Michel Bustillo, delegate of the NGO Voluntarios Por Otro Mundo, with young migrants in Los Lagos Park, in Jerez de la Frontera (Cádiz). Juan Carlos Toro
Abdetawad Afilal still gets sad every time he sees a family walking down the street.
His parents and his eight siblings are still in Tangier, from where he fled seven years ago hiding in the engine room of a ferry.
The 24-year-old Moroccan man lived six years in Madrid, without documentation, sleeping on the street and with occasional jobs that he could only collect in black.
A year ago, the reform of the immigration law opened a loophole so that young immigrants like him, who until then were required to have endless requirements to legalize their situation, could access residence and therefore a job.
Now Abdetawad serves food and coffee with ease in a prestigious restaurant in Madrid.
Until this reform was approved in October 2021, foreign minors and young ex-guardians were required to have more than 2,000 euros of their own income and many other requirements to issue them residence and work permits.
The Ministry of Inclusion, Social Security and Migrations amended the law to lower these conditions.
Economic demands were reduced, it was made easier for these young people from the age of 16 to be able to work like any Spanish adolescent and the processing time for paperwork was accelerated.
Meanwhile, hate speech against them grew in a sector of politics and on the street.
One year after the entry into force of said reform, around 16,000 kids who seemed destined to be invisible have obtained residence permits.
In June of last year,
close to 50% were working, and the trend continues to rise.
These are the stories of four of them.
From sleeping in an alley to dreaming of being a meter
Abdetawad, waiter at the DSPEAK restaurant, in Madrid.
samuel sanchez
Abdetawad Afilal arrived in Tarifa at the age of 17, where he was received by the police.
He says that they took him to a juvenile center from which he ran away in fear.
Without papers he could not enroll in any training course.
Being of legal age and not having been in charge of a protection institution meant being destined for irregularity.
“There are scammers on the street who offer false documentation for close to two thousand euros,” he says.
He paid, but the papers never arrived.
He lived in alleys, in abandoned houses and in a squat.
He only spent the night there, because he didn't like noise or parties, and because he had to work extra hours setting up some fairs that he never enjoyed.
His luck changed a year and three months ago, when a colleague told him about Fundación Raíces, where he found shelter, training and a way to meet the new requirements.
She got the papers three days before the deadline, his 24th birthday.
With them she can already work.
She received classes in an old industrial warehouse that now serves as a restaurant.
Between plants that climb towards the skylights in the ceiling, antique mirrors and tables that show off the white of the tablecloth, Afilal learned to wait tables.
He has now moved to a different one, Diego Guerrero's Dspeak.
He charges 1,200 euros and has rented a "decent" room for just over 200. For the first time, he does not hesitate when asked about his future:
- What is your plan?
— I want to be the best meter in the capital.
A loaf of bread for a two-day trip
In the park of Los Lagos in Jerez de la Frontera, about 20 young people make a circle around Michel Bustillo, delegate of the NGO Volunteers For Another World.
They are all Moroccan, have recently reached the age of majority and come from centers for minors in Ceuta and Melilla.
There they heard the name of Michel for the first time, and found out that he could help them get or renew their papers and look for work.
Some have been in the city of Cádiz for more than a year, others have just arrived.
They work or study, and live in the apartments of the NGO until they become independent.
They all say that they have suffered situations of discrimination.
On one occasion, several tried to open a bank account and were kicked out without giving them a reason.
Another day, in a supermarket, a lady alerted Bustillo that some "Moors" were following him.
"They come with me, if you want I'll introduce them to you," he replied.
Those who have worked in the fields report that they have received insults and ill-treatment from their superiors.
In spite of everything, their looks transmit illusion because since they arrived in Spain they "see the future".
One of the boys is Mohamed Rafik.
He arrived in 2019 from Nador, at the age of 17.
He was admitted to the La Purísima juvenile center in Melilla.
He tells that he slept in the same room with 83 other children, and that, in total, there were about 700. He now lives, with six companions, in one of the association's floors.
