Hamsa has no doubts. The massive influx of migrants into Ceuta has been “like Covid” for the restaurant where he works, in the city centre. And José Antonio, owner of a salted fish business by the sea, echoes this sentiment: “We’ve lost our beach, our fair, our medieval market. We’ve lost everything,” he laments. These are the effects of a month-long migration crisis, which, according to the local Chamber of Commerce, has resulted in 33 million euros in direct losses – almost 20 per cent more than initially estimated.
Let’s go back to where it all began. On the border with Morocco, at the infamous Tarajal beach. We know this is the place because we’ve checked it on the map, but it seems like a different place to the one we saw four weeks ago. There is a sense of calm and routine, with people popping into the little café next to the border post or coming and going with their suitcases, either because they’re travelling to the neighbouring country or returning from it. Legally, of course. Nothing suggests that this is the same place as 30 days ago, where nearly 90 people drowned on the Spanish side alone.
Tarajal beach in Ceuta, with the breakwater in the background, on 30 August 2026. Rodrigo García
"A total chaos". That’s what Lahasen experienced in his small grocery shop on that sweltering July day. Today, he’s serving his customers – and us – as normal: “I had to close for two days. No supplies. There were long queues, too. It’s just not possible, as I’m on my own…”, he says. In total, he estimates he lost around 100 euros for each day he kept the shutters down.
He says that the migrants who arrived en masse at his premises – which opened 23 years ago – weren’t there to ask for handouts. They had money with them. But there were so many of them that it was difficult to cope with such a situation. “It just came as a complete surprise. The calls on the internet (referring to the calls to cross into Spain) and this and that… Everything just collapsed,” he insists. This Ceuta native, whose grandfather was Moroccan, acknowledges that “when you can, you help, but when you can’t, you can’t… The thing is, with one or two people… you can do something. But when there’s a crowd, you can’t manage it anymore – not even the state can cope with this,” he points out.
"The government knows what it has to do. We have no control over the situation. But the government has the power to do anything," he says when we ask him what he believes the solution to this crisis is.
Exterior of Lahsen’s grocery shop in Ceuta. Rodrigo García
As we had anticipated, not many people are willing to speak to the press. We visited a few establishments where people politely declined to share their experiences. It is a very sensitive situation.
Under a blazing sun, we walked along the seafront. In the car park at Chorrillo beach, a little closer to the centre, there is a small salted fish shop called La Pesquera. Its owner, José Antonio, wants to talk. He is very angry. With his fish strung up on ropes in the sun, he speaks his mind: “How are we supposed to make a living? We never expected this. When the so-called 80,000 or 100,000 – no one really knows – turned up, it was madness. My business was shut down for a week because they were all lying here on the ground with cardboard boxes.”
José Antonio has not yet put a figure on the losses. “Well, the losses so far are that people here are afraid to leave their homes. They’re afraid to go downstairs because this area is mainly used by them,” he says, referring to the migrants.
He highlights the impact of the crisis, which has led the city to cancel the Ceuta Fair – which was due to take place in the first week of August – and the medieval market, which is usually held between the end of that month and the beginning of September. “The children are cooped up at home, shut away because they can’t go out. We can’t. I have two granddaughters aged 12 and 13 and I can’t take them out onto the streets. You don’t trust it; you just can’t. We’re having a terrible time here,” he admits.
José Antonio, owner of La Pesquera, a salted fish business on a beach in Ceuta. Rodrigo García
In a statement issued this Sunday, the Chamber of Commerce reported that the crisis caused by the mass influx of foreigners from Morocco has hit “harder than expected”, with direct losses totalling 33 million euros, a 19 per cent increase on the initial estimate. The organisation indicated that a large part of the business community is heading into September facing a period of “uncertainty”.
The fall in consumer spending, the decline in tourism and the perception of a lack of safety have kept economic activity at rock bottom throughout August, with the retail sector suffering an average drop in turnover of 53 per cent, whilst the hotel and catering sector has seen a 50.7 per cent slump.
