As young as 10 years old, they live rough in their dozens, waiting for a chance to stow away on a boat across the Mediterranean sea.
Here in the Spanish territory of Melilla, they flock from neighboring Morocco by sea in flimsy dinghies, by road crammed under the seats of cars, or on foot, dodging guards to scramble over the border fence.
Some of the youngest, underage and unaccompanied, camp out by a high breakwater running to the sea, where they have set up shelters of cardboard boxes between the cement blocks of the dyke.
“I have been here for three weeks. I am going to climb on board a truck” bound for Europe, says Mounen Fannan, a 17-year-old from Morocco.
In his home city of Fez “there is nothing to do. In Europe, there’s a much better chance of getting ahead.”
As unaccompanied minors, Mounen and others like him — the youngest of their group is aged 10 — are not allowed to stay in the Melilla’s state-run reception center, where children must be accompanied by their parents.
Some have stayed at the local reception center for minors but say they ran away because they were mistreated. So they camp by the breakwater.
Among them are Moroccans, Algerians and some from Syria, displaced by that country’s civil war, says Jose Palazon of Prodein, an aid group.
“They are totally outside the system. They come here intending to get on a boat to get to reception centers on the mainland, which are said to be better,” he said.
“They are children and most of them have family problems. Many come because they are running away from abuse, because their parents have died or the parents can’t afford to feed them.”
To get out of Melilla, “they climb over this sea wall and land in the port. Then they try to hide on board a truck, the truck gets on a ship and they turn up in Malaga or Almeria” on the coast of southern Spain, Palazon added.
“It is very difficult, but they manage. Each week there are about four or five who leave and do not come back.”
Metres from the dyke, a Spanish police boat patrols at sea, without drawing near where the youngsters are camped.
“There’s not much that can be done,” said Lt. Juan Antonio Martin Rivera, a local police spokesman.
“It is a delicate situation. It will have to be tackled in a multidisciplinary way. The city’s social services, the juvenile courts and the security forces will have to work together to see how to ease this problem.”
Melilla, which has 80,000 inhabitants, is the crossroads for migrants who try to slip through to Europe.
Charges at the six-meter fence by crowds of migrants make regular headlines.
“The ones who scale the wall draw the most media attention, but immigration has many faces,” said Martin.
“The two main ways are to enter by sea in a vessel or by swimming, and in false bottoms in vehicles. The trafficking gangs put the immigrants there in dreadful, disastrous conditions. They put their lives at risk.”
Those two methods are used by migrants from sub-Saharan Africa, while those from neighboring Algeria pass the border with forged Moroccan identity papers, he said.
Some 35,000 people and up to 7,000 cars cross into Melilla at its main border post every day under a visa-waiver agreement between Spain and Morocco for people living in the area.
In the queue, Spanish police search the boots and bodywork of vehicles. They recently found a girl of 16 and a boy of 17 hidden in a Mercedes, which now stands by partly dismantled.
“Traffickers charge between two and four thousand euros ($5,500) for every immigrant they hide in the false bottom of a car,” said Martin.
“For the boats, they charge 1,500 euros per person and lately they have even been putting women and children on them. A lot of them don’t know how to swim.”
Many African migrants have died while sailing in flimsy vessels in the Mediterranean over recent years.
Those that make it to Melilla look for a chance to cross to Europe, by boat or hidden in trucks or shipping containers.
“They put themselves in some unbelievable places,” Martin added. “We’ve seen cases of people in bags of radioactive material.”
Desperate migrants seek Melilla, gateway to Europe
Desperate migrants seek Melilla, gateway to Europe
As an uncertain 2026 begins, virtual journeys back to 2016 become a trend
- Over the past few weeks, millions have been sharing throwback photos to that time on social media, kicking off one of the first viral trends of the year
LONDON: The year is 2016. Somehow it feels carefree, driven by Internet culture. Everyone is wearing over-the-top makeup.
At least, that’s how Maren Nævdal, 27, remembers it — and has seen it on her social feeds in recent days.
For Njeri Allen, also 27, the year was defined by the artists topping the charts that year, from Beyonce to Drake to Rihanna’s last music releases. She also remembers the Snapchat stories and an unforgettable summer with her loved ones. “Everything felt new, different, interesting and fun,” Allen says.
