Ceuta forms part of my childhood and that always stays inside
A young researcher from Málaga, shaped by summers in Ceuta and the quiet lessons of a multicultural city, carries his childhood across the Strait in the form of scientific curiosity and quiet longing. Antonio Arroyo Mateo studies the hidden weapons of plant-pathogenic bacteria, but the deeper work he performs is one of identity — understanding how the places that form us continue to live inside us long after we leave. His story reminds us that origin is not merely geography; it is a way of seeing the world, and sometimes, a reason to keep going.
- A bacterium that carves tumors into olive trees and oleanders has become the unlikely vehicle through which a ceutí son is building an international scientific reputation.
- Five to seven years of absence have not dulled his connection to Ceuta — if anything, the distance has sharpened a longing that now feels urgent enough to act on.
- Spanish science demands sacrifice with scarce resources, and Arroyo navigates that tension by insisting that passion, not profit, must be the compass for anyone who enters research.
- This weekend, Málaga and Ceuta face each other on the football pitch, and the man who loves both cities admits simply: his heart is divided.
- A newly discovered helicopter discount between Algeciras and Ceuta has opened a concrete door — and he is seriously considering walking through it with his partner.
Antonio Arroyo Mateo tiene 29 años, nació en Málaga y lleva Ceuta consigo como otros llevan fotografías: siempre presente, aunque pasen los años sin cruzar el Estrecho. Su madre es ceutí, y fueron sus abuelos maternos quienes tejieron el vínculo con la ciudad autónoma durante su infancia. Recuerda Villajovita, el Chorrillo, Calamocarro, y las tardes en Benzú bebiendo té mientras su abuelo le contaba la historia de una ballena varada en la orilla. Recuerda también a ese mismo abuelo en la azotea con unos prismáticos, escrutando el horizonte en busca del ferry que traía a la familia desde la Península. Son fragmentos que no se borran.
Pero Ceuta no es solo memoria para él. Es también una lección de convivencia que, según explica, ha marcado para siempre su manera de ver el mundo y de aproximarse a la ciencia. Investigador en la Universidad de Málaga, Arroyo acaba de publicar dos artículos en revistas internacionales de prestigio sobre la bacteria Pseudomonas savastanoi, un patógeno que produce tumores en olivos y adelfas. La describe como una navaja suiza cargada de herramientas para atacar a las plantas. Su equipo trabaja en ciencia básica: no busca soluciones inmediatas para los agricultores, sino comprender desde dentro los mecanismos que usa la bacteria. De ese conocimiento, eventualmente, podrán surgir estrategias de protección más eficaces.
Habla de su carrera con humildad constante y con honestidad sobre sus dificultades. La ciencia en España exige sacrificio y vocación genuina, advierte, y no es un camino para quien busca dinero. Su mensaje a los jóvenes ceutíes que sueñan con la investigación es claro: perseverad, y descubrid primero, mediante introspección, si esto es realmente lo que queréis.
En medio de todo esto, también está el fútbol. Como buen ceutí, sigue con emoción el momento histórico que vive la AD Ceuta FC. Con 29 años, nunca ha visto a Ceuta en el fútbol profesional, y lo vive desde la distancia con una mezcla de orgullo y asombro. Este fin de semana, por azar, Málaga y Ceuta se enfrentan en el campo. Lo resume con honestidad: su corazón está dividido.
Aunque lleva años fuera, siente una necesidad creciente de volver. Durante la entrevista descubre que los residentes tienen descuento en el helicóptero que une Algeciras con la ciudad autónoma, una posibilidad que ahora considera seriamente junto a su pareja. Lo que emerge de sus palabras es algo más grande que la nostalgia: la certeza de que los lugares donde crecemos nunca dejan de acompañarnos, y que a veces sobreviven, intactos, en cada paso que damos lejos de casa.
Antonio Arroyo Mateo is 29 years old, born in Málaga, and he carries Ceuta with him the way some people carry photographs—always there, always present, even when years pass without crossing the Strait. His father is Malagueño; his mother, Rosa María Mateo Medina, is from Ceuta. His maternal grandparents were the thread that bound him to the autonomous city as a child, and though he hasn't returned in five to seven years, half his soul still walks the illuminated streets of Calle Real at Christmas, watches the sea from Benzú, or plays on the Marina courts.
He remembers Villajovita, where his grandmother lived. He remembers the Chorrillo and Calamocarro, where he spent countless summers. He remembers Benzú and afternoons drinking tea facing the water while his grandfather told him about a whale that once washed ashore. He remembers his grandfather waiting on the rooftop with binoculars, scanning the horizon for the ferry bringing the family from the Peninsula. These are the fragments that don't fade. When asked what it means to be ceutí from a distance, Arroyo falls silent for a moment. The question seems to touch something that words struggle to contain. Finally, he speaks from something simpler and truer: he wants every young person from Ceuta who reads his words to feel proud of their land.
