People living at Madrid airport: 'I work, but I can't pay rent'

"I've been sleeping in a park," Miguel says in an audio recording. He had tried, as he had every night for the past seven months, to sleep at Barajas Airport in Madrid. But this time they wouldn't let him in.

Since Thursday (24/7), Aena, the public company that manages airports in Spain, has prohibited people without a plane ticket from staying at Adolfo Suárez Madrid-Barajas Airport overnight.

The measure coincides with the opening of a temporary shelter with 150 places, managed by the Madrid City Council, which will operate until October.

For months, Madrid airport has been a refuge for dozens of migrants and homeless people who have no other shelter. Many of them work but can't afford to rent a place to live.

Meanwhile, the agencies and institutions involved, mainly the Madrid City Council and Aena, continue to exchange accusations without offering a decent and lasting housing solution for these people.

BBC Mundo, the BBC's Spanish-language news service, spent a night in mid-July with them, when they could still sleep at the airport, and these are some of their stories.

"This is temporary. I will soon get a work permit, God willing."

Miguel is confident that his luck will change in a few weeks, when he will have his visa interview.

This 28-year-old Venezuelan, who never stops smiling, tells me about his difficulties while sitting on the floor of his current home: the corridor of Terminal 4 at Barajas Airport in Madrid.

He has a large suitcase where he keeps some clothes, blankets and a mattress he uses to sleep.

"I have a job, but I sleep at the airport because I don't have enough money for rent," he tells me.

In reality, Miguel's name isn't that. He asks to remain anonymous because his sisters don't know he's in this situation. "I only told my parents about it."

It's a July night, and Miguel shares a space with 30 other people. They all come here before sunset, looking for a place to sleep.

In Madrid, renting an apartment of about 40 square meters costs about 900 euros per month (R$5,800), according to the real estate portal Idealista. The minimum wage in Spain is 1,382 euros per month (R$8,900).

This means that someone earning this salary needs to spend almost 70% on rent alone. Experts say it shouldn't exceed 30%. This figure reflects the difficulty of accessing housing in the Spanish capital—although the numbers are similar in many Spanish cities, such as Barcelona, Malaga, or Palma de Mallorca.

And these are inaccessible values for people with precarious and vulnerable jobs, such as those who sleep at the airport.

Miguel arrived in Spain in October of last year. He came out of fear of the political situation in his country and amid the wave of arrests carried out by the Venezuelan government following the July 28 presidential elections.

Venezuela's National Electoral Council (CNE) announced Nicolás Maduro's victory in these elections without presenting the results declaring him the winner. The opposition, led by María Corina Machado and Edmundo González Urrutia, denounced fraud.

The non-governmental organization Foro Penal, whose mission is to promote and defend human rights in Venezuela, registered around a thousand prisoners for political reasons as of July 15, 2025. That number has fallen by a few dozen in recent weeks, following a prisoner exchange agreement between the Maduro government and the US government.

For the opposition and several NGOs, the arrests are the result of political persecution, something the Venezuelan government denies.

In his case, Miguel feared arrest after being implicated in accusations stemming from a video some acquaintances made on social media criticizing the electoral process.

He reports that he received several threatening calls.

With the little savings he had, he traveled to Madrid and rented a room in a shared apartment. But this situation didn't last long.

"The guy who rented me the room cheated me and stole my money. I was left on the street on New Year's Eve."

And so he began his 2025 sleeping on the floor of Barajas, where he has been for seven long months, although without losing his optimism: "I'm better. At least I got a job, even though they pay me under the table."

He works as a package delivery driver from Monday to Friday. His five-hour commute is spent on foot, pushing a cart. All this effort earns him around 250 euros (R$1,600) at the end of the month.

He stretches this money as much as he can. Some of it goes to rent a small storage unit where he keeps his belongings; some to his transportation ticket, so he can get around the city; and some to his cell phone plan, essential for talking to his family.

"What I have left is about 145 euros (R$940) for food and to save," he says as he puts some popcorn in his mouth and explains to me: "This is my dinner. I usually eat it several times a week. It's cheap and fills me up."

Since sleeping at the airport, Miguel has imposed three rules on himself: try to eat at least one meal a day, shower three times a week in public restrooms, and, if he's not working, go for a walk and get some fresh air.

"I do this so it doesn't affect my head. These are three basic things, but if I stopped doing them, they would make me believe I was living in poverty. And that's not the case. For me, this is something temporary."

