'No other option': Five years after Ceuta's migration crisis, youth speak of hopes, fears and survival

Five years after the 2021 Ceuta crisis exposed serious shortcomings in the protection of unaccompanied minors, another wave of children has crossed into Ceuta from Morocco. Their stories reveal not only the human cost of a recurring migration crisis, but also the failure to address the vulnerabilities that continue to push children towards it.

Fifteen-year-old Farid believed his second attempt to reach Ceuta would bring him closer to the future he had imagined. Instead, he found himself sleeping on the streets after overcrowded reception centres ran out of space.

"I came looking for a better future," he said. "But what I found wasn't what I expected. We slept outside until an NGO brought us food. When the authorities returned me to Morocco, I didn't resist."

Like Farid, 17-year-old Mohammed had carefully planned his journey around one crucial deadline: his 18th birthday.

"I'd been trying to come here before I turned 18," he said. "I thought I would have a better chance if I arrived while I was still a minor. Unfortunately, what happened this time made everything much harder."

Their experiences mirror those of hundreds of unaccompanied children caught up in the latest crossings into Ceuta.

While international attention has focused on the scale of the arrivals and the political tensions surrounding the Morocco-Spain border, children have once again become the most vulnerable faces of a crisis that appears to be repeating itself.

"I haven't had any news about my son," Khadija, from Casablanca, told The New Arab. "He left with a group of boys from our neighbourhood after they decided to take this opportunity to look for a better future. It's been days, and I still haven't heard from him."

With no news of whether her son reached Ceuta, was returned to Morocco, or remains stranded along the route, the family’s worry grows with each passing day.

"What is our future if we don't even know where our children are?" she asked. "How can we find them? We just want to know if they are alive and safe."

For many Moroccan families, the latest migration surge has created another, less visible crisis. While governments debate border management and diplomatic relations, parents are left relying on rumours, social media posts and unanswered phone calls, often with no clear idea which authority is responsible or how to obtain information about their children's whereabouts.

The scenes unfolding today recall the events of 2021, when thousands crossed into Ceuta, including around 1,200 unaccompanied minors. The aftermath drew criticism from child rights organisations and European institutions over the treatment of children, including concerns about overcrowded reception facilities and the return of minors without adequate individual assessments.

Yet the crisis did not end there.

In 2024, Ceuta again saw a rise in irregular arrivals, with hundreds of unaccompanied children reaching the enclave and reception facilities once more struggling to cope. Humanitarian organisations renewed warnings about overcrowding, inadequate protection and the need for stronger coordination between Morocco and Spain.

Five years after 2021, and two years after that second spike, a new generation of unaccompanied minors has reached Ceuta under strikingly similar circumstances, raising uncomfortable questions about what has actually changed.

A journey that begins long before the border

For activists working directly with unaccompanied minors, the decision to leave Morocco starts long before children reach the border.

"Migration is part of human history. People have always moved," said Shadi Boukhari, a journalist and migration researcher specialising in migration issues and coordinator of the Border Resistance team. "But many of these children are not crossing because they are chasing a dream. They are trying to survive."

According to Shadi, many children grow up facing overlapping vulnerabilities, including economic hardship, limited educational opportunities and difficult family circumstances. Others have watched older siblings attempt the same journey or return home after failed attempts, reinforcing the belief that opportunities remain out of reach.

"These children are taking responsibility for saving their own lives," he said. "Many feel they have no other option."

Yet the reality awaiting them rarely matches their expectations.

"The reception centres quickly became full," Shadi explained. "Many children slept on the streets without food or water until local organisations stepped in."

His organisation has spent recent days coordinating solidarity caravans, distributing meals, drinking water and basic medical assistance to children left outside overcrowded facilities. Some minors, he said, deliberately avoid official reception centres because they fear being identified and returned to Morocco.

"They hide because they are afraid of being sent back," he said. "That makes them even more vulnerable."

By definition, unaccompanied minors arrive without a parent or legal guardian to represent or protect them, leaving them at greater risk of homelessness, exploitation, trafficking and abuse, particularly when reception centres are overcrowded or when they avoid official services out of fear of being returned. Without clear information or adult support, many must navigate unfamiliar legal and protection systems entirely on their own.

Protection starts before children reach the border

For migration researcher Sanaa Bakrim, the latest crossings expose the limits of treating child migration primarily as a border security issue.

"Morocco has legal frameworks and commitments to protect children," she told The New Arab. "But what is happening today shows that these mechanisms are not enough."

In her view, child protection cannot begin only when children arrive at the border.

"It starts at school, within families and in communities," she said. "By the time a child decides to cross into Ceuta alone, the vulnerabilities have already accumulated."

Sanaa argues that there is no single explanation for why children continue to risk dangerous journeys. Instead, economic insecurity, social exclusion, family instability and limited prospects often interact, leaving children convinced that migration offers their only chance of building a future.

"The border reveals problems that begin much earlier," she said.

She believes the latest crisis should encourage Morocco and Spain to move beyond emergency responses and build lasting cooperation centred on children's rights.

"The response cannot simply focus on managing arrivals or organising returns," she said. "Children must be treated according to their rights and in line with international conventions protecting them."

The journey doesn't end at the border

Last week, hundreds of minors carrying backpacks gathered outside Kenitra train station after police document checks, hoping to continue north towards Tangier and eventually attempt the crossing.

But when the high-speed train passed without stopping, many were left stranded overnight, sleeping on the streets with little information about what would happen next.

Some refused to abandon the journey. Instead, they continued on foot along the motorway towards Tangier, despite the dangers.

For many children, the ordeal does not end when they are intercepted in Ceuta and returned to Morocco. Dozens of unaccompanied minors are sent back without adequate support, arriving in northern cities with little information about where to go, who to contact or how to return safely to their families.

"We cannot allow children and unaccompanied minors to become a matter of diplomatic negotiations," Shadi said. "Their safety, health and dignity must come before everything else. Morocco and Spain have a shared responsibility to protect them."

"In many cases, children spend hours, or even days, without proper food, water or support," he added.

Karim, a 16-year-old from Fez who attempted to reach Ceuta last week but was returned to Morocco, said he had been promised a free train ticket from Tangier to Fez upon his return.

"They told me I would receive a ticket because I didn't have any money," he said. "But nobody told me when I would leave or where I should go."

All minors were interviewed with their parents' consent. Only their first names have been used to protect their privacy.

Kenza Sammoud is a Moroccan investigative journalist and political and social communication specialist based in Rabat.

This article is published in collaboration with Egab