This is the testimony of Ibrahim Hsian, the son of Mohammed Hsian, who drowned in the shipwreck of 2nd September 2024.
I’m Ibrahim Hsian, and my father died by drowning during the shipwreck of the boat.
I don’t know where to start.
A huge tragedy tore my heart out. I tried to write this text many times, but I could not finish it. I choked every time I tried to write it.
My father was a unique, irreplaceable person. He worked hard all his life and I wanted him to finally be able to rest, but the sea and the Italian authorities had another destiny for him, depriving me of him. I only hope that he has now found peace.
When all borders were closed to him, only heaven opened its doors. My father was my master, my teacher, the director of the school where I studied. I learned so much from him and hoped to learn even more, to see him again someday.
After the persecution he suffered in Syria and after the death of my older brother, my father decided to flee to Lebanon to escape oppression in our country.
He stayed in Lebanon for about a year; then he told me he wanted to visit me and see my brothers here, hoping to unite the whole family, including my mother and sister, who remained in Syria.
After selling land in Syria to cover his travel expenses, he arrived in Libya. He stayed there for 20 days in a large warehouse with about 400 people. He kept telling me he was fine, but I knew he wasn’t.
After twenty days, he called me with another number, telling me they had taken his phone and would be leaving for Italy in the next few days.
The last contact I had with him was on August 31, 2024, at 4:15 p.m. I did not know that that would be the last time I would hear from him. I had so many things to say to him: I wanted to tell him how much I missed him and that I was waiting for him to marry, just as he wished. He always told me that he wanted to see me married and to see my children.
After talking to one of the survivors, I found out that they left Libya on September 1, 2024, at 2:30 p.m. in a boat that was not seaworthy. They were threatened with weapons after initially refusing to board.
The next day, a plane photographed them. Everyone was happy, thinking that someone would come to rescue them. Unfortunately, a few hours later, a huge wave capsized the boat, and seven people disappeared immediately. No one was able to help them, and my father was among the first seven to disappear.
I still wonder to this day what he was thinking at that moment. Was he perhaps calling me? While the Italian authorities were deciding whether or not to send help, my father and our souls were leaving. Two days after the shipwreck, a rescue ship arrived on the scene, but by then, it was too late. My father was gone, and with him, a part of me.
I still can’t believe it; it’s like I’m living a nightmare in which I can’t wake up.
I saw the videos and talked to people, and they all confirmed that my father was with them and that he was probably one of the first to die.
After a few days, I received news that they had recovered seven bodies from the sea.
I came to Italy to recognize my father’s body. Arriving at the police station in Agrigento, I was interrogated for about thirty minutes: “Who are you? Where are you from? Who do you know here? How did you learn about the bodies?” I was treated with little humanity, even though I was exhausted and unable to stand.
They told me I had to come back on Monday. I waited for Saturday and Sunday, and on Monday, I came back, but after a long wait, I was told I had to go back to the police station.
I returned, and after another wait, the detective showed me the photos of the bodies recovered from the sea. It is a moment I will never forget. I saw the photo of my father, swollen, and I could see the suffering he endured.
After recognizing my father’s body, I asked for a report but was denied. I also asked for my father’s clothes, hoping that the smell would comfort me, but I was also refused.
When I asked when I could bury my father, they said they did not know and that I should wait for them to inform me.
After two days, I went to them again, but no one helped me. I just wanted to know where they were going to bury my father. I just wanted to say goodbye and tell him how much I missed him.
Finally, on Friday, I contacted a person who was helping me with translation, asking if he had any news. An hour later, he told me that we had to go quickly to the cemetery before they buried him.
I don’t know how it is possible for things to be done this way. Why wasn’t I notified? Why did I have to find out from a cemetery employee?
We came running and I saw only three coffins, with no one but two people. No representatives from the municipality, no journalists.
The imam had not been notified for the funeral prayer, so I had to pray it myself. Once again, they made me suffer. These are moments I will never forget, moments when I wanted to die myself.
After burying my father, we wanted to bury the other bodies, but we were told to wait for the documents.
They did not help them when they were alive, and they do not help them now that they are dead.
After the funeral, I asked for a death certificate but was refused. I don’t understand how this is possible. To them, he is just numbers, but to me, he is everything. I will never forget him as long as my heart beats.
I want to know who is responsible for my father’s death and who was the cause of this immense pain for me and my family. I want him to pay for what he did, to be an example to all those who are the cause of death of innocent people whose only wish was to see their loved ones and live a dignified life.
I hope he is now in a better place than this world, a place without passports, without borders, and without war.
Read more about the shipwreck and the criminal charges we filed against Italian authorities with the public prosecutor’s office in Agrigento, including multiple counts of negligent manslaughter.
