As a student I had a classmate who was from Ceuta (an Spanish city located in the north coast of Africa).
When she went to see her family there, she brought us embroidered shirts and henna for dyeing colors. She told us how her friends made their living as porters going back and forth goods cheaply.
When we finished the studies I stopped seeing this girl. I suddenly remember her last Thursday, when I passed through the border of Ceuta on the way to Morocco.
The happy story she had from her city looks very different from what I was seeing there.
The wire gives a sinister aspect to a coast that I could imagine full of friendly people in the past. Caravans Car accumulated in line at the border, guarded by the Civil Guard and the Moroccan gendarmerie.
As we moved slowly, one after the other waiting for our turn patiently, I had enough time to do a couple of sketches there.
I was really impressed when someone pointed out the exact place where the 6 February night Spanish Civil Guard fired rubber bullets to almost two hundred Africans who ran into the sea, after several attempts to cross the border by land, looking to move from Africa to Europe.
The beach was a mousetrap.
At least fifteen people drowned. No one has claimed responsibility yet.
When these events happen, goes out the best and the worst of human beings from us as a society.
I wonder why governments have to decide on the freedom of the people, and why each of us have to judge where and how others live, work or settle.
Borders are a complete absurdity.
Why the chance of being born in one place or another have to dial the future lifetime of each of us?
The political and economic interests have managed to instill in society the idea of immigration as an evil for Europe.
Is it that some people's lives have less value than the lives of others?