‘Like Doomsday’: How the hope of a better life ended on a boat in the Mediterranean

There was no change in their minds.

The two cousins, Imran Wazir, 23, and Abdul Salam, 25, made that clear to their families this spring when they decided to leave their village in northeast Pakistan and pay smugglers to reach Europe. They felt they had no other good options, their relatives said.

A recent death in the family had placed the burden of breadwinner on Mr Wazir. And Mr. Salam was almost attached to his cousin’s hip all his life, his family said. When Imran went, Abdul went too.

So late one evening in March they hugged their fathers and brothers goodbye and set out on a journey, across hundreds of miles, by land, air and sea, through four countries and driven by a dream to reach a fifth. It was the last time their relatives would see them alive.

Relatives say Mr Wazir and Mr Salam were two of more than 100 Pakistanis who died when a fishing boat overloaded with as many as 750 migrants capsized in the Mediterranean last week, the deadliest shipwreck for Greece in a decade. Locals say about 28 of those on board were from their hometown of Bandli, a vibrant green stretch of valleys along the border with India, in Pakistan-controlled Kashmir.

As families await word of their relatives, a sense of sadness and anger has descended like a dark cloud over the village. Walking through the streets, local residents can hear the moans and sobs of heartbroken mothers. From the mosque echoes the near-constant recitation of the Quran, as fathers beg God to somehow keep their prodigal sons alive.

“I have not seen such a sad day in the village in my 60 years of life,” said Muhammad Majeed, a shopkeeper. “It’s like doomsday – the village has lost so many young, hard-working sons.”

The area, home to about 10,000 people, has a long history of young men migrating abroad. Today, almost every family has at least one son who lives in the Gulf or Europe and sends home part of their salary each month, locals say.

As India and Pakistan fought for decades over the disputed territory of Kashmir, the city suffered regular cross-border shelling, destroying homes and claiming lives. Leaving was a way for young men to escape that violence and support their families.

The enthusiasm to migrate has only grown in recent years, they say. Due to the years of economic crisis in Pakistan, the prices of basic goods have risen enormously. Decent jobs have all but disappeared. And stories of men who made it to Europe splashed across social media, encouraging others who were already eager to go.

People feel that “there is no future and security left in Pakistan,” said Toqeer Gilani, a political leader in Pakistan-administered Kashmir. “That is gradually starting to take hold among the youth.”

Smugglers have preyed on that sense of instability. They roam the villages, Mr. Gilani said, promising young men a prosperous future in Europe in exchange for a lump sum of $7,000 to $14,000. In recent days, Pakistani authorities have made arrests and charged more than a dozen people with trafficking in connection with the capsized boat.

Every year, hundreds of young men in Bandli take refuge with the smugglers. Among those on the boat that sank last week was Muhammad Yasir, 24, father of a 1-year-old daughter whose brothers had slowly saved $7,000 to help him reach Europe. Another was Muhammad Aslam, a talkative 26-year-old who worked in his father’s grocery store.

A third was Shifaat Ali, 18, who left in March, promising to take a plane to ease his father’s concerns. Weeks later, he called from Libya begging his family for money for a boat. Terrified for his safety in Libya, they obliged.

However, perhaps no two in the group were closer than the cousins, Mr. Wazir and Mr. Salam. They grew up side by side surrounded by corn, wheat and rice fields, and relatives described them as almost inseparable.

The youngest of seven brothers, Mr. Wazir gained a reputation as a boisterous student who made friends easily. Mr. Salam was quieter, but gained fame in the regional cricket league, where he was nicknamed “Jayasuriya” – after a famous Sri Lankan cricketer.

When they graduated from university, they would go their separate ways for the first time. Mr. Wazir left for Saudi Arabia, looking for work as a day labourer. Mr. Salam submitted military draft papers, encouraged by his father, a retired junior officer.

When Mr. Wazir called to say he had work for his cousin just outside Riyadh, Mr. Salam abandoned his plans and went with him. They spent a little over a year there before returning to the village and opening shops side by side.

But they struggled to make decent profits, and this year the eldest brother of Mr Wazir, the family breadwinner as a laborer in the United Arab Emirates, died of a heart attack at the age of 52.

Suddenly, Mr. Wazir was wracked with fear, relatives said. He was concerned about his elderly father’s deteriorating health. He asked what the family would do if they had to pay the hospital bills, and what if they couldn’t afford care to keep him alive.

“He used to say, ‘If I go to Europe, I could earn 300 euros a month — that’s more than enough money to pay doctors for my father and take care of the rest of the family. They don’t have to worry,” said his cousin Abid Rajorvi.

So Mr. Wazir came up with a plan, relatives said: He sent a message to some young men who had recently posted online about reaching Italy, and got the contact for a smuggler. He and Mr. Salam borrowed money from friends and pooled their savings to each pay the $8,100 smuggler’s fee. For weeks their fathers tried to dissuade them, calling the journey too dangerous.

But they were determined.

So late one evening in March, they boarded a bus for a three-day trip to Karachi, a port city in southern Pakistan. Then they flew to the United Arab Emirates, then to Egypt and Libya. They sent smiling selfies along the way, according to Mr. Rajorvi, and raved about the fine weather and markets in Cairo.

But when they reached Libya, their calls changed. This month they told Mr. Rajorvi that they had been arrested by the Libyan authorities and only released after a week in custody. They said they had each lost about 50 pounds since arriving in Libya, and sent pictures on WhatsApp looking skinny. The only assurance they offered to their relatives was that they would soon be in Italy.

Days later, news of the sunken migrant ship reached the village. People ran to the bazaar – the only place with good mobile reception – and started frantically calling loved ones on their way to Europe. They checked Facebook for news. They sent SMS after SMS to the smugglers, but received no response.

Then a resident received a call from a Pakistani man who had survived the wreck. About 27 others from the city were in the boat with him, he said. No one had survived. The bazaar erupted in wailing.

With the confirmation of their relatives’ deaths likely days or weeks away, many families are now stuck in a devastating limbo: praying for a miracle, but knowing that the odds are fading by the day.

“We are Muslims, we believe death is inevitable,” said Muhammad Mubashir, whose 18-year-old cousin is believed to have died on the ship. “But without burying your loved ones with their own hands, our family will never be at peace.”