My time in The Jungle of Calais

My first sighting of the so-called jungle is the Sudanese school – its colourful walls are full of vibrant calls for tolerance, help and hope.

As we get out of the car, several people approach us to say hello, ask how we are and why we’ve come to the camp. We’re told that the French teacher isn’t coming today and asked if we speak any French.

I say I do and before I know it, I’m in a dark and cold classroom, improvising a French class with a couple of black boards, chalks, notebooks and pencils, for about 25 men aged 20-30, mostly from Sudan and Darfur.

These men are right in my age range and they’re the most eager students I have ever had. Their desire to learn, their kindness to me and their positive attitude humble me and warm my heart better than the sun which finally comes out.

The class lasts for a good two hours and takes place again the day after. We work on introducing oneself before moving on to practical things like asking for help, buying something, negotiating a discount, asking for directions – whatever my new students need to get around in Calais.

They ask me questions and repeat after me all together: “Bon-jour, j’ai be-soin d’un té-lé-pho-ne s’il vous plaît”, sometimes recording me so they can study later or teach others.

When I’ve explained them how to ask for help and we move on to the possible answers they might receive, one of them prompts: “Oui, bien sûr !” Our second class ends on the question: “How do you say, don’t forget that we are waiting for you in France?”

I have come to Calais as part of my friend’s The Kitabna Project. My friend writes bilingual books for displaced children which are published with both English and Arabic text. These books tell warm and fun stories, set in refugee camps, that the children can relate to.

They are designed to make these children enjoy reading, writing and being creative again, and are used to train future teachers, for whom they can be an excellent tool.

And so The Kitabna Project made its way to Calais for the first time a couple of weeks ago. We soon found that it would not work the way it did in the Middle East – the various nationalities encountered in the camp and the growing insecurity, among other things, meant that we couldn’t set up a reading or a training session at a certain time, in a certain place.

Instead, we met a few Kurdish families and the oldest girl read one of the books, which was also translated in Sorani, to all the other children. Immediately, all the children gathered around her and listened to the story, laughing at the pictures and dancing around with their arms outstretched, like the birds in the book.

Parents came out of their tents to listen to the girl, who hadn’t read Sorani for months, and watch their children’s reactions, and they too laughed as the story unfolded. We also met two boys, aged 11 and 13 – they’d arrived from Afghanistan the week before, after three incredibly difficult months on the road.

They had travelled on their own after their parents had saved everything they could to offer them a chance at a better life than theirs, and they had finally reached Calais with nothing left – no money, no phone to let their family know they’d made it across the Mediterranean sea, barely any clothes.

Although they didn’t understand Sorani, they stayed and listened to the story too. As always, everyone showed us kindness beyond belief despite their hardships. One of the Kurdish families insisted we had tea and fried bread with them while the boys wanted us to have some of the small bag of food they had just been given – probably their only meal that day.

Over two days, we distributed about 100 books and a car boot’s worth of arts and crafts material around the camp to Médecins du Monde, who have set up a medical centre in the camp and organise art therapy activities in the waiting area, to the new “Jungle Books” library, to Arts Refuge UK, who also organise art therapy activities, to another well-being centre and to the Kurdish families we met.

We also started to set up pop-up libraries to bring Jungle Books to different areas of the camp. Despite these positive achievements and meeting some fantastic, dedicated people, looking at the bigger picture is daunting.

There is no overall oversight or organisation. Salam and Médecins du Monde were the main associations I saw. The French government seems to have adopted a wait-and-see policy and mainly send police and repatriation services representatives to the camp.

Little information is given to the refugees about asylum procedures in France or UK. Very few helpers speak an African or Middle-Eastern language and reading materials on site are mainly in English or French. Though members of the civil society and individuals dedicate themselves to helping migrants, the lack of oversight and coordination means many needs remain unaddressed.

Living conditions in the camp are inhumane, degrading and humiliating. 6,000 people live in floodable tents – a few “lucky” ones live in a small caravan or a shelter.

Those with a bit of money left can buy food in the shops and restaurants around camp. Otherwise, one needs to queue duly for free bread or other food (around 1,250 rations are distributed daily).

There are only a few taps in the camp, which provide no privacy to wash, and some portaloos. Many people walk around in sandals with the weather is getting cold and wet, and diseases such as the flu, cholera and tuberculosis are kicking in.

There is growing insecurity in the camp. Women and children are especially vulnerable. The camp is a man’s world, and with increasingly difficult living conditions, consumption of drugs and alcohol is rising, leading to fights and other incidents like rapes. On top of this, migrants have become the target of attacks carried out by local right-wing extremists.

The journey across the Channel is extremely perilous. To go to UK, migrants must choose between jumping off a bridge onto a truck to try board a ferry, and jumping on a Eurostar.

Despite the risks, more and more attempt the latter. After a three-hour walk from the camp to the tunnel, they get there feeling cold, wet and exhausted. They must then get past six huge fences, while avoiding the police and their dogs, and jump on a train.

If they fail, they must take another three-hour walk back to the camp – an all-nighter. We were told 3-5 people die each week in the tunnel or on the way to it. “Lucky ones” come back with a broken leg or arm.

As often with humanitarian aid, some of the goods and support received are unnecessary. When helping vulnerable people, anyone with the best intentions must think sensibly about what might be needed.

In this case it is winter (warm and/or waterproof) clothes and shoes, blankets, toiletries, nutritive and/or non-perishable food, bilingual dictionaries, books in Urdu, Farsi, Sorani, Arabic, etc (bear in mind that many migrants are still traumatised by their journey and/or their life back home), torches, portable lights, gas stoves…

To help from Bristol or in Calais, whether you wish to donate money, goods or time, I recommend going through one of the humanitarian actors involved in the camp rather than acting on your own.

This strengthens coordination, avoids unwanted support and optimises efficiency. If you do visit the camp, be aware you might find it much more upsetting than you’d think, and that you might catch, as two admirable women I met put it, “jungle fever” – namely a constant desire to go back and do more.

Clémentine Dugrands is a freelance translator who went to Calais to volunteer with The Kitabna Project.