The reality of a Sahrawi family: Spanish IDs, refugees in Algeria, and stateless in Spain

Background

Abdalahe Nayem Mahafud was born in 1950 in Villa Cisneros, then part of Spanish Sahara and, since 1976, occupied by Morocco. For five decades he has lived as a refugee in the Tindouf camps of Algeria, together with four of his eight children. The other four reside in Spain; two have already been recognized as stateless, while the remaining two have been waiting for more than two years for a decision.

Spanish Documents as a Potential Passport

Abdalahe carefully preserves a suite of Spanish documents:

A Franco‑era Spanish passport, stamped only once when he traveled from Madrid to Algeria before settling in Tindouf in March 1976.
A family book issued by Spanish authorities, listing his wife and the first of his eight children.
A photocopy of his DNI and a letter appointing him as an Arabic interpreter for Spanish officials, signed by the former governor‑general of the “province of Sahara,” Fernando de Santiago y Díaz de Mendívil.
A document from his service in the Spanish Navy.

These papers were rescued by a neighbor after Mauritanian troops looted his home when they seized La Guera. Abdalahe believes they could become his “passport” to Spanish citizenship if the Sumar bill—which aims to grant Spanish nationality to those born in the former Province 53 (Spanish Sahara)—is approved.

“I doubt it will be approved,” he told Europa Press, pointing to the close ties between the PSOE‑led government and Moroccan authorities.

Statelessness and the Sumar Bill

The proposed law is currently stalled in the Congress’ Justice Committee, blocked by the PSOE. Abdalahe argues that Sahrawis were part of Spain, so he sees no obstacle to applying for citizenship, which could also benefit his children and grandchildren, potentially allowing dual nationality if Western Sahara ever becomes independent.

Two of his daughters, who have lived in Spain for more than 15 years, have already obtained stateless status. Their two brothers, who arrived in Spain a little over two years ago, are still waiting for a response. Whenever they inquire, officials simply reply that “it’s not yet.”

Abdalahe’s personal wish is to return to his former home in La Guera, but he admits that at his age he is unlikely to see the reconstruction of his homeland.

“It is difficult to transmit love for a land that one does not know” to the younger generation, he says, noting that many “are looking for their lives elsewhere.”

Family Members’ Perspectives

Fatimetu – Daughter, born in Tindouf

Fatimetu lives in the Auserd refugee camp with her husband Abdulahi Ahmed Salek, one of the last Sahrawis born in Province 53 (1975). She would apply for Spanish citizenship primarily for her children, especially her 10‑year‑old son Didi, hoping he can experience Spain as she did during the “Vacaciones en Paz” program in her teens.

“The children are our hope,” she says.

Abdulahi Ahmed Salek – Husband

Abdulahi shares Fatimetu’s intention to secure Spanish nationality for their children but does not wish to relocate to Spain. He spent 1989‑2003 in Cuba, studied optometry, and now works at the Rabuni Hospital eye‑care centre, funded by the Spanish NGO Ojos del Mundo.

Sidahamed Mohamed and Mohamed Fadel – Cousins, shop owners

Both born in the 1940s in what was then Spanish Sahara, they run small adjacent shops in the Auserd camp.

Sidahamed previously worked for the Spanish company Cubiertas y Contratas and later for the Territorial Police of the Sahara. He was paid his dues and dismissed in 1975 when Spanish authorities withdrew. He says he will not return unless independence is achieved, leaving the outcome “in God’s hands.”

“What Spain did is a shame,” he laments, referring to the 1976 withdrawal that allowed Morocco’s occupation.

Mohamed believes the Spaniards “sold us to Morocco.” Although his family holds Spanish documents, he does not want to move to Spain. He argues that Spanish nationality should be granted to the entire Sahrawi people.

“If Spain wants to give nationality, let it be for all the Sahrawi people,” he asserts.

Both men are skeptical of the U.S.–UN‑brokered autonomy plan promoted by Morocco. They contend that any autonomy granted to the Sahrawis should also be extended to the Rif people, and they reject what they call a “false autonomy.”

Views on Spanish Policy and the Autonomy Plan

Abdalahe maintains that the Spanish people did not betray the Sahrawis in 1975. He blames the Franco regime for inaction under pressure from the United States and Morocco, and he holds Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez responsible for supporting Morocco’s autonomy proposal.

“The only guilty one for supporting the Moroccan autonomy plan is the president of the government, Pedro Sánchez, not the Spanish people,” he says.

Regarding the latest negotiations, Abdalahe is deeply skeptical:

“I see nothing good there,” he states, adding that if Rabat grants autonomy to the Sahrawis, “it should also be given to the Rif people.”

Conclusion

The Mahafud family’s story illustrates the complex legal limbo faced by many Sahrawis: holding Spanish documents yet living as refugees or stateless persons, awaiting a legislative solution that remains stalled. Their varied perspectives—ranging from a desire for Spanish citizenship for future generations to outright rejection of any move to Spain—underscore the deep personal and political divisions that continue to shape the Sahrawi diaspora.