The school year in Ceuta looks different now. Security barriers and police patrols line the way to classrooms after the recent arrival of migrant children from Morocco. For some families, school begins as usual. For others, it is out of reach.
Ángela, 10, is eager to return to her city-center school. Her brother Hugo, 12, is less enthusiastic about starting at a new institute. Their mother, Tamara Iglesias, says she feels lucky to live in central Ceuta, away from tension on the city’s edges. She is honest with her children: kids their age or younger are now on the streets outside, barefoot and unsure when they last ate.
Just a few blocks away, the difference is clear. Rayan and Sulaiman, close in age to Ángela and Hugo, arrived from Castillejos after their mother, Hayat, decided to cross the border. They now live in a temporary shelter at Sidi Embarek, where 250 migrants stay with help from the NGO Luna Blanca. On Fridays, local groups organize activities to give the children some routine, but their future is uncertain. Spain's Ministry of Territorial Policy says around 2,000 minors crossed into Ceuta during the July border crisis, and authorities have made family reunification a top priority.
Khalid, 17, left Casablanca alone and now lives at the beach settlement known as Trampolín. The area has become a makeshift city, with informal shops and even a barber. Khalid moves through the camp as if it were his own neighborhood, but his plans to become a pilot are clouded by uncertainty and the absence of family.
Ceuta’s authorities have increased security around schools to reassure parents and keep order. Reports from Spain's Ministry of Education say the academic year is starting with more police at schools and on school transport, along with a psychosocial support program for the school community. The city has registered 12,870 students for the new school year, but administrative delays pushed the opening of two municipal nurseries for children aged 0-3 to September 28. The delay coincided with tensions over a new migrant center near one of the facilities. Local media also report that since July 30, there have been attempts to enter seven educational institutions, prompting further security measures. Still, the divide remains: some children prepare for lessons, while others live in shelters or on the streets. The city’s social fabric is stretched, and the crisis has forced families to confront uncomfortable questions about privilege and belonging, as well as the limits of local support. The figures were reported by Delegación del Gobierno and Spanish media.
This is not an isolated situation. As reported earlier, Ceuta’s border neighborhoods are under strain, with protests over new migrant centers near schools. The city is divided between those who see migrants as a threat and those who try to help, while crowded shelters and limited resources leave vulnerable minors facing daily hardship.
Spain’s migration policy is being tested in Ceuta, where the border crisis shapes daily life for families on both sides. The contrast between children like Ángela and Hugo, who return to structured classrooms, and Rayan and Sulaiman, alongside Khalid, who face an uncertain path, shows the limits of current responses. Authorities need to address immediate needs and long-term integration if Ceuta’s classrooms are to reflect chance rather than division. The city’s future depends on whether it can move beyond emergency measures and offer real prospects to children on both sides of the border.
