Skip to main content

Four Iranian Kurds who died trying to cross the Channel in high winds were members of one family who paid smugglers thousands of euros after two failed attempts to reach Britain, the Guardian has been told.

Rasul Iran Nezhad and his wife, Shiva Mohammad Panahi, both 35, and two of their children, Anita, nine, and Armin, six, drowned as they tried to reach Britain by boat, according to a relative of the family and the Iranian-Kurdish human rights organization Hengaw.

The fate of the family’s third child, 15-month-old Artin, is unknown, though French officials have said it is possible an infant also died when the vessel sank. The family was from the north-western city of Sardasht.


Speaking from Sardasht, Iran Nezhad’s brother Khalil said he had last heard from the family two days ago. He said they had crossed from Iran into Turkey during the summer before proceeding through Europe to France.

A representative from Hengaw said the family had attempted to enter the UK by train twice but failed both times, and so decided to pay a smuggler to take them by sea.

A friend of the family in Calais, who asked to be called Ali, said he had met the family about a month ago and spoken with Panahi in the lead-up to their departure for the UK. “Shiva and I were talking about the issues with going to England,” he said. “I told her: ‘This is way too dangerous, you have children. Do you think they can survive in the water if, God forbid, something happens?’ And she said, ‘It’s OK, we will do it. Everyone is going there, it’s not a problem.’”

He said the family paid a smuggler about €5,000 to €6,000 to take them on the boat. “Shiva told me they didn’t have enough money to pay the smuggler and she asked her parents and parents-in-law. They sold gold and valuables for them to pay the smugglers and they prepared the money.”

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

"My parents, brother, and I left Iran in 1980, shortly after the revolution. After a brief stay in Italy, we packed all our belongings once again and headed west to the exotic and the unknown: Vancouver. We had recently been accepted as landed immigrants, meaning Canada graciously opened its doors and we gratefully accepted; we arrived at Vancouver International Airport on my 10th birthday, three suitcases and one sewing machine in tow. After respectful but intense questioning at immigration, we were dropped off at a hotel on Robson Street, which was then still a couple years shy of becoming the fashionable tourist hub it is today. We were jetlagged, culture shocked, and hungry, so that first night, my father and brother courageously ventured out into the wild in search of provisions. I fell asleep before they returned. The next morning, I woke up at 5 a.m. and ravenously feasted on a cold Quarter Pounder with cheese and limp French fries that had been left by my beds...
One day I took the minibus back from school. It was completely packed yet I somehow managed to squeeze myself in. I knew sooner or later some people would get off and per the unwritten rule of busses and minibuses everyone would gradually move towards the end of the bus and thus save me from getting crushed against the door. We had only travelled a short distance when the minibus stopped to let some passengers off. Another passenger and I stepped down to allow them to pass and as we stood there the passenger suddenly exclaimed, “What happened to my wallet? Did someone just steal it?” I wasn’t sure if he was serious or just making a not-so-comical scene about not identifying which pocket his wallet was in, however, it soon became apparent that his wallet was indeed missing. Initially I briefly considered the possibility that he might have suspected me as the pickpocket and thus directed the earlier conversation towards me. Once we were back on the bus though he repeated his commen...
Has anyone ever danced on the ceiling?