The ecosystem of Trampolín beach, in Ceuta, is a simple approach to the economy. The wear and tear is taking a toll on the immigrants who arrived en masse a month ago: they have less and less money. That is why about 20 people (and counting) resort to the most classic recipe we can think of: commerce.
Along a precarious path, about 35 meters long, next to the Benzú road, about 20 exhibitors armed with blankets and plastic display the products of each street vendor: loaves of bread, María cookies, Laughing Cow cheese portions, milk of all kinds, eggs, and cans of tuna are the most common items. Two stalls offer to sell sandwiches already made; the ingredients are kept in different containers. Others make a living with textiles: they sell wetsuits, football shirts, linen shirts, Nike sweatshirts, and even guayaberas.
All these sales stalls form a kind of subsistence souk at the gates of the neighborhood where more than 2,000 people have already settled, estimated conservatively. Without a doubt, its great oligarch is Adam (Sudan, 24 years old). He is a lanky guy, 1.90 meters tall, and does not get up from his throne – the curb of the sidewalk under a traffic sign on which the word “asylum” has been painted – unless someone extends a hand with some cash. “He has to make sure no one takes anything without paying,” explains his friend Ahmed, a Maghrebian, in French. On a plastic sheet about five meters long, he sells clothes; his stall is the largest and most crowded in the corridor. “He used to be a merchant too,” explains his friend Ahmed. He tells us he started working very young, tried to do so in Morocco, and now tries his luck in Spain.
His business, besides being the most prosperous, is one of the most expensive. Prices range between two and three euros, but shoes already go up to four. “He earns a lot, 30 euros?” Ahmed estimates on the high side. “Now less: there is no money,” he adds. As the economic cushion with which the immigrants stormed the city wears down, their attempt at commerce loses momentum.
For now, with his profits Adam pays “a little money” to his friends to go out looking for clothes. “They find them in the downtown containers,” the group’s translator elaborates. He also sells garments that come from donations. Other men trying their luck in the fashion industry lower prices to one euro, even 50 cents, even if it is to scrape together some change.
Right at the other end of the route sits Hamza. He is from Casablanca, 23 years old. We imagine his story with the scattered Spanish words he knows how to pronounce among indecipherable Arabic phrases: “No parents,” “sister,” “make a living.” Another young man who masters the language strings them together: “He has no parents, only a 14-year-old sister who lives with her grandfather in Morocco. He has come to Spain to pay for school,” he says.
Hamza has not studied, he continues, but from an early age he has worked in warehouses. With the little money he brought, he buys loaves of bread three at a time at Mercadona, yogurts in packs of six, and Príncipe cookies (store brand) in pairs. He displays all his products on an overturned crate covered with a Red Cross blanket. He sells them doubling the purchase price: if the three loaves of bread cost him 1.50 euros, he sells each one for one. The neighbor, who sells the same, follows the same technique. At most, “he earns six euros in a week, not many people buy from him because there are more stalls and they help him because…”, his translator cannot find the word. He looks sad. “He has to make a living,” he insists, “and when there is nothing left, ask.”
The immigrants who beg go knocking on neighbors’ doors. Generally, they climb from the beach to the higher neighborhoods; some reach El Príncipe or Sidi Embarek. Many days they return to Trampolín empty-handed.
Buying and selling is not limited to this part of the beach. Moroccans set up their sales points along the entire beach, and Africans – usually Senegalese – roam the alleys that separate the huts, singing the name of their merchandise and the price at which they sell it, in the style of street vendors on southern beaches.
However, trading is not always peaceful in El Trampolín. From time to time, a shout takes center stage. Hostilities and disagreements among the beach occupants become evident in front of some of their stalls, and it is the immigrants themselves who take care of separating the men who confront each other. And if there is something striking in this area of the city, it is the absence of Security Forces. Not a single police officer or soldier patrols the area for more than an hour in the morning.
The Autonomous City of Ceuta prohibits the street sale of food products and restricts the sale of clothing in public life unless authorized. Since the situation of these people does not correspond to any of the exceptions contemplated in the municipal ordinance, which dates back to 2000, the illegal sale of these products should be dismantled. That is why the local residents are preparing a formal protest against the City Government, according to Ceuta Ahora, so that it exercises the powers that correspond to it in this matter.