Many people, particularly those in their 20s and 30s, are thinking about 2016 these days. Over the past few weeks, millions have been sharing throwback photos to that time on social media, kicking off one of the first viral trends of the year — the year 2026, that is.
With it have come the memes about how various factors — the sepia hues over Instagram photos, the dog filters on Snapchat and the music — made even 2016’s worst day feel like the best of times.
Part of the look-back trend’s popularity has come from the realization that 2016 was already a decade ago – a time when Nævdal says she felt like people were doing “fun, unserious things” before having to grow up.
But experts point to 2016 as a year when the world was on the edge of the social, political and technological developments that make up our lives today. Those same advances — such as developments under US President Donald Trump and the rise of AI — have increased a yearning for even the recent past, and made it easier to get there.
2016 marked a year of transition
Nostalgia is often driven by a generation coming of age — and its members realizing they miss what childhood and adolescence felt like. That’s certainly true here. But some of those indulging in the online journeys through time say something more is at play as well.
It has to do with the state of the world — then and now.
By the end of 2016, people would be looking ahead to moments like Trump’s first presidential term and repercussions of the United Kingdom leaving the EU after the Brexit referendum. A few years after that, the COVID-19 pandemic would send most of the world into lockdown and upend life for nearly two years.
Janelle Wilson, a professor of sociology at the University of Minnesota-Duluth, says the world was “on the cusp of things, but not fully thrown into the dark days that were to come.”
“The nostalgia being expressed now, for 2016, is due in large part to what has transpired since then,” she says, also referencing the rise of populism and increased polarization. “For there to be nostalgia for 2016 in the present,” she added, “I still think those kinds of transitions are significant.”
For Nævdal, 2016 “was before a lot of the things we’re dealing with now.” She loved seeing “how embarrassing everyone was, not just me,” in the photos people have shared.
“It felt more authentic in some ways,” she says. Today, Nævdal says, “the world is going downhill.”
Nina van Volkinburg, a professor of strategic fashion marketing at University of the Arts, London, says 2016 marked the beginning of “a new world order” and of “fractured trust in institutions and the establishment.” She says it also represented a time of possibility — and, on social media, “the maximalism of it all.”
This was represented in the bohemian fashion popularized in Coachella that year, the “cut crease” makeup Nævdal loved and the dance music Allen remembers.
“People were new to platforms and online trends, so were having fun with their identity,” van Volkinburg says. “There was authenticity around that.”
And 2016 was also the year of the “boss babe” and the popularity of millennial pink, van Volkinburg says, indications of young people coming into adulthood in a year that felt hopeful.
Allen remembers that as the summer she and her friends came of age as high school graduates. She says they all knew then that they would remember 2016 forever.
Ten years on, having moved again to Taiwan, she said “unprecedented things are happening” in the world. “Both of my homes are not safe,” she said of the US and Taiwan, “it’s easier to go back to a time that’s more comfortable and that you felt safe in.”
Feelings of nostalgia are speeding up
In the last few days, Nævdal decided to hide the social media apps on her phone. AI was a big part of that decision. “It freaks me out that you can’t tell what’s real anymore,” she said.
“When I’ve come off of social media, I feel that at least now I know the things I’m seeing are real,” she added, “which is quite terrifying.”
The revival of vinyl record collections, letter writing and a fresh focus on the aesthetics of yesterday point to nostalgia continuing to dominate trends and culture. Wilson says the feeling has increased as technology makes nostalgia more accessible.
“We can so readily access the past or, at least, versions of it,” she said. “We’re to the point where we can say, ‘Remember last week when we were doing XYZ? That was such a good time!’”
Both Nævdal and Allen described themselves as nostalgic people. Nævdal said she enjoys looking back to old photos – especially when they show up as “On This Day” updates on her phone, She sends them to friends and family when their photos come up.
Allen wished that she documented more of her 2016 and younger years overall, to reflect on how much she has evolved and experienced since.
“I didn’t know what life could be,” she said of that time. “I would love to be able to capture my thought process and my feelings, just to know how much I have grown.”
