Penajóia continues to grow. Some people pay €300 per room.

Anyone driving along the main road, near Monte de Caparica, just minutes from the Pragal train station, wouldn't imagine the number of people who call the Penajóia neighborhood home. With Christ the King and the Tagus River as a backdrop , dirt roads winding haphazardly between dozens of self-built gray brick homes are home to around two thousand people , according to accounts from movements like Vida Justa.

It's 3 p.m. on a Wednesday in the Penajóia neighborhood. The neighborhood has everything: cafes, restaurants, and a barber; children running through the streets with bicycles in their hands. Observador enters the "Sabores da Illy" cafe to find out how much it costs to live in this illegal neighborhood .

Real estate pressure has led thousands of people to seek alternative living options in cities like Almada. But speculation is rife both inside and outside Penajóia. Testimonies gathered by Observador reveal that paying rent to live in the illegal neighborhood is not uncommon. António (not his real name) pays 300 euros for a room with nothing , not even a bathroom.

A year ago, in June 2024, the Institute of Housing and Urban Rehabilitation (IHRU) posted notices on the doors of these homes warning of the "removal of buildings on public land." At the time, it was said that the problem would be resolved within weeks.

A year has passed. Since then, dozens of homes have been demolished, but the number of people living in the illegal neighborhood has continued to grow. The City Council is scathing in its criticism of the institute and believes that the IHRU's inaction will set the country back decades in housing rights. In an interview with Observador, Inês de Medeiros says she fears a return to the 1970s " with shacks everywhere " and demands that the government "take matters into its own hands" and that the IHRU "do its job, conduct a social survey, and define a strategy." These criticisms are echoed by the Vida Justa movement, which reports two thousand people living in Penajóia. The city council claims to be completely in the dark.

Despite Observador's requests for clarification, the IHRU not only failed to respond to the City Council's criticisms, but also failed to provide updated data on the population living in this illegal neighborhood in Almada.

"I'm scared. Scared to leave and return to my house when the water is low." António leaves home before sunrise to work in construction, and he fears that one night he'll return without a home to return to. And by a home, this middle-aged, dark-skinned man, with a beanie on his head and a basketball jersey on, means a room .

He agrees to speak with the Observer, sitting inside a café on a worn sofa. The floor is stone, with crackling black and white painted squares. A fan sits near the café counter, keeping those entering cool on a hot summer day. The conversation alternates between Portuguese and Creole, at a large wooden table in the center of the café.

He says his story could be that of so many others, of hardships experienced by the hundreds of people living in the Penajóia neighborhood. "I'm not in a position to help anyone, yet. But I do have a solution: it's the City Council." In July 2025, he'll be living in Almada, the city he calls home after immigrating from Cape Verde with a dream in mind: to be a musician in Portugal .

"For now, I'm fighting to get what I want. I left Cape Verde, but I have to look for better living conditions. Many countries are out there," he says, pointing to the café walls and beyond them to the entire illegal neighborhood. He worked in Loures, and today he spends the afternoons babysitting his brother's children, who play with their bikes on the dirt road in front of the café.

However, he doesn't live with his brother or his nephews. He rents a room "next door," built "by someone else," for which he pays 300 euros . He says this isn't unique in Penajóia, but he won't reveal who rents the room to him. He only criticizes the "rich kids" who are using the neighborhood and "renting" houses (and in this case rooms) to the "poor." A room, he notes, for which he "didn't deserve to pay anything," with no space for anything other than sleeping: "I shower in the street, I pee in the street. I pay 300 euros. For what? Just to sleep."

This is a story shared by the Vida Justa association. "Market dynamics are replicated in neighborhoods. Both in self-built neighborhoods, social housing, and even in neighborhoods without a social designation," explains Beatriz Lopes, a member of the association responsible for the Almada area who accompanied Observador on Penajóia. "The highest I've heard of was 650 euros for a house here. "

Despite the high prices, more and more people are seeking housing in neighborhoods like Penajóia due to the country's real estate pressure. Vida Justa counts two thousand people living in the Almada neighborhood, a number that has been growing: "There was a time when more than ten or twenty houses were being built every week." And people "aren't going to stop," it warns. " No one will live under the bridge , no one wants to live on the streets with their children. We have cases of the CPCJ removing children because people live here in the neighborhood." Observador contacted the National Commission for the Promotion of the Rights and Protection of Children and Youth (CNPDPCJ), which forwarded clarification to the Almada Child and Youth Protection Commission. The latter had not responded by the time this article was published.

