David was kidnapped in Tripoli, Libya, through a trafficking system commonly known among migrants as “Tranke” or operated by groups often referred to as “Ashma Boys.” These groups are involved in organized abductions, detention, and ransom of migrants.

At the time of the kidnapping, David was in a taxi on his way to send money to his family back home. During the trip, the taxi was intercepted and hijacked. Armed men stopped the vehicle and took control of the situation. David had no opportunity to escape.

He was taken to a house where many other migrants were already being held captive. Some had been there for weeks or months before his arrival. This location marked the beginning of severe abuse and constant fear. From that point onward, David lived under continuous threat. Sleep was impossible, and violence was routine.

The building where they were first held was located deep inside the Sahara Desert. It was completely isolated. There was no access to help, no communication with the outside world, and no realistic chance of rescue. Survival depended entirely on whether ransom money could be paid. David’s life became a matter of chance.

After some time, the captives were transferred from this first location to another detention house. This second building was also used to hold migrants until their families paid the demanded ransom. During the transfer, they were loaded into a Toyota Hilux pickup truck. The captives were tightly packed and covered with a tarpaulin to prevent noise and visibility. No one spoke during the journey. Silence was enforced, and fear controlled every movement.

Before the journey through the desert began, David’s suitcase was taken from him. Along with it, he lost all his valuable belongings, including personal items and anything that could help him survive the journey. There was no explanation and no possibility of resistance. Once the journey started, everything he owned was gone.

They were then loaded into pickup trucks and treated like cargo rather than human beings. People were packed tightly into the open backs of the vehicles, with no protection and no space to hold on properly. The drivers showed no concern for safety. Once the trucks began moving, they drove at high speed through the desert without stopping.

The vehicles did not slow down, even when someone fell off. Stopping was considered too dangerous or inconvenient. If a truck stopped, it risked getting stuck in the soft desert sand, which could delay the entire convoy. Anyone who fell was left behind, exposed to the desert with no assistance and no chance of survival.

The journey continued nonstop through extreme heat, dust, and exhaustion. Fear was constant. Everyone knew that a single mistake, a weak grip, or a moment of imbalance could mean death. Survival depended entirely on holding on and enduring whatever happened until the vehicles reached their destination

David Amos did not flee Nigeria because of hunger or poverty, as the dominant global narrative often suggests. He left because his life was in danger.

At the time, David was a skilled heavy-duty mechanic. He had steady work, practical experience, and a means of supporting himself. He was married and had three children. He was not homeless, unemployed, or desperate for food. Leaving Nigeria was not an economic decision, and it was not a search for a better lifestyle.

The decision to flee was forced by circumstances that threatened his survival. Remaining in Nigeria meant a real and immediate risk to his life. The details of those threats placed him in a position where staying was no longer an option. Migration, in his case, was not a choice, it was an act of self-preservation.

Leaving also meant abandoning everything he had built: his profession, his home, and most painfully, his wife and children. This was not something he wanted or planned. It was a decision that came with severe emotional and psychological consequences. The separation from his family was one of the hardest costs of his escape.

The journey to Europe nearly cost David his life. He endured extreme danger, violence, and inhumane conditions along the route. Survival was uncertain at every stage. His experience exposes the falseness of the simplified narrative that portrays African migrants as people moving only because of poverty or hunger.

David’s story reflects a broader reality: many people flee not because they want to leave, but because staying means death. Reducing such journeys to economic migration erases the complexity, fear, and coercion behind them and ignores the lives that were already established before displacement began.

After I listened to David’s story, I was deeply affected. Not because I had never heard stories like his before, but because of how closely his experience reflected realities I already knew too well. Hearing his account confirmed that the violence, torture, and abandonment migrants face are not isolated incidents. They are part of a system that operates openly and repeatedly.

David’s testimony was difficult to hear. The details of kidnapping, torture, ransom, and being left to die in the desert were not exaggerated. They were precise and factual. What struck me most was not only what happened to him, but how easily his life could have ended without anyone knowing or caring.

As someone who works closely with refugee stories and lived experiences, I recognized the patterns immediately: the trafficking networks, the ransom system, the denial of medical care, and the assumption that migrants are disposable. David’s experience reinforced the reality that many migrants are not moving by choice, but are being forced into situations where survival depends on chance and outside intervention.

Listening to David also strengthened my sense of responsibility. Stories like his cannot remain private or unheard. They must be documented accurately and shared publicly, not to shock people, but to confront false narratives about migration and expose the human cost behind them.

After hearing David’s story, it became even clearer to me that storytelling is not just about memory. It is a tool for accountability. When survivors speak and their stories are recorded, it becomes harder to deny what is happening and harder to look away.

B Mufalme, Ankerzentrum should be close

We painfully narrate the death of our beloved brother, Kamara Joseph, whose life was lost under conditions that involved serious neglect and failure within the Ankerzentrum, including the actions of security staff and the house master.

Kamara Joseph was in a very weak physical condition. He had serious difficulty moving and could not safely access basic facilities. Despite this, the house master refused to relocate him to a ground-floor apartment or to a place where he could easily reach the canteen and move safely within the building. This decision left him isolated and forced him to use stairs that he was physically unable to manage.

As a result, Kamara Joseph fell several times from the third floor, suffering repeated injuries. These incidents were known, yet no adequate protective measures were taken to prevent further harm.

During this period, security staff denied us access to bring him food. He was left severely hungry and weak, without regular meals and without proper care. He did not receive the medical treatment he needed, despite his visible condition and repeated falls.

There was no consistent medical attention, no nutritional support, and no effective response to his deteriorating health. The combination of immobility, hunger, lack of treatment, and isolation caused his condition to worsen rapidly.

Kamara Joseph did not die suddenly. He declined over time while help was available but not provided. His death reflects systemic neglect, poor decision-making, and a failure to protect a vulnerable person who depended entirely on the Ankerzentrum for care and safety.

We believe that the actions and inactions of the Ankerzentrum administration, the house master, and security staff contributed directly to his death. This case raises serious concerns about responsibility, duty of care, and the treatment of vulnerable asylum seekers.

Destiny Joshua Nduka, ordered Ankerzentrum to be close, before something darker than trauma happens again

Ankerzentrum must be close