16
Jigo does not recall how long he swam, but when he reached the beach he lay
numb and shivering on the sand frozen and unsure if he would survive the night. He had
little money, no passport, and no idea where he was, but he wasn’t going to wait for the
authorities to find him. He was an undocumented migrant: he had to run. Forcing his
frozen limbs into motion, Jigo began to move.
That night was a blur. He and an older man from the boat - a tailor’s apprentice
from Senegal - lumbered to the main road and walked until they spotted a small shed in a
field nearby. They forced their way in and slept huddled together on bags of what
seemed to be cement. At daybreak they moved on, following the road at some distance to
avoid being seen until they came to the town they observed from the boat. For the first
time Jigo and his companion spoke at length. On the outskirts of the city they discussed
their shock, fear, helplessness, and longing for the people and places they left behind.
They walked closer to town wondering what they would do, how they would find food,
and where they would sleep. No longer dreaming and hoping for a great tomorrow, these
two men were wholly concerned with basic, immediate, human needs: food, shelter.
However, a greater shock awaited them still.
Sitting at the port, Jigo and his companion ate a loaf of bread they had purchased
from a bakery. Once again silence sat heavily between them until, finally overwhelmed,
Jigo began to weep. The suspicion he fought since arriving was confirmed when the
baker did not understand his rudimentary Italian. The captain had cheated them all. Jigo
was trapped on the island of Mytilene, Greece.
*