Cutlery clangs like background music, clanging against plates during lunchtime. The specialty? Angolan cuisine ranging from feijoada to cachupa, as served on today's menu. It's not just people who live in Penajóia who seek out Sabores da Illy for lunch. "There are people who come from other neighborhoods too, from the cities. Then, when they heard that the local lady had good things to offer, they came here to try it out. "

The Observer is greeted by the café owner, who also asks to remain anonymous during the conversation. She takes two beers from the fridge while leaning against the counter. She wears a red apron and paces around in flip-flops. She has lived in Penajóia for two years with her husband and five children. The "wooden" house was built by hand. "He works, I work, the children work, we build with our own hands, all the neighbors help, everything."

She was already living in the illegal neighborhood of Almada when the IHRU first appeared in June 2024, posting notices threatening demolition. This woman's house was one of those with this notice posted on its door. It was one of the houses scheduled to be demolished "within ten days," yet a year later, it remains there.

Fear and doubt were natural responses. Feelings that persist today. After the initial warnings, they stopped "investing" in their own homes, improving or repairing them, because they feared the authorities' decision would change overnight.

And what will this family do if they're forced to leave the Penajóia neighborhood? "I don't know," the woman replies. "With cash in hand, we can't afford a house. It's really hard to even think about leaving." It's a case like so many others. And the number of people living in these Almada neighborhoods is growing, even according to residents.

"The number of houses isn't getting bigger," but the number of people living "in the same house" is growing rapidly. Today, there are around two thousand people, a very different scenario from two years ago, when this woman came to Almada. "There were 500 people, now there are over a thousand." "We came here because I was also looking for a house. We were brutally evicted" from the house they had in Cacém. Penajóia was the only solution.

"As long as this continues, I really don't know where we'll end up, other than back in the 1970s, with shacks everywhere." This isn't a fear on the part of the Almada City Council mayor, but rather an observation. "You can talk to all the mayors. We're witnessing the creation of precarious neighborhoods all over the country, and throughout the metropolitan area. It's a reality that's happening, and it's either that or having homeless people on the streets. I don't know which is worse."

Socialist Inês de Medeiros insists, in a statement to Observador, that the municipality has done everything to improve living conditions for the hundreds of people who call Penajóia and Raposo home, but that government intervention, specifically from the Institute of Housing and Urban Rehabilitation (IHRU), is lacking. "I'll take the podcast title itself, Where the Case Stops – and the case is at a standstill by the IHRU . And in contrast, Penajóia continues to grow and is no longer Penajóia, it is now also Raposo."

The last public meeting between the IHRU and the Almada City Council took place in October of last year. It was a meeting that agreed to present local authorities with a "social survey" of the number of people and the conditions in which they live in the illegal neighborhoods of Penajóia and Raposo. However, from October 2024 to July 2025, the Almada City Council denounces " absolute silence on the part of the State ."

"Because this is the State, the IHRU is the State, nothing else. It's impossible to imagine that any municipality, whatever it may be—even Almada—could suddenly completely replace the State; it's impossible." And today, the municipality remains in the dark, without information and without a plan coordinated with the central government. " We don't know what they intend to do. It's obvious that a larger, more robust strategy is needed to prevent these neighborhoods from consolidating. We know that, from time to time, they'll demolish some houses that are under construction, but for every one they're going to demolish , three will grow immediately ."

Almada doesn't have the "capacity to solve the Penajóia problem at this time," admits Inês de Medeiros—she has only one demand for the Institute that manages housing in Portugal. "Take matters into your own hands. It's not my place to define strategies for the IHRU itself or the State itself. Therefore, I'm not demanding either one or the other; I'm demanding that the IHRU be present, that it do its job , conduct the social survey, and define the strategy it promised us it would develop within a few weeks, but which has yet to materialize."

These criticisms are shared by the City Council and activists. The Vida Justa movement agrees with Inês de Medeiros, noting that the IHRU has "disappeared." But the problem, in Vida Justa's eyes, isn't just a lack of solutions. Beatriz Lopes complains that the IHRU only sends warnings to residents "an hour or twenty minutes in advance by email," only to be met with "vehicle fire, police, and the act of knocking things down to intimidate."

The IHRU confirmed the start of the demolition of illegal buildings in the Penajóia neighborhood in January 2025 , at the time assuring that these were “unfinished and unoccupied buildings” whose destruction “does not jeopardize the displacement of any family”.

Therefore, the movement warns that the two thousand people living in Penajóia live in a constant state of fear. This fear is confirmed by the authorities' actions. "They have confirmed to us that this fear is more than plausible, as they continue to make these attempts to intimidate people. Anyone who can tear down a fence can tear down a house." Vida Justa believes that a decision on the neighborhood's future, although delayed, will come. It pledges to stand " against any eviction , with no alternative for the nearly two thousand people" who live there.