Chinatown, on the other side of Melilla, does not feel the reopening of the border

Farida, 42 years old, in the garden of her house in Barrio Chino (Morocco), on the other side of the border from Melilla, this Tuesday. Adriana Thomasa

In the Moroccan town of Barrio Chino, a district at the foot of the fence with Spain, life seems to have stopped.

The streets do not show the sun even an iota of the border bustle that, this Tuesday, was already residual in Beni Enzar, a couple of kilometers away.

“There is no one left here”, comment neighbors in a huddle who are entertained in the only cafeteria open in front of the Good Neighborhood pass where until 2020 only residents of Melilla and Nador had access and which has no sign of reopening either in the short or in the medium term.

“Everyone has gone to Melilla or to the Peninsula”, protests a taxi driver, “what are we going to do here?

What work is there?"

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In the place, which does not reach a thousand inhabitants, only seven neighbors have returned between midnight on Monday and Tuesday afternoon.

According to the Government Delegation, up to twelve noon on the first day of open doors in Beni Enzar, 994 pedestrians and 240 cars have left Morocco;

much less than in Fnideq (former Castillejos), where 1,378 people have crossed in 472 vehicles.

In the opposite direction, the figures are similar: 662 pedestrians have entered Melilla and 290 vehicles compared to 567 and 228 cars in Ceuta.

More than two years later, the reopening of the border is only felt in the uncertainties posed by the phased strategy and the new entry and exit requirements.

“Melilla and Barrio Chino are nothing without the border,” says Rachid (not his real name), manager of the cafe at the entrance to the ghost town.

In the environment there are more questions than answers, while between the lathes and corridors of the Beni Ensar international pass the new requirements are put to the test.

The requirement to the residents of Melilla to stamp the passport is the main issue.

The wait becomes eternal and suffocating despite the low flow of people.

Computer systems fail and the staff seems insufficient to lighten the pace.

With just a few dozen people queuing, the process can take between 30 and 60 minutes.

Ali, a 38-year-old fishmonger and a resident of Barrio Chino, puts his head in his hands.

He is dedicated to the itinerant sale of fish that arrives on the boats that fish off Nador and Beni Enzar.

“Now nothing is going to Melilla”, he protests with buckets full of sardines.

Before, he himself crossed to sell in the autonomous city.

The lock on the border traffic made him, his wife and his two children try three months ago to climb the fence with a ladder to sneak in.

“What was I going to do?”, he justifies himself, “they were all born in Melilla, they have the right to arrange the papers”.

Farida, a 43-year-old housekeeper, now unemployed, shakes her head in disapproval.

"It's a shame, there's nothing here," she alleges, "people don't buy because they don't have money, because they don't have a job."

With two children aged ten and five, she supports herself with the money that her employer still sends her from Melilla, after her work permit has expired and she has withdrawn from Social Security.

She has no idea how to start processing the visa that will be required of cross-border travelers to be able to cross alone to the autonomous city from the 31st. Meanwhile, her husband is linking jobs that the Moroccan State, she says, is facilitating to unemployed.

Tofik charges about eight euros a day to leave home at dawn to clear part of Mount Gurugú, which crowns the landscape of the neighborhood.

“Work a week yes and a month and a half, no”,

Farida clarifies.

"You can't do that, that's why all the youth have left," she laments.

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