"In Ceuta it will be difficult for normality to return"

CeutaThe last rays of sun in Ceuta heat up as if it were midday. Walking along the promenade, skirting the beaches of La Ribera or El Chorrillo, you feel the sea's humidity cling to your skin. In the distance, the daylight fades behind the silhouette of Morocco. Soon, however, you also see a swarm of young migrants, mostly boys, walking with their heads down. Others contemplate the sea by which they arrived in Ceuta. In the eyes of most, you can read the exhaustion of someone who hasn't slept well for days. Someone who doesn't know where they will sleep. The clothes they wear are practically identical: flip-flops, shorts or swim trunks, and a t-shirt. The luckiest ones have a mobile phone or a bottle of water in their hands. Others have nothing. Almost all of them, however, went between 3 and 4 days without eating since they arrived.

This is the case of Mourand, originally from Marrakech. He is 19 years old. He arrived by swimming last Thursday, the same day that thousands of people – mostly Moroccan – crossed the border from Morocco into Spanish territory. He is sitting on the wall of the promenade, contemplating the sea and the last bathers of the day; citizens of Ceuta trying to get back to their routine, as well as tourists seeking tranquility, even if it's cosmetic, after days of tension. He doesn't speak much English or French. Nor Spanish. We opt to use an online Catalan - Darija translator, the dialect of Arabic spoken in northern Morocco, to understand each other. This way he can explain that he crossed the border spurred on by messages flooding social media, but that he went three days without eating. "They were three horrible days," he explains.

Now he has managed to recover a little. He was one of the few lucky ones who could call his mother to tell her he was okay with a borrowed phone. But he has no intention of retracing his steps home: he hopes to go to Spain to look for "a job contract." But he still doesn't know how to do it. The only thing he is clear about is that he doesn't want to return to Morocco, where he claims it's impossible to make a living. That the salary in his country is low. For now, he feels alone. In Ceuta, he doesn't have much of a circle because, he says, most migrants come from Castillejos, Tetouan, or Tangier, cities closer to the autonomous city.

"It will be difficult for normality to return to Ceuta," Rayan tells me. She is walking with her friend Mariem. They are going to the beach to end the day. They are from Ceuta, with Moroccan parents. "It is impossible to give them everything they need. We don't have resources," she denounces. The young women explain that in some neighborhoods they have organized themselves by making large pots of food to distribute among the youth; also that some houses have even opened their doors so they can shower or use the toilet. "There are no public toilets, where are they supposed to relieve themselves?" she asks – authorities have only just begun to install showers on the beaches.

It saddens her to see young people wandering, lost, not knowing where to go in their city. For now, the Spanish government and that of Ceuta have only set up one school where there will be 100 girls, and the second is expected to open this Friday. However, time is already running out, considering that the school year begins in September. Many other unaccompanied minors, who are found mostly in the El Príncipe neighborhood, are waiting to be welcomed. "The border was a place where you entered and left daily. You went to Morocco and came back. Today it is something very different," she laments. Reality supports this: still, every few meters there is a Civil Guard 4x4 vehicle patrolling or members of the National Police and the army walking around.