually forced at gunpoint on to an overcrowded boat bound for Italian shores.

Now in Europe, Mr Dampha, 26, faces another daunting struggle: against Italian bureaucracy. "Thank God for Italy, it's peaceful and democratic. But my big problem is the documents," he says, referring to his application for asylum. "We risked our lives to come here, now give us our papers so we can have a good life."

The deaths of as many as 800 migrants in a single incident off Libya has highlighted the dangers that record numbers of African and Middle Eastern migrants face in search of a better life in Europe.

But interviews with several migrants in Italy make clear that surviving the Mediterranean is only half the ordeal. Once they have arrived on a continent beset by its own economic crisis, they must grapple with a confusing and slow-moving legal system, the difficulty of finding housing and work, and occasional hostility from resentful locals. In addition, the psychological trauma from their voyage often lingers.

"They are caught between two feelings," says Giorgio Quaranta, the director of welcome services for migrants at the Casa della Carita, a Catholic charity in Milan. "There is the joy of being alive and concluding the trip, and overcoming adversity. But there is also dismay about the next stage. It is silly to say that it's harder, but it can be just as difficult."

In the worst cases, migrants find themselves living on the margins of society, roped into criminal organisations to scrape together cash for survival.

The lucky ones who are housed in government-backed centres will receive food, lodging, language lessons and an allowance of about €2 a day if they do not have a job.

Moussa Abdallah, 25, and a resident at the Casa della Carita, arrived in Italy as a minor in 2007. He spent two months in Sicily picking tomatoes for about €1 an hour, then travelled to Milan. There he was shuffled between four reception centres and at one point spent months sleeping in the central railway station.

A citizen of Niger, he has learnt some Italian and plays fullback in a local football team, but finding work has been tough. He secured a temporary job through a government-backed training programme at a large DIY retailer, earning between €300 and €500 a month. But when the contract expired he was let go and is still waiting to hear if he has a chance of full-time work.

"This can all be depressing and destabilising," says Mr Quaranta, who has worked with Mr Abdallah. "Migrants will usually start out sending hundreds of resumes, but once so many doors have been shut in their faces, disappointment sets in and they risk giving up," he says. "After all, there is a crisis in the jobs market for Italians, too."

Soulemane Gary, 24, from Mali, arrived in Italy in 2011 after leaving Libya amid civil war. He was first placed in the Alpine city of Sondrio but there were no jobs there so he moved to Milan, sleeping at a disused railway station. He would like to be a baker but has not found a permanent job. "Each time they tell me, 'you don't have a work permit'," he says. "It's not that I regret coming here but I don't see any great hopes either."

In a tatty 15th-century palazzo in Palermo that has become a Jesuit welcome centre for migrants, Boubacar Marong from Gambia remains determined to succeed in Europe. Mr Marong, 18, says he has no intention of returning to his homeland, where he had "big political problems". Like Mr Dampha, he took huge risks to reach Italy a year go, being "kidnapped by gangsters" in Libya before making the sea crossing on a small fibre boat on which six people died.

"I'm still waiting for documents. I want to find any kind of work," Mr Marong says. "Things are better here, but they're not fine."

In Rome, Ahmad, an 18-year-old Egyptian migrant whose identity is protected, is giving up. "It's impossible; there are 50 boys applying for every job," he says. "The best chance of work for us might be working in the market, moving fruit and vegetables, maybe making pizza or washing cars," he tells aid workers at a Save the Children drop-in centre in the Italian capital, where minors are able to get food, legal advice, internet access and a change of clothes.

Ahmad now wants to go home, but does not have the cash. "I thought I was coming to paradise," he says, "but I have left Egypt for another Egypt."

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