From afar, the rows of reed huts along the Ceuta shoreline resemble a picturesque summer retreat. The occasional sounds of laughter mingle with the murmur of waves and the faint smoke from tents, suggesting a beachside barbecue.
Approaching reveals a starkly different reality. Tattered garments flutter in the sea breeze, and the migrants—barefoot and exhausted from lengthy journeys—simply linger on the sand.
No one here is enjoying a seaside vacation.
They represent an estimated 2,000 to 5,000 migrants who remained after a late‑July surge that saw more than 70,000 people cross the Morocco‑Ceuta border. Most of those who arrived have since chosen to return home.
For those who have decided to stay, more than two weeks have passed in a narrow stretch of coastline while they await a legal determination. Each individual carries a personal story, hope, and aspiration, yet they are all presently concentrated on the same stretch of sand—El Trampolín beach.
One of the most striking aspects of this gathering is the linguistic and national diversity present. Alongside migrants from North and sub‑Saharan Africa, there are also Bangladeshis, Iraqis, Indians, Palestinians, Syrians, and Yemenis.
The tents appear to be organized by nationality or language group, constructed from reeds, scrap fabric, and other materials. Inside, they contain little more than personal belongings and pieces of cardboard used for bedding.
Clothing is washed in the sea, and scarce resources such as water and food are shared. Police vehicles are stationed nearby, maintaining a security presence.
One dream: Europe
Kamara, a 35‑year‑old Nigerian, has just prepared his first meal after almost 24 hours without food.
Through begging and assistance from a few benefactors, he manages each day to acquire a modest amount of food or a few euros, which he uses to stave off hunger.
“I am tired of this entire situation, yet I do not see returning to Morocco as a viable option. I will remain here until the authorities decide our fate,” he says.
Like many sub‑Saharan migrants on the beach, Kamara spent years in Morocco before arriving in Ceuta in late July. The lengthy journey brought him to a European shoreline in North Africa, but it has not yet delivered the life he envisages. Although Ceuta is part of EU territory, it lies outside the Schengen open‑travel zone.
“I am now 35, yet my life feels like it is slipping away. I see peers of my age employed, traveling freely, and living normal lives, while I endure escalating hardship,” he remarks.
Despite these challenges, he still harbors a dream. He hopes to reach France, where a brother resides and describes Parisian lights and employment opportunities.
“The current problem is not merely reaching Europe,” he explains, “but the uncertainty that follows: How long will I remain here? Will my asylum request be approved? Will I be able to continue my journey, or will I be forced back to Morocco? I have no idea.”
‘We’re still suffering’
Abdelmajid, a young Yemeni, swam nearly eight kilometres to reach Ceuta. Driven by a single aspiration—to reach Europe—he arrived a day before the major influx of migrants and encountered a reality far removed from his expectations.
“When the events of July 30 and 31 unfolded, migrants were removed from the city shelter, leaving me homeless,” he explains.
Approximately 60,000 migrants have entered Spain’s Ceuta enclave from Morocco.
Since then, his living conditions have deteriorated, yet Abdelmajid clings to hope that his asylum case will be reviewed and that he will eventually obtain legal status in Europe.
“Yemen is at war, and the most basic conditions for a dignified life are being violated: no water, no electricity, no security or safety,” he says.
Not far from him, Tarek and Ramadan, two Egyptians, recount a lengthy journey across North Africa: from Egypt to Libya, then Tunisia and Algeria, before finally reaching Morocco.
The journey, Tarek recounts, was arduous and at times horrific. “We walk long distances before reaching border fences, then turn back to try again,” he explains. “In Libya we faced violence, gunfire, and situations that left deep scars, and we are still suffering today.”
Ramadan says a considerable number of Egyptians have arrived in Ceuta, estimating the figure at around 55. “We cling to the hope of regularising our status and continuing our journey toward Europe,” he says.
While migrants arriving in Ceuta are overwhelmingly male, several young women also risked their lives to reach the enclave. Among them is Sabah, an 18‑year‑old Moroccan woman, who stands in a lengthy queue to receive her sole daily meal, distributed by the Red Cross.
Sabah was relatively fortunate, having secured a spot in the temporary migrant shelter in Ceuta. Nonetheless, she remains anxious about her future. “I still do not know what will become of me. Being cut off from my family only amplifies my fear and sorrow,” she explains.
‘What do they plan to do with us?’
Sabri, a young Tunisian, arrived in Morocco eight months ago. After entering Ceuta in late July, he hoped the enclave would serve as a gateway to Europe, but his expectations collided with reality on the beach, prompting him to seek a clear answer from authorities. “What will they do with us?” he asks urgently. “For me, it means everything. Will they deport us? Or will they transfer us to other centers within Spain?” he wonders.
Rachid, a 45‑year‑old Algerian, entered Ceuta on July 27. Since then he has survived on a single meal per day, enduring exceptionally harsh conditions. He attempted to return to Morocco but was denied entry because he is not a Moroccan citizen.
“I sought a more organised, advanced, and freer society, yet I encountered conditions that have led me to contemplate returning to Algeria,” he explains. “I advise my Moroccan brothers who can return home to do so, rather than remain in these circumstances.”
An exceptional situation
Many migrants have traversed multiple borders to reach this point, yet the obstacles they now confront are not reflected on maps. These include legal procedures, awaiting decisions from authorities, lack of housing, hunger, and fear of the unknown.
Mohamed Sano, a lawyer specialising in migration and asylum law in Madrid, argues that the living conditions of migrants in Ceuta demand “urgent intervention.” He notes that both national and local Spanish authorities are confronting an exceptional situation “for which, to date, there appear to be no immediate solutions to manage it.”
While everyone has the right to seek asylum, Sano explains that filing an application does not guarantee approval. The decision rests with immigration authorities after each case is reviewed. Factors such as conflict or war in the country of origin may influence the assessment, but they do not automatically confer protection.
Bassim Salem, a migration and asylum specialist, points out that asylum procedures involve medical examinations, security checks (identity and background verification), and an evaluation of whether the applicant qualifies for protection.
For individuals from countries designated by the EU as ‘safe countries of origin,’ the likelihood of approval may be limited. If their claims are denied, they may be subject to return procedures to their home country or to a third country, in accordance with existing agreements.
The most recent migration crisis in Ceuta resulted in 141 deaths, according to NGOs, many due to drowning. Those who survived and remain in the enclave experience “an extremely difficult situation,” says Ramses Mohamed Azoumik, an activist with the Elin association, which has supported migrants and refugees in Ceuta for 21 years. He contends that “Spanish authorities, as well as those in Ceuta, have so far failed to provide a solution that guarantees these people the minimum standards for a dignified reception.”
The activist demands, above all, that “the rights and dignity of these individuals be respected, that they have access to legal procedures, and that they receive water, food, and suitable shelter.”
Geographically, Europe is close to El Trampolín beach. Yet, for those who have reached this sandy strip, the life they imagined remains far out of reach.
This article is a translation of the original in Arabic.