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Calais: Where Worlds Collide Having seen the news coverage of the migrant camps in Calais I felt a compulsion to see them with my own eyes and hear first hand about the lives of people living there. I’d be lying to say I wasn’t slightly apprehensive about going and wondered whether it would be a safe place for me to visit. However, this apprehension was counterbalanced by a pressing need to know more about the situation there. On arriving at the ferry port I got a bus into the town centre. On route, I passed several groups of migrants. It was as if two separate worlds had collided, with holidaymakers travelling in one direction and migrants seeking to travel in the other. I set off on foot towards The Jungle (the name adopted by the residents of the largest migrant camp in Calais). I noted that some parts of Calais had seen better days as I passed abandoned buildings and run down hotels. However, on the outskirts of Calais I passed through what seemed like a fairly affluent housing estate; surely I was in the wrong place. The houses ended and I entered an industrial park. A long road ran through the industrial park with a trickle of migrants passing in both directions. I followed the road away from the town and gradually saw an increasing number of migrants. As I passed under a road bridge I emerged into The Jungle. There were people everywhere. All of the photographs I had previously seen didn’t prepare me for the physical experience of standing within the camp. I felt some migrants watching me as I entered the camp, it seemed the they were just as apprehensive about me as I might have been about them, and with good reason. Not everyone that enters The Jungle has come with good intentions. I learned later about the far-right groups who had previously visited the site and assaulted a number of migrants. I also learned about the brutality of the French police, a story corroborated by numerous migrants and also my friend who visited three days later and told me about their presence on site with pepper spray in hand. And of course, there are the people smugglers, attempting to extort money from these desperate individuals. As I wandered further into The Jungle I realised I wasn’t in any danger. I struggled to imagine what distress some of these individuals must have experienced to make them want to cross continents in search of a safe haven; they were not looking for trouble. I felt guilty at my initial thoughts of apprehension. A circuitous road runs throughout the camp from which tents stretch out in all directions, spilling over into the dunes and wooded areas. The tents vary in size, dimension and construction; perhaps an indication of how long the inhabitants intend to stay in The
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Calais: Where Worlds Collide

Dec 13, 2015

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Daniel Trivedy

An illustrated account of my trip to the migrant camp in Calais known as The Jungle
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Page 1: Calais: Where Worlds Collide

Calais: Where Worlds Collide

Having seen the news coverage of the migrant camps in Calais I felt a compulsion to see them with my own eyes and hear first hand about the lives of people living there.

I’d be lying to say I wasn’t slightly apprehensive about going and wondered whether it would be a safe place for me to visit. However, this apprehension was counterbalanced by a pressing need to know more about the situation there.

On arriving at the ferry port I got a bus into the town centre. On route, I passed several groups of migrants. It was as if two separate worlds had collided, with holidaymakers travelling in one direction and migrants seeking to travel in the other.

I set off on foot towards The Jungle (the name adopted by the residents of the largest migrant camp in Calais). I noted that some parts of Calais had seen better days as I passed abandoned buildings and run down hotels. However, on the outskirts of Calais I passed through what seemed like a fairly affluent housing estate; surely I was in the wrong place. The houses ended and I entered an industrial park. A long road ran through the industrial park with a trickle of migrants passing in both directions. I followed the road away from the town and gradually saw an increasing number of migrants. As I passed under a road bridge I emerged into The Jungle.

There were people everywhere. All of the photographs I had previously seen didn’t prepare me for the physical experience of standing within the camp.

I felt some migrants watching me as I entered the camp, it seemed the they were just as apprehensive about me as I might have been about them, and with good reason. Not everyone that enters The Jungle has come with good intentions. I learned later about the far-right groups who had previously visited the site and assaulted a number of migrants. I also learned about the brutality of the French police, a story corroborated by numerous migrants and also my friend who visited three days later and told me about their presence on site with pepper spray in hand. And of course, there are the people smugglers, attempting to extort money from these desperate individuals.

As I wandered further into The Jungle I realised I wasn’t in any danger. I struggled to imagine what distress some of these individuals must have experienced to make them want to cross continents in search of a safe haven; they were not looking for trouble. I felt guilty at my initial thoughts of apprehension.

