Snippets from Spain

Never Has It Been So Easy to Give Away My Clothes

I nearly gave away all my clothes. I ransacked my closet and drawers. I pulled out green skinny jeans and periwinkle slacks I bought eleven years ago from Zara, no-longer white button down shirts, and a blouse I’d never worn. I loaded them and other items into bags to take to Karibu, an organization that donates goods to African immigrants. My garments won’t fit the Nigerian to whom I speak in English as he waits in front of Mercadona supermarket for shoppers to drop coins in his paper cup. They aren’t suitable for the guy from Senegal who stands in front of the movie theater. I don’t know much about these gentlemen. But I’m sure they had a harrowing journey to Madrid. So had whomever ends up with my clothes.

After the loading bags, Fabio and I went to the movies to escape the heat wave. Relishing the theater’s AC, we took our seats. When we walked outside after the film ended, we blotted our eyes. It wasn’t sweat we wiped away.

The movie, “Viaje al país de los blancos” (Travel to the Country of White People) tells the true story of a fourteen-year-old uneducated boy from Ghana, Ousman Umar, who sees for the first time an airplane flying overhead. Gaping at this machine, he decides to see the land of white people. He leaves his village to find work in larger towns. He tells potential employers he’s good at “fixing things.” He eventually makes his way to Accra, the capital, where he hears that in Libya he could get a job and earn money for passage to Europe. After close escapes from death, he arrives in Libya. He stays for four years, under constant threat of exploitation, imprisonment, and abuse.

After five years covering approximately 21,300 kilometers (13,250 miles) zigzagging through West and North Africa, he reaches in 2005 Fuerteventura, Spain after his makeshift boat crashes into rocks on the island’s coast. Spanish authorities transfer him to a refugee center in Málaga. From there, they send him to Barcelona. He speaks Twi, his native language, and a little English. After a couple of years of sleeping on cardboard and eating out of garbage cans, a fairy tale ending of compassion and generosity changes his circumstances.

I marched right back home to finish the job for Karibu, which means “welcome” in Swahili. Spanish missionaries founded the organization in 1988 to help African immigrants adopt a life in Spain. One of the founders and former director Father Antonio Díaz Freijo said that the organization started when hordes of immigrants arrived in Madrid with no place to go. They set up living spaces on the ground floors of buildings around the Plaza de España, one of Madrid’s largest public squares. They camped in warehouses along one of the city’s main streets. He said each one came fleeing war, persecution, or hunger or looking for a better life for themselves and their families. The organization, which then was called “Casa de la Palabra” (House of the Word), brought in other religious groups to provide language lessons, food, legal advice, and medical care. They started services to integrate immigrants into Spanish society. They aimed to help them live a dignified and legal life with the necessary documentation.

"Welcome" entrance, food and clothes donations

Since Karibu’s founding, more African immigrants arrived as the country’s economy and job market grew. They sought jobs in construction, restaurants, house cleaning, caretaking, and hospitality. Most in Madrid came from Morocco, followed by Nigeria, Equatorial Guinea, Senegal, Algeria, Mali, Cameroon, Ghana, Guinea, and Gambia. Foreign-born residents now make up about 30 percent of the population.

About 100,000 African immigrants have arrived in Spain annually in recent years. Like Ousman, about 50,000–65,000 traveled over dangerous land and sea routes. In 2024, a Spanish non-governmental organization estimated 10,457 deaths on the Euro-African Western Border―about 30 people a day. Many migrants take precarious boat rides from West Africa to the Canary Islands.

Ousman’s story resonated with that of Karibu’s current general director, Nicole Ndongala, from the Democratic Republic of the Congo. During a war in her country, she could no longer attend college nor anticipate a promising future. She fled the country in 1998, got a Belgian visa, and arrived in Spain that same year. She, like others, landed familiar with the beautiful images of Europe on television and in magazines with no understanding of reality. Generally, immigrants speak their native languages and maybe a little French or English. Hardly anyone knows Spanish. They have no where to go, no money, and no knowledge of the system. After Nicole’s arrival, she received a master’s degree in management of non-governmental organizations. She has spearheaded Karibu since 2018 overseeing its social and integration work. She has set up other programs in its eight Madrid facilities, including one to help women experiencing sexual violence.

Women in Casa Bibi, a Karibu for older female African migrants, and some of their products mad and sold; credit Karibu

Today, Ousman leads NASCO Feeding Minds, an organization he founded that promotes digital education in Ghana. He states his goal is not to inspire others to repeat his journey but to create opportunities so that young Africans don’t risk their lives migrating. He wrote a memoir North to Paradise that recounts his terrifying journey.

When I got home after the movie, I rummaged through towels and bed sheets to eliminate those we don’t use. I pulled out cups, utensils, and plates buried in the back of cabinets. This week, I didn’t need two jars of garbanzo beans or another box of pasta. With laden bags, I climbed into a taxi to Karibu instead of walking twenty minutes. Never have I shelled out taxi fare so quickly.