"In the retail and hospitality sectors, it’s been much the same as with Covid, more or less. People aren’t going out; they’re afraid. We had to close for three days, and that’s just not on – the situation is unsustainable. And a month on, it’s still the same; there are hardly any solutions," says Hamsa. He is speaking at the restaurant El Pescaíto where he works, a family-run business located right in the centre of Ceuta – an area where, at least on the face of it, there appears to be a much more normal flow of people and daily life than in the neighbourhoods closest to where many of the estimated 5,000 migrants are still camped out; these are among the at least 70,000 who entered the city irregularly a month ago.
Hamsa Driss outside the restaurant where he works in the centre of Ceuta. Rodrigo García
That said, you only need to set foot in the city to see that the lack of tourists is largely offset by the number of journalists, politicians, police officers, Civil Guard officers and military personnel who have arrived in the city to carry out their respective duties during the crisis. And to stay in its hotels and eat in its restaurants.
"The outskirts are always the worst affected, but all the shops are suffering because people are scared and aren’t going out. In the evenings, for example, hardly anyone goes out for dinner anymore," says the young man. He recalls that on the day it all happened, even with the door locked, the newly arrived migrants were “forcing their way in” to get inside. “We had to close and end the day with takeaway orders only, without serving customers in the dining room or on the terrace.”
They haven’t calculated their losses either, as August isn’t over yet, but by the time the festivities were cancelled, they had already placed all their orders for drinks and other products. “With everything already bought, and this happening a day or two before the fair, you can’t return all that stock. And a lot of it goes to waste,” he emphasises.
When asked what he expects now, Hamsa is categorical. “They say they’re going to provide aid to businesses and so on, but you can’t trust them because they did the same thing during the Covid crisis, and there are people who’ve received a letter telling them they have to pay back the aid they were given. That’s just a quick fix,” he declares. As for migrants, he has no doubts: “The solution is for them to go back the way they came – they should leave, and right now. That’s just how bureaucracy works.” “That’s the only solution,” the owner of the salted fish shop had also said.
The Chamber of Commerce also warns that, once migrants leave the city, occupancy rates could suffer a further slump if regular visitors do not return. Furthermore, the organisation reveals that 74 per cent of businesses have made changes to their workforces, such as reducing working hours, reorganising shifts, postponing recruitment and leaving vacancies unfilled.
Police officers are on duty at Trampolín beach in Ceuta, where hundreds of irregular migrants are camping. Rodrigo García
Finally, we went to Trampolín beach, where hundreds of migrants are currently camping. It is located very close to the overcrowded Temporary Immigrant Accommodation Centre (CETI). And the hustle and bustle of people is incredible. They come and go to collect the food distributed by the Red Cross. Many have set up makeshift huts, whilst others simply grab their bags and leave. It is an area with very few shops or bars.
And the migrants themselves have set up, either in groups or on their own, their own little markets selling food or clothes that they have acquired in one way or another. But you also see some of them, completely absorbed in their work, working as hairdressers.
A migrant cuts another migrant’s hair on Trampolín beach in Ceuta. Rodrigo García
"Look, look! All this for one euro," says Abdelghafour, who, together with Achraf and Imad, is selling a carton of milk for one euro and four cigarettes for the same price. On the table they also have a few cartons of juice, three bagged croissants, a tin of marinated mackerel and an energy drink. He assures us that he bought it himself earlier. And now he’s selling it.
Three young migrants are selling goods at the Trampolín beach camp in Ceuta. Rodrigo García
"In Morocco, I only love my family," he confides. And when asked about the possibility of him eventually returning to his country following a decision by the Spanish Government, he states: "Morocco? No. I don’t want to go to Morocco. In Morocco, you’re fine if you’re rich. If you’re not rich… no."
An article written by Rodrigo García Melero (RTVE), initially published on 31 August 2026, 07:06 (CEST)