But Ceuta is not only memory for him. It is also a lesson—perhaps the most important one he has learned. In a space so small, multiple cultures and religions have coexisted for centuries. That respect, that intercultural understanding, marks a person forever. It shapes how you see the world. It shapes how you approach science. Arroyo is a researcher at the University of Málaga, and he has just published two articles in prestigious international journals. His work focuses on a bacterium called Pseudomonas savastanoi, a pathogen that produces tumors in olive trees and oleanders, causing serious damage to crops. He speaks with constant humility—"I'm nobody special," he repeats several times—but his research is part of important work in plant biotechnology.
He holds a degree in biology, a master's in advanced biotechnology, and he is near completion of his doctorate. The bacteria he studies is equipped, as he explains it, like a Swiss Army knife full of tools for attacking plants. His team investigates what those weapons are, how the bacterium overcomes the plant's defenses, how it establishes itself inside to produce those characteristic tumors. This is basic science—not seeking an immediate solution for farmers, but understanding the internal mechanisms the bacterium uses. That knowledge, eventually, will allow for more effective protection strategies. "We don't give direct solutions," he clarifies. "What we do is understand how the problem works from the inside. From there, practical applications can emerge."
The work has not been simple. Scientific careers in Spain demand sacrifice, patience, and genuine vocation. "It's a hard path," he admits. "Here we do very good science with very few resources. If someone is looking for money, this is not the way. But if you're truly passionate, it's absolutely worth it." His message to young people from Ceuta who dream of research is clear: persevere. Discover through introspection whether this is truly what you want. It is difficult, yes, but working to understand life and contribute something good to the world is an enormous privilege.
He speaks of science with the same brightness he uses when remembering afternoons in Calamocarro. Perhaps because both things—his profession and his childhood—form part of the same identity. And in the middle of all this, there is also football. As a proper ceutí, he follows with passion the historic moment that AD Ceuta FC is experiencing. Every weekend he celebrates the team's victories from a distance, aware that he is witnessing something he has never seen before. "I'm 29 years old and I've never seen Ceuta in professional football," he says, moved. "With Málaga I've lived promotions, first division, even European competitions. But with Ceuta, never. This is historic." This weekend, by chance, Málaga and Ceuta face each other on the pitch. He summarizes it with honesty: "My heart is divided."
Though he has been away for years, he feels a growing need to return. During the interview, he discovers that residents receive discounts on the helicopter that connects Algeciras and the autonomous city—a possibility he is now seriously considering with his partner. "I have a strong desire to go back," he says. "Because Ceuta is part of my childhood and that always stays inside you." What emerges from his words is something larger than nostalgia or professional ambition. It is the certainty that the places where we grow up never stop accompanying us. Sometimes they live in an old photograph. Sometimes in the smell of a summer by the sea. And sometimes, as with this young scientist who is half Malagueño and half ceutí, they survive in every step one takes away from home.
Notable Quotes
Ceuta teaches something that doesn't exist in many places—a small space where multiple cultures and religions have coexisted for centuries. That respect and intercultural understanding marks you forever.— Antonio Arroyo Mateo
I'm 29 years old and I've never seen Ceuta in professional football. With Málaga I've lived promotions and European competitions. But with Ceuta, never. This is historic.— Antonio Arroyo Mateo
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
You've spent five to seven years away from Ceuta, yet you speak about it as though you left yesterday. What keeps it so vivid?
Memory works differently when a place shaped who you are. Ceuta wasn't just where I spent summers—it was where my grandparents taught me what it means to belong to something. That doesn't fade with distance.
Your research on plant bacteria seems far removed from childhood memories. Do you see a connection?
Absolutely. Ceuta taught me that understanding requires looking beneath the surface. You have to see how different things coexist, how they interact. That's exactly what I do with the bacteria—I study how it works inside the plant, not just what damage it causes.
You mentioned Ceuta's multiculturalism as formative. How does that translate into your scientific approach?
When you grow up in a place where cultures live side by side, you learn that difference isn't a problem to solve—it's a reality to understand. In science, that means asking better questions. It means respecting complexity.
The helicopter discount to Ceuta caught your attention. Are you planning to go back soon?
I'm thinking seriously about it. I feel something pulling me back now. Maybe it's time. My partner and I have been talking about it. Five years is too long.
What would you say to young people from Ceuta considering a scientific career?
That it's hard, yes. But if you're truly passionate, it's worth every sacrifice. And carry your roots with you—they'll make you ask better questions than someone without that anchor.