numero
amigo
MarruecosFrancia
hablas
entender
Mauritania
la gente
sobrino
años
la vida
dura
el campo
lechuga
estacion
Two men from Mauritania sat in the otherwise empty bus station in Cartagena. It was midnight and freezing. They helped me use the pay phone to call my host. One spoke French and the other Spanish. I said I had never met a Mauritanian, so they showed me their passports and pointed out the work visas, which they now used to pick lettuce. They had driven taxis at home and used their savings to get to Europe, not knowing that they would spend all their wages on housing and food. Neither had a family. They laughed about ten years of hard work to end up in a bus stop at midnight.
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