Ale Gueye, the Senegalese who could not say goodbye to his father before he died because he did not have papers

The Senegalese arrived on the islands on December 28, 2019, shortly after he arrived at the shelter where a French-Spanish dictionary and Twenty love poems and a song of despair by the Chilean Pablo Neruda slept.

May 18 2026 (10:20 WEST)
Updated in May 18 2026 (11:38 WEST)
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Ale Gueye decided to set off for Europe in an inflatable boat in 2019, chasing dreams he began to cherish months after arriving in Fuerteventura, when he took a plane heading for "Greater Spain" (the mainland) with a suitcase in tow and a book of poems by Pablo Neruda.

The Senegalese arrived on the islands on December 28, 2019. He was one of the first to arrive when the Canary Route was, once again, starting to pick up after years of apparent calm. He and the rest of the boat's occupants were housed in the Tefía hostel.

One afternoon in January 2020, he told his story to EFE: he spoke of his parents, two "already old" farmers in Louga; of his Spanish studies, unfinished, at university, of the lack of a future for the youth of his country, of his dream of emigrating to Europe, etc.

He also confessed his fondness for reading, particularly his liking for Neruda, and made a request: books and dictionaries to read while he waited for his turn to go to the mainland.

 

 

A dictionary and 'Twenty love poems'

Shortly after, a French-Spanish dictionary and Twenty love poems and a song of despair by the Chilean arrived at the hostel with a dedication wishing him that he would fulfill all his dreams in Spain and that he would never forget Fuerteventura.

And the dreams began to come true when on February 21, 2020, he traveled to Madrid and from there to Guadix, in Granada, where a cousin was waiting for him.
Now, he has reunited with EFE in his home in Guadix, an apartment he shares with three Senegalese who emigrated to the Canary Islands in 2006 during the so-called cayucos crisis.

He says that his first months on the mainland "were terrible": "I arrived when covid-19 was starting, there was no work and I spent the day locked up at home."

Four months later, he started working in tomato greenhouses, then in the olive harvest, picking eggplants, on a chicken farm, and pruning poplar trees, where he has been for three years with a labor contract.

"The hardest thing" during these years has been "living without papers," due to the fear of being sent back to his country. "I always wanted to go visit my family in Senegal, before my parents died, but it wasn't possible because of the papers," he confesses. Two years ago, his father passed away, and he could not say goodbye.

He has been able to regularize his situation in Spain through labor roots. He has also experienced other aspects of migration: labor exploitation.

"I worked in the tomato campaign, the boss had to pay us 1,000 euros, he gave us an advance of 500 and told us that when he made the sale he would complete the payment, but he didn't pay us. He owes us a lot of money," he assures.

Six and a half years after arriving, he assures that his dreams have come true: "To have papers, a job, and to be able to help my family."
"Every month I have to send some money to my family, that's why we are here and that's why we took the boat and crossed the sea," he insists.

In the poetry book, he was also asked not to forget Fuerteventura. "I will never forget Tefía, I have very beautiful memories of there," he says while asking about Carmen, the neighbor whom the immigrants called 'Mama Africa'; about her daughter Miriam; about Lola, the Spanish teacher from the Red Cross; about María, from Entre Mares, and about Carlos, the photographer who took his photos for Efe.

From Monday to Friday he works and goes to driving school to get his truck driver's license. On Fridays he goes to the mosque and on weekends he meets with other Africans and guys from Guadix to play football.

After Ale, thousands of people have arrived in the Canary Islands. Thousands more have drowned on the way: "We know that the sea is very dangerous, but there is no other option. The visa to come by plane is very difficult to obtain," he argues.

Ale interrupts the interview, goes to his room and returns with Neruda's poetry book: "The book has always been with me," he says. On the inside cover and the credits page, there are annotations in French and Spanish.

Work leaves him little time to read, but from time to time he opens its pages and dedicates a few minutes to the verses of the Chilean. 

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