Calais ‘Jungle’//Volunteering in Calais after the fire

Pre-departure I was feeling freakishly apprehensive about heading over to what was known as ‘the jungle’. This was potentially due to me being mostly off grid and I wasn’t aware of the current situation but I had heard something about said ‘jungle’ burning down.

I had no idea what to expect I just knew I was going alone to Calais, driving and living in a van – each a new experience all of its own, go hard or go home. Feel the fear and do it anyway had become my mantra and with a previous boss etching in my brain that problems with mere challenges, oh boy was I entering a season of ‘opportunity for some serious growth’.

Through previous employment, I had worked with unaccompanied minors from Iraq, Afghanistan and Albania. I had a pool of surrogate children who taught me about the stark contrast in life experiences we have had. Could there be other teachers, other potential surrogate children and could I support them in some way?

I arranged a two week stint with Care4Calais, got the van on the road after returning from Rwanda (read more here), and booked my ferry crossing. I had a great deal of support from friends and family to get the van ready who offered donations to take over and give general ‘we believe in you’ hype talk when I was having a wobble. The struggle was real, anxiety was hitting me hard in the limbo before the trip. It was obvious but the reality of putting off the trip and letting this anxiety win simply wasn’t an option. I headed over to Calais, ticking off each new achievement in my head  – refuelled van, tick, drove van to Dover, tick, checked in to ferry, tick, drove onto ferry, tick, etc.)

Low and behold there wasn’t time to over think anything. Once I arrived it was straight into the swing of things. Apparently driving a camper van across the water implies that you’re an experienced van driver?! Being over 25 and having a driving licence meant that I was insured to drive the organisations vehicles and this would become such a huge part of my role (and an additional conquest to tick off).

My first job was to ‘patrol’ Calais. With another volunteer to show me the ropes, I drove us around ‘hot spots’ around the town. She directed me to the bus stop around the corner from the train station where new arrivals would come through usually met by the police or CRS who are the general reserve of the French National Police - super intimidating - so we have a presence to try to show up first pointing people in the right direction for support ie. food, water, a place to wash, a place to rest, legal information, a change of clothes, sleeping bags, snack bags, toiletries, etc. We would move around this area and the two neighbouring parks ready to film any sight of CRS just incase of any ill-treatment. We were making assumptions about people just in case they were in need of support which was made more obvious by those sleeping in the parks, with backpacks, wrapped up, looking lost/confused/tired, the people of colour - were more than likely to be a refugee.

In general the whole experience was pretty bizarre.

My initial thoughts were based on how apparent it was that these people, who congregated in certain areas where it was known charities would visit to offer support, appeared so obviously displaced - yet they generally didn’t have anywhere to go. I was beginning to learn about the long and often complicated game known as the The Asylum System. People here were either trying to get across the border or they have claimed asylum in France and now await a decision. This can take months, even years.

On my second night I was back out driving again to the nightly food distribution with Refugee Community Kitchen. The partnership between C4C and RCK gives another perspective on the situation. At the warehouse, huge pots are filled with beans soaked for the following day, music is blaring, and people are rushing around filling vans with food. We would be serving rice, curry and salad which is taken along with condiments (as recommended by the customers), and drinking water, then its off to Dunkirk.

We pull up and the ‘long term volunteer’ from RCK comments on the large amount of people waiting. ‘The key is to stay calm and remain positive’ he repeats. Lots of people, hungry people, hangry even, no doubt. Even though there is plenty of food for all, with the underlying tension, the trauma folk had endured on their journey to this point, let alone the circumstances that they had left behind - it’d be tricky to de-escalte challenging behaviour with such a big group.

We served about 350 meals that evening.

When the queue died down we were able to have more interaction with the asylum seekers and refugees. Often conversations began with people asking if I was from the UK, if I lived near Birmingham, Manchester or London and knew someones brother/uncle/cousin.

The Old School Garage CD donated by a previous volunteer was blasting out whilst we set up and throughout distribution which gave a sense of some of being in a field summer in the UK during festival season. Very different from where we actually were, in Calais, just down the road from where the recently burnt down ‘jungle’, it’s ashes lay.