'I already want to go back to my country'

It is at this moment that María approaches.

She's also Venezuelan, 68 years old. Miguel offers her some cookies he received from some women at an NGO. "Here we share, because we're all in the same situation," he says.

She doesn't take long to tell us what she hopes for her future: "I already want to go back to my country."

In Venezuela, María was a nurse and owned a bakery, which she rented out. She traveled to Spain to get better medical treatment for her son, who is autistic.

"As soon as we landed, he got sick and I spent everything I had on medicine."

He came here five months ago as a tourist, but faced with this situation, he had to stay. "Finding work is difficult, and I can't leave my son alone," he explains.

He tried sleeping in shelters, but ended up in Barajas. Along with his son, he sleeps at the end of the hallway. Two mattresses, some sheets, suitcases on an airport cart, and a few bags are all they have.

"I'd rather sleep here than on the street. It's safer here because there's surveillance, there are bathrooms to wash in, and it's peaceful. In the end, you get used to it."

Like Miguel, she follows a few basic rules, such as washing herself every night with a bucket and doing her laundry. "You have to have dignity even in this situation," she adds.

Now, she's applied for repatriation with the help of an NGO. "I think I'll be able to return home soon; I already have almost all the paperwork."

María and her son occupy a space next to a Spanish woman who, while we speak, is sleeping.

"We became friends, she's very lonely and lost. She has three children, but she got involved with drugs and, well, I help her, give her advice and we talk a lot," says María as she watches her tenderly and holds her son's hand, which he never lets go of.

From workers to sick people

Although the heat is now punishing Madrid, the main reason that triggered the transfer of hundreds of migrants and homeless people to Barajas was the cold and rain last March.

"Although homeless people have been sleeping in Barajas for years, what happened in March was out of the ordinary," says a volunteer.

Faced with the avalanche of people, a group of social and religious organizations under the name "Forum for Hospitality" produced a report in which they counted between 200 and 400 people sleeping in Barajas every day.

"I'm not going to defend people who sleep at the airport, because there are indeed bad people and some who look for trouble. But they are a minority. The rest behave well, because we just want to sleep," Miguel reiterates.

According to data from this report, 38% of these people work but cannot pay rent. 46% are from Latin America and 26% are Spanish nationals.

The study also highlights the profile of people sleeping at the airport: "where there are migrants, homeless people, pensioners, people with precarious jobs and people with mental and physical health problems," the report says.

But these figures no longer reflect the current situation in Barajas. With the improved weather, the number of people staying overnight has decreased considerably. This is also due to Aena's deterrent measure, which closed the doors and opened the shelter.

"And it's to this shelter that we're supposed to go, but they won't give me a place because of my status as a political asylum seeker," Miguel says, annoyed.

Madrid City Hall explains that only those registered with the city or, failing that, people who, even if not registered, have already been previously assisted by municipal social services can sleep in the shelter.

"The case of a political asylum seeker is handled by the Ministry of Migration," said the city's social policy department, referring to Miguel's situation.

Meanwhile, social organizations are demanding greater involvement and coordination from all stakeholders, from the city council to Aena, which is linked to the Spanish government.

BBC Mundo spoke with members of several social organizations working in Barajas. They preferred not to reveal their names or the names of their organizations. They maintain a low profile after months of controversy and media coverage that, they say, have only harmed those who spend the night at the airport. "The issue has become politicized, and those who are harmed are the most vulnerable, those who sleep on the floor," notes one volunteer.

Precisely because of this, sleeping on the cold airport floor, and long walks pushing a stroller, Miguel has had severe back pain for a few weeks. His doctor recommended he sleep on "something soft," and he bought an inflatable mattress.

"It affected my savings, but I sleep better," he tells me as he settles down to sleep.

It's 11 p.m. and the hallway is silent. Some people check their phones, but most sleep with a T-shirt over their heads to avoid being disturbed by the lights.

"It was very difficult to get used to sleeping with the light on," Nicolás, whose name is also fictitious, tells me.

He arrived from Peru nine months ago and has been sleeping at the airport ever since. "I work construction when I can. I go to the areas where the bricklayers gather in the morning, and if they accept me, I work that day. Then I come back here to sleep. With what they pay me, I can't afford to rent a room."

As I'm leaving, a security guard guarding the airport entrance approaches me. He tells me that many media outlets have passed through there and makes a request of me:

"I just ask that you treat these people with humanity. There are people who didn't do that. And they, let's not forget, are people."