@yakarianime: Watari es, un gran inventor que utiliza el dinero de sus inventos para fundar orfanatos, entre los cuales se destaca La Casa de Wammy, creado para encontrar............. #deahtnote #Anime #genio #frases_de_todo #llawliet #neardeath #mello #watari

HikariAnime
HikariAnime
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Wednesday 12 February 2025 21:54:29 GMT
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jeysongualtero315
Rolo :
podes verla
2025-02-23 00:20:28
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yo43440
yo :
será prudente volver a verla ??? #deathnote...
2025-02-13 04:52:54
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The journey’s huge cost is counted as an investment by families. The odyssey begins with a visit to a local agent of one of the smuggling networks, and the subsequent sale of land and livestock – or taking out of a loan – to fund a son's trip. Payments are usually staggered, partly as leverage to try and ensure the travel to South Africa is completed, Ethiopian migration researcher Yordanos Estifanos told The New Humanitarian. The benefits are tangible and publicly visible in towns in the SNNPR, Estifanos said. Remittances pay for the new houses, the farm equipment, the school fees, and lavish weddings – upward mobility the reward for having a brave and dutiful son. “Migration is now socially embedded,” noted Estifanos. “Facebook posts and videos from the men in South Africa all paint a very rosy picture – and even ‘pastors’ in some churches advocate it. That works to allay the fears in the minds of the families.” The young men themselves, in a mix of bravado and fatalism, “see the risks as worthwhile – if they can make it”, he added. A smuggler’s story: Dodging the police The smuggling networks are decentralised and extremely flexible: Routes constantly change depending on law enforcement pressure. A network will be run by a chief smuggler, usually based in Kenya, who outsources to connections in each country. By controlling payments along the corridor, they retain a measure of influence. But that sway begins to fade once the journey gets underway. “As a migrant, you’re travelling in a group, in the hands of smugglers,” an Ethiopian community worker who supports detained migrants told The New Humanitarian, asking not to be named. “You have no phone, no control, and that’s when abuse can start.” There is a “lot of deception used by the smugglers over the travel process”, said Lucy Mseke from the IOM office in Tanzania. “They will say the journey is safe, that it will take only a few weeks, but the reality is very different.” Destination Nairobi Moyale is a bustling town on the Kenya-Ethiopia border that serves as a base for a number of smuggling networks. A smooth highway cuts through the northeastern drylands ending in the capital, Nairobi. But most migrants are taken instead in groups through the bush, using so-called “panya (rat)” routes, to avoid checkpoints. They usually join the main road around the town of Isiolo. Exhausted, they’re packed into vehicles – sometimes hidden among livestock – for the final 270-kilometre leg to Nairobi. As Ethiopian migrants are conspicuous by their features, an absence of documentation, and generally an inability to speak KiSwahili, bribes are paid when police are encountered along the way. Densely populated Kiamaiko, in Nairobi’s Mathare informal settlement, is just one of a number of hard-scrabble neighbourhoods where migrants are hidden. The community is largely Borana and Burji – ethnic groups that straddle the Kenya-Ethiopia border – and tend to provide the safehouses that are a key link in the smuggling chain. New arrivals are crammed into apartment rooms or insanitary shed-like structures, locked from the outside. With never enough food or water, they can be forced to wait for weeks – even months – until the next stage of the journey is arranged.  A smuggler’s story: Mama Anna There can also be an element of trafficking, with the migrants forced to work in construction or slaughter houses to maximise the smugglers’ profits, community leaders told The New Humanitarian. “It’s like a mafia network,” said George Muhia, coordinator of the Kiamaiko Community Social Justice Centre. “It’s very hard to know who the top bosses are, but at the lower echelons, we know who’s involved, and it has become normalised.” “Kenya has very strict anti-trafficking laws, but we don’t convict the facilitators. Why do we stop at just rescuing the victims and not go after the big shots? There’s something there that doesn’t meet the eye.” Fabian Oriri, migration lawyer Smugglers pay around $50 to rent a room where migrants are
The journey’s huge cost is counted as an investment by families. The odyssey begins with a visit to a local agent of one of the smuggling networks, and the subsequent sale of land and livestock – or taking out of a loan – to fund a son's trip. Payments are usually staggered, partly as leverage to try and ensure the travel to South Africa is completed, Ethiopian migration researcher Yordanos Estifanos told The New Humanitarian. The benefits are tangible and publicly visible in towns in the SNNPR, Estifanos said. Remittances pay for the new houses, the farm equipment, the school fees, and lavish weddings – upward mobility the reward for having a brave and dutiful son. “Migration is now socially embedded,” noted Estifanos. “Facebook posts and videos from the men in South Africa all paint a very rosy picture – and even ‘pastors’ in some churches advocate it. That works to allay the fears in the minds of the families.” The young men themselves, in a mix of bravado and fatalism, “see the risks as worthwhile – if they can make it”, he added. A smuggler’s story: Dodging the police The smuggling networks are decentralised and extremely flexible: Routes constantly change depending on law enforcement pressure. A network will be run by a chief smuggler, usually based in Kenya, who outsources to connections in each country. By controlling payments along the corridor, they retain a measure of influence. But that sway begins to fade once the journey gets underway. “As a migrant, you’re travelling in a group, in the hands of smugglers,” an Ethiopian community worker who supports detained migrants told The New Humanitarian, asking not to be named. “You have no phone, no control, and that’s when abuse can start.” There is a “lot of deception used by the smugglers over the travel process”, said Lucy Mseke from the IOM office in Tanzania. “They will say the journey is safe, that it will take only a few weeks, but the reality is very different.” Destination Nairobi Moyale is a bustling town on the Kenya-Ethiopia border that serves as a base for a number of smuggling networks. A smooth highway cuts through the northeastern drylands ending in the capital, Nairobi. But most migrants are taken instead in groups through the bush, using so-called “panya (rat)” routes, to avoid checkpoints. They usually join the main road around the town of Isiolo. Exhausted, they’re packed into vehicles – sometimes hidden among livestock – for the final 270-kilometre leg to Nairobi. As Ethiopian migrants are conspicuous by their features, an absence of documentation, and generally an inability to speak KiSwahili, bribes are paid when police are encountered along the way. Densely populated Kiamaiko, in Nairobi’s Mathare informal settlement, is just one of a number of hard-scrabble neighbourhoods where migrants are hidden. The community is largely Borana and Burji – ethnic groups that straddle the Kenya-Ethiopia border – and tend to provide the safehouses that are a key link in the smuggling chain. New arrivals are crammed into apartment rooms or insanitary shed-like structures, locked from the outside. With never enough food or water, they can be forced to wait for weeks – even months – until the next stage of the journey is arranged. A smuggler’s story: Mama Anna There can also be an element of trafficking, with the migrants forced to work in construction or slaughter houses to maximise the smugglers’ profits, community leaders told The New Humanitarian. “It’s like a mafia network,” said George Muhia, coordinator of the Kiamaiko Community Social Justice Centre. “It’s very hard to know who the top bosses are, but at the lower echelons, we know who’s involved, and it has become normalised.” “Kenya has very strict anti-trafficking laws, but we don’t convict the facilitators. Why do we stop at just rescuing the victims and not go after the big shots? There’s something there that doesn’t meet the eye.” Fabian Oriri, migration lawyer Smugglers pay around $50 to rent a room where migrants are

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