28/09/2026
Mountains of Risk
Crossing into Algeria through smugglers, storms, and sorrows.
Hope led me and my brothers into the mountains.
The journey from Morocco into Algeria was brutal, haunted by the bones of the lost.
My decision to show kindness to a Malian woman ultimately saved my life when others ahead of us were captured.
It all started when I received a phone call from my friend Bobo. It changed everything. Bobo, who had shared the same struggles with me in Morocco, was speaking to me all the way from Italy, from Lampedusa.
He told me that the route through Tunisia was easy and that the coast guards there even helped migrants reach the sea.
Bobo’s voice carried the sweetness of success, but I could not have known that this exact path would become my crucible.
Bobo convinced me to leave Morocco and go to Tunisia to take a boat to Lampedusa Island in Italy.
He said there were no security controls and that even the Tunisian coast guards escorted them until they met the Italian maritime authorities.
Hope can be blinding when mixed with desperation.
I gathered four of my Gambian brothers and shared the plan.
Together, we set out for Oujda, the last Moroccan town before the Algerian border.
There, smugglers operated like merchants of chance.
For 1,500 dirhams each, they promised to take us to the border.
They called themselves the “Taxi Mafia.”
In the dark of night, they packed eight people into small cars, four in the front, including the driver, and four in the back, with the headlights off and our hearts pounding.
The desert wind pressed against the metal doors as we sped through the silence.
When the cars finally stopped, we were dropped in a narrow, shadowed place beside the desert and told to wait.
A hundred people gathered in the darkness: men, women, and children, including pregnant women clutching small bundles of bread and fear.
Two Guinean guides led our group.
They knew the route through the mountains, the only path between Morocco and Algeria that wasn’t patrolled by border guards.
Our crossing began under pouring rain and heavy thunder.
We climbed steep, jagged slopes and stumbled down again, every single footstep resulting in a gamble.
As we walked, I noticed a large Malian woman struggling to walk.
Compassion overcame my exhaustion. My friends and I took turns carrying her, which caused us to fall behind the rest of the crowd.
Later, we learned that the group ahead of us had been captured and beaten by Moroccan guards.
Our slower kindness had become our salvation. Those mountains hid bones, the grim remnants of those who hadn’t made it.
The smell of death clung heavily to the air. At one point, a man in our group fell from a cliff. His body broke silently in the dark.
There was no time for mourning; survival demanded that we keep moving.
At 5 a.m., we finally reached the border fence.
For two agonizing hours, we waited, shivering in the cold until the guards’ shift changed.
Then, with a pair of scissors and shaking hands, we cut through the wire and crawled into Algeria. On the other side, we paused. I felt a mix of triumph and emptiness.
I had escaped one danger only to enter another, but there was no turning back now.
We then walked two kilometres toward Maghnia, the first town in Algeria from Oujda, Morocco. We rested for five minutes to eat some biscuits and drink a little water.
Before we could even reach Maghnia, we ran into armed robbers. They were also migrants once travellers just like us but now stranded and hardened by the desert.
These men carried knives and machetes, demanding our money and phones. Our guides, who were used to these encounters, told my group to hand over our Moroccan currency, which was useless in Algeria anyway.
The robbers left with the dirhams, and we kept our lives. By dawn, we stumbled into Maghnia the edge of a new country and the beginning of another ordeal.
There, I saw for the very first time how survival could turn men into ghosts and kindness into currency.
I would soon learn that every border has its price.
This is my true life story. This is the journey I lived, survived, and carried with me.
WHY IS SO IMPORTANT TO SHARE MY STORY ?
Sharing this story is deeply important because it gives a voice to the voiceless and shines a light on a raw reality that the world often ignores. It is a story about the choices we face in our darkest moments, how compassion can literally save lives, and the sheer power of human resilience. By sharing this firsthand account, we can break down misconceptions, build deep empathy, and inspire others to understand the true value of brotherhood, hope, and survival.
To help bring this firsthand account to life and maximize its reach, OUSMAN is actively seeking for sponsors and partners who believe in the power and importance of this narrative. If you or your organization would like to support the publication, printing, and distribution of this project,
Please reach out to Ousman directly at the details below to discuss how you can partner together:
Contact Details:📞 Phone/WhatsApp: +220835060192
📧 Email: [email protected]
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TIKTOK Account: Am Ousman
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