One of the conditions for living there is doing household chores, and he shows it: everything is clean and tidy.
A large shelf presides over the living room and the boys put their belongings there: from some weights to the novel
The Boy in the Striped Pajamas
.
Mohamed Rafik works as a mechanic in a workshop in Jerez de la Frontera (Cádiz). JUAN CARLOS TORO
When he came of age, Rafik left the center without papers, which made it difficult for him to find work and housing.
He stayed for a year in a municipal shelter and worked in a tire shop where he earned less than 300 euros a month in black.
In the end he decided to leave Melilla for the Peninsula.
He managed to hide inside a truck, among some bags of second-hand clothes, along with his friend Abdil.
“We only had a bottle of water and a loaf of bread for the two of us,” he recalls.
They disembarked in the port of Almería after two and a half days of travel.
He was working for a time in the fields picking zucchini.
He does not have good memories of that time: "I had to do the work of two people."
On January 18, they finally gave him the residence and work documentation.
“The change in regulation has facilitated legality.
He has never stopped working since he left the center, but now he does it legally, contributing and paying taxes, ”Bustillo emphasizes.
The young man, who is now 20 years old, works as a mechanic at Talleres Racero.
"I had to pass a two-month trial, but they hired me on the third day," he proudly explains.
Saving to see the family again
Tarik El Fahssi arrived in Spain eight years ago, but from the accent it seems that he has lived in Andalusia all his life.
Like Rafik, he comes from Nador and was also in La Purísima and worked in the fields.
He turned 18 two months after the rule change.
"Now it's his turn to renew his papers, and he will do it for two years with a work and residence contract," celebrates Bustillo.
Before he could only renew for one.
El Fahssi claims to be very happy at the Lalomanu bar, where he works as a waiter.
“I will go visit my family when I have some money.
I haven't seen my parents for four years."
Tarik works at the Lalomanu bar, in Jerez de la Frontera (Cádiz). Juan Carlos Toro
According to Social Security affiliation data for June, 2,000 of these young people have been employed in the hospitality industry.
It is followed by the countryside and the sea, where there are 969. In administrative activities there are 776. The number of work authorizations has been growing for a year.
In June 2022, eight months after the reform was approved, there were 12,083 minors and former guardians with residence authorization, compared to 8,023 in June of the previous year.
Membership also increases.
In June 2021 there were 2,217.
In the summer of this year, 6,206.
One year going to class without knowing Spanish
Mohammed Benamrane came to Spain to fulfill a dream: to work among engines.
"And now I'm a mechanic," he says proudly.
The bureaucratic obstacles frustrated him for a long time, but a week after the reform came into force, the young Moroccan already had a job in a workshop.
He ran to the immigration office to renew his authorization as soon as he learned that the new conditions allowed him to do so.
“I think I was the first in Valladolid”, he laughs.
Benamrane smiles knowingly every time his former roommate and educator, Alfonso de Nicolás, helps him express himself.
— I can't forget him, if it wasn't for him I wouldn't be here right now.
- Hey, I'm going to get excited!
De Nicolás, the social educator who has accompanied him in recent years in the reception flats for former guardians of the Adsis Foundation in Valladolid, maintains that "it did not make sense to keep these kids and not let them work, because they also contribute to society" .
The young man, who is now 23 years old, was going to high school at the same time and was learning Spanish.
He then took his vocational training degree.
He did it twice: the first year he didn't understand Spanish but he went to all the classes “even if he only went to watch”.
The second year he got it.
Many of these young people have had a difficult past and no family support.
The educator explains that each case is different, but that "low self-esteem, low educational level and low tolerance for frustration" are common.
De Nicolás tells, while Benamrane shyly slips down the chair, that the boy has never wanted to throw away food.
“He always kept in his room a bag with dry bread that no one had wanted to eat and that he did not want to throw away.
Then he would walk to a nearby pond and feed it to the ducks”, he recalls.
"I still do," he confesses, laughing.
Michel Bustillo with young migrants in Los Lagos Park, in Jerez de la Frontera, CádizJuan Carlos Toro
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