A circuitous road runs throughout the camp from which tents stretch out in all directions, spilling over into the dunes and wooded areas. The tents vary in size, dimension and construction; perhaps an indication of how long the inhabitants intend to stay in The

Page 2: Calais: Where Worlds Collide

Jungle. Most of the tents were inhabited but some appeared abandoned, presumably by those who had successfully made their journey to the UK or elsewhere.

I was struck by one particular tent surrounded by potted plants and flowers. Did these flowers and plants give a sense of normality or perhaps dignity to their residents amidst the chaos?

To call The Jungle a ‘camp’ is perhaps an overstatement and suggests a purpose built facility. In reality, it is disused piece of wasteland that has been increasingly inhabited by migrants.

There is very little infrastructure within The Jungle apart from one enclosed compound (left).The French authorities provide one meal a day for the residents from this compound and offer accommodation to a small number of women and children there. About 95% of the residents within The Jungle live outside of this compound.

Apart from this limited infrastructure and a handful of portable toilets there are very few other facilities within The Jungle; life remains rudimentary.

Page 3: Calais: Where Worlds Collide

I saw several migrants collecting or carrying wood, presumably to make fires to cook on. I was acutely aware that these fires would soon be needed for warmth as the winter months approached.

The lack of infrastructure was clearly starting to cause problems and rubbish had started to accumulate at various points across the camp.

In this photograph, migrants are wheeling canisters of water back to their tent that they have filled from a mains pipe that runs through the camp.

Page 4: Calais: Where Worlds Collide

The enterprising and entrepreneurial spirit of migrants is evident throughout the camp. This makeshift shop had been built by one of The Jungle residents and is one of many that can be found on site. The proprietor had previously been a shop owner in his home country of Syria.

Although this makeshift shop tells the tale of innovation in a desperate situation it worryingly suggests a sense of permanence.

As well as individual enterprise, there are also strong notions of community and cooperation throughout The Jungle, as demonstrated by this church built by its residents; a mosque has also been built on the site.

Given the varying backgrounds, languages and religions within the camp, you might expect there to be problems between its various residents. From what I could see, this was simply not the case, a sense of solidarity and camaraderie was palpable.

In the photograph to the left, migrants are gathered around an electricity supply charging their mobile phones.

Page 5: Calais: Where Worlds Collide

Fortunately there were those within the camp who were trying to make life more bearable for its inhabitants. Medicins du Monde had a First Aid tent on site which also served as an information point.

Medicins du Monde also offered Art lessons as a form of therapy to residents within The Jungle. They told me that many residents found these Art lessons extremely beneficial as a form of escapism from their everyday concerns. Furthermore, they acted as a useful instrument to help migrants learn new language skills.

Page 6: Calais: Where Worlds Collide

Clearly, there was some hostility within the town towards the migrants, especially by those who ran businesses. However, there were many other residents that were willing to help. In the image below a local Calais resident is delivering wooden pallets to The Jungle and is distributing them as fairly as he can amongst the migrants.

Despite the harrowing circumstances which surround them I found the residents I had met in the Jungle to be friendly and amiable and extremely appreciative of those willing to help them. For the most part, they retained high spirits and the drive and determination to search for a better life despite the obstacles in their way. Several even managed to make light jokes about their current situation, dire as it was.

I spoke to individuals from Eritrea, Sudan, Syria and Pakistan many of which kindly shared their personal stories, including the reasons why they had left their home countries and their hopes and aspirations for the future. It seems that world affairs, which can often seem so remote and abstract, took on concrete meanings through the personal stories of the residents in The Jungle.

I spoke to a man from Parachinar located on the Pakistan/Afghanistan border who had left his village after ISIS had invaded. As a male nurse, he had seen the mutilated bodies lying within the hospital following an ISIS attack. He told me that he had no option to leave his village, fearing for his life. I asked him why he wanted to travel to the UK and he told me that he had heard that asylum seekers would be well received and given a place of sanctuary. I wish I could have told him that this was categorically the case.