Visit to Calais Refugee Camp

I was immediately struck by the considerable Police presence throughout Calais who stood guard at most roundabouts and patrolled the 15 foot-tall, barbed wire topped fence keeping the people in the camp.

I was working at the huge refugee warehouse 10 minutes from the camp with the other 50 or so volunteers. A make-shift production line of volunteers from across Europe formed to sort out and pack the mountain of donations. There was a real community spirit with everyone pulling together to work in the kitchen, building space or general warehouse. I was involved in the improvised operation to find out most efficient way to carry out the sorting and re-boxing of the male clothes flooding into the warehouse.

In the afternoon I helped load up one of the vans delivering shoes and other supplies for refugees in the camp. Myself and three others sat, slightly apprehensively, on boxes in the back of the van. I was told how the aid station we were delivering to had been taken over by Sudanese refugees, who now carried out the distribution of the aid. Sitting in darkness we knew we had arrived in the camp by the banging on the van and the attempts to open the doors from outside.

As the doors finally opened there were around a hundred Sudanese refugees standing on the sand dunes outside the van. The sight was a surreal one, almost like it was a different continent, hugely removed from the everyday life going on in Calais just minutes away.

The refugees we met were friendly and the more experienced volunteers were on good terms with a number of them. We unloaded the boxes of supplies, with many of the refugees helping to carry them into the small aid station, just 14 foot long and almost pitch black inside.

A long line of 100 refugees quickly formed, which quickly grew as they waited for their turn to be allowed into the station to receive their shoes and aid pack. Shoes are one of the most valued possessions inside the camp with many people only wearing sandals, or badly damaged shoes. The young, elderly and disabled were allowed to join the front of the queue with everyone else waiting patiently. We knew that there weren’t enough supplies for everyone in the queue and we sensed that the majority of those queuing knew that too. The atmosphere was never hostile but it was certainly tense.

 

One refugee called Rick was in charge of overseeing the line of people. After managing to get into the station to organise the boxes, all the volunteers could do was to help to maintain the line and stop people from pushing in. For the most part this line was orderly but there was certainly a foreboding atmosphere and on several occasions arguments erupted as people clamoured for places.

I spoke to many of the people waiting who were really friendly and seemed touched that volunteers were at least trying to help. Despite their bleak situation many of the refugees were still hopeful of coming to England but had no idea when this would be.

The crutches used by an elderly man became a prop as several over men hobbled over to the aid station in a jovially theatrical attempt to jump the queue. The pantomime moment continued with many in the queue jeering at these histrionics, and with some others pretending to carry them towards the station. It was great to see that their indefinite stay in these dire conditions hadn’t reduced their spirit and sense of community and humour.

The kindness, gratitude and politeness that the refugees greeted us with was overwhelming; and felt undeserved. The majority of people there were staying in tents or sheds with around 8 other people. Some were grateful to still be with their family and many others hoped their families would be able to join them soon.

One of the most touching encounters was with a boy of around thirteen who talked to me about how we wanted some sports trainers to play football in. When I explained that we only had boots left he got me to take down his mobile number so we could text him when we next received sports trainers. Seeing a young child wanting nothing more than to play a game that we all take for granted was incredibly sad.

An elderly man with a badly damaged hand explained how the Police injured him as they pushed their way into the camp recently. We heard many similar stories about the Police suddenly entering the camp, on occasion firing tear gas. As we were about to leave the camp we heard from a medic that the Police had blocked all of the exits, without any provocation that we could see. As the dusk fell a large crowd of refugees and volunteers gathered around the exits in front of the riot Police. It was alarming to see how quickly the pressurised atmosphere within the camp intensified, with it seeming on a knife-edge.

As we walked back through the camp to try to find an exit we were taken aback by many of the impressive buildings and shop markets that have been built. The large wooden church was the most staggering, which was built in less than two months by those living there. The nicest parts of the camp weren’t that dissimilar to any market town but the majority was muddy swamps with overcrowded, inadequate tents and sheds.

People have found a way to survive here but this isn’t a sustainable living environment. This crowded camp is placing vulnerable people in significant danger through the cold, illness and hunger. Days before we arrived we heard about a fire that destroyed 40 tents in a nearby camp.

This isn’t to mention the corruption that I’m told is rife there. One man who waited in line for shoes for two hours but still missed out angrily explained how 80% of the aid delivered ends up on the black market and not in the hands of those who need it most.

It was tragic to see people clamouring for things like shoes just to make their uncertain and dangerous existence here slightly more manageable.

 

Written by Martin Stocks | @Stocks1986