There was no time to consider the reality romanticise it as each day there would be more drop-offs and distributions.

Most days were like this, moving around, looking for people, offering the basics such as food and water, and trying to bring a bit of humility, compassion and entertainment through acts of generosity, play and silliness.

There is no longer a ‘jungle’ which I now understand wasn’t quite as animalistic as the name suggests. Instead it was a base for several thousands of people to at least cook for themselves, build community, rest and have some sort of existence. Existence has now become survival and enduring the longest game of cat and mouse between the refugees and the CRS. The police move in, refugees get moved along and their belongings taken, destroyed, burnt (apparently the council have instructions to keep the place ‘clean’). Police spray tear gas, leave and shortly after the refugees return. This happens multiple times most days, I guess a deterrent, the idea being that individuals will become exhausted and stop being a nuisance.

Council workers ‘cleaning’ what was filled with people and their belongings has now been piled in the truck.

Refugees pushed into woods whilst ‘cleaning’ continues.

If you had left your home for what ever reason and could not return, you’d walked across countries, continents even, carrying your belongings, moving with your family or perhaps you were alone as you’ve been split from them or worse yet, they’re dead. You’d seen pain and hurt and torture. You arrive only 45 miles away from the British Isles and you have a choice, to seek asylum in the same place you are greeted with hostility or you could try your chances and keep moving, hiding under a truck or a train to reach the UK without ever really knowing if it’s as good as everyone makes out.

Wouldn’t you keep trying, in search for a better life?

Another big part of work Care4Calais do is distributions. This is like a military process. Back in the ‘jungle’ days, I heard there were essentially shops in place where people could come and browse clothing and pick something they like the look of. With the destruction of the ‘jungle’, those days are gone. Instead boxes are packed from the warehouse taking mostly smalls, thought always small percentage of medium and large too (majority of refugees are lean). The volunteers move in convoy, park up and then the team sets up, linking arms to create a sort of corridor at the back of the van on either side.

People become inquisitive curious if we are friend or foe. There isn’t much in the way of entertainment; a group from Eritrea, around 15 years old, would play football all day, everyday and begin to run over when they spotted us. In this van might be the items you need, a replacement pair of trouser for the ripped/wet/dirty pair you’ve been wearing all week/month/year. The queue moves fast and when all the items have gone then the van is shut and the people disperse. When it’s gone it’s gone. Sometimes you can gauge numbers really well. Other times there may be more people than anticipated and old school garage won’t always cut it though everyone is grateful for the help even the guy with broken shoes, no sim card or just had his belongings destroyed. The long term volunteers had a different rapport with the community, they would know the details of the circumstances which brought them here, if they’d tried crossing before, how many times and there was a real sense of community among displaced folk alongside the volunteers.

The last few nights that I covered the RCK night distribution there were a few new families arriving.

Did you know it can cost between £3000 – 10,000 (THOUSANDS OF POUNDS!) for a ride to the UK from Calais? I am still none the wiser as to whether paying more secures you a ‘happily ever after’, I wouldn’t have thought so though. Most people I met were single men. There is a small amount of families, I suppose that could get expensive. And as a back drop to all this I couldn’t help but think how ideal this set up was for predators and people traffickers to exploit these human beings.

Under 18s, the authorities have a duty of care for minors. Some might lie about their age. I still met many 14-18 year olds who were alone and weren’t receiving any support, still surrounded by others, other children, other men.

I met people who had incredible strength, I conversed with people from different worlds to me - I got to spend two weeks with wonderful humans, both refugees and volunteers from around the globe. It’s all just a bit of a shame that we had to meet under these circumstances.

With the ‘jungle’ destroyed it is harder to supply people with food, cooking facilities and items that they may need. Whilst the authorities pump more money into border patrols, taller fences and CCTV, they could be investing more in centres to process aslum claims and create safe legal routes for people to leave rather than creating a pool for smugglers to relish in and exploit.

Baked beans not such a traditional dish for the majority of refugees.

A handful of refugees make  home on top of these mounds of dirt, away from the police.

As the sun sets on Calais people begin to try again, moving through the night.