Child's Play

Skipping (jumping rope) in our tiny yard at the Orange House

Some of you may know that while I can happily and creatively work with young children some of the time, I can’t do it full time: I need my adults, too!  So, luckily, the “School” program I’ve offered to take over in partnership with the young German volunteer Sophia is only two hours five mornings a week, 12 noon to 2pm. I’ve also decided, though, to make myself available at 4pm for a couple of hours, because that’s when we like to take the children out to the park if we have enough volunteers.  These scheduling considerations radically affect how many and which of the regular six-hour shifts I can now do at the Orange House.  

 “School” is a very loose term: the program was started two weeks ago by two retired schoolteachers from the USA, Mary and Laura, and Sophia and I volunteered to try to keep it going. We’re less academically oriented than the two teachers were, so we’re feeling our way along with identifying farm animals, making cut-out paper owls and masks, and physical activities like skipping (jumping rope) and brief visits to the local playpark. Suggestions for simple, cheap kids’ crafts are welcome.

You might wonder why these school-age kids are not in an actual school. The answer seems to be that the process of enrolling refugee children in Greek schools is long and tedious, and lack of immunizations has to be remedied before enrollment. Zaatar, the organization that runs the Orange House, is working on getting our resident children into school, but no definite date is in sight yet.

In the meantime, our students are a mixed bunch: the serious students – mean the ones who come for pretty much the whole session – range in age from about 7 to about 12 years old. Peripheral students who pop in for a few minutes now and then include both younger and older siblings.  

Sahar hanging in the park with a little help from Sophia

Sahar is a regular: she’s a sturdy, bubbly eight-year-old from Afghanistan, who loves everyone, or at least clings to everyone, indiscriminately. She lives here in the Orange House with her mother. So, too, does Tareek, from Syria, small for his age at 12, moody, but always ready to help and a useful and willing interpreter - his English is the best of the bunch.  

Those two are residents, but we also welcome other children, many of them left with us while their parents  attend language classes here at the Orange House.

There’s clutch of lovely Syrian girls and boys: Rawan, Haia; Taema; Jude; Almar; Mohammed(spellings are approximate) and a whole other gang of boys, also Syrian, who can be unruly, which is not pleasant in the confined and echoing premises of the Orange House. That’s why we need to take them out sometimes!

Sadly, the Orange House has only a tiny “outdoor” yard, hemmed in by high buildings and not suitable even for kicking a ball around.  So we try to go out every afternoon and sometimes in the morning too, to one of three local parks, each of which has a different character: large, small and football (soccer).

Yesterday at 4pm, Sophia and I set out, accompanied by a new Greek volunteer, Sotiria, and very quiet Syrian mother called Rawa carrying a two-month-old baby and leading her shy five-year-old daughter. Our pack of kids numbered seven (eight with the baby) which is the sort of adult:child ratio we aspire to and often fall short of.   We had Ali; Mohammed; two Tareeks; Sahar and Haia as well as little Noor and her baby brother.

We walked through Exarchia Square, the central point of the Athenian anarchist movement and always a colorful experience, especially at night with the bonfires; then up a very steep sort-of pedestrianized street where you have to watch out for the ubiquitous Athenian motor scooters.

Cut and paste is a perennial favorite:
Mohammed is making paper baby owls for our mural

 

The (football) park we were headed for is on the slopes of Streffi Hill, an unkempt rocky outcrop just north of the center of Athens, networked by paths and heavily fouled by dogs as all the streets and green spaces round here are. The approach to the park is up some very long, steep flights of steps. These, and the tree-lined alleys they intersect, present picturesque vistas, but I could see that poor Rawa found the climb difficult though she didn’t complain. She was holding the baby tucked under one arm – I’d asked if she had a stroller, but she’d indicated no, she’d just carry the baby.

So we sat and moderated the children’s play for an hour: the younger volunteers Sotiria and Sophia engaging with ball play and skipping and keeping track of kids wandering between play park and ball-play area, while Rawa and I sat and took turns holding the baby.

Eventually the warm March sun began to sink; the kids began to tire. We headed back down steps and slopes, through the square to the sanctuary of the Orange House. Parents were emerging from lessons, children were being whisked off to other classes, other lessons at other centers. One group of kids at least had had their daily dose of outdoor play.  

Hassan learns geography via jigsaw puzzle.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mycenaean Gold

I hadn’t planned to write another post so soon, but it turns out that I am in Athens, just a stone’s
throw, literally a three-minute walk, from the Greek National Museum of Archeology. This museum just happens, strangely enough, to contain what must be the best and biggest collection of Greek antiquities in the world.

So, since I’m not working at the Orange House until 10pm today, I strolled over to the impressive building that is the museum this morning, paid my five Euro entrance fee, walked into the first gallery and was totally blown away. Captivated, I think, would be the best description.
 
Beautifully displayed and amazingly well lit, the treasures of the Mycenaean civilization, dating back three or four thousand years, fill many display cases. When I say well lit, I mean they’ve made it possible for visitors to take photos, even with the humble iPhone, without reflection, and the glass of the cases is so clean and clear I frequently bumped my nose against it as I moved in to get a closer look at decorated vases, carved signet rings or anthropomorphic figurines (of course the bumping could have had something to do with my eyesight).

I walked around open mouthed: the death mask that Heinrich Schliemann declared to be the face of Agamemnon was here! In a further gallery a young boy galloped on a huge horse, cast in bronze more than 2,000 years ago and rescued from the sea to thrill awestruck twenty-first century visitors.

The place is stunning!

 

Here’s a brief gallery:

 

 

 

 

 

Gold funeral mask, from the royal shaft graves at Mycenae, about 1500 BCE

(Not really Agamemnon, too old)

 



 

        Gold body wrap for a dead infant, also from the royal shaft graves at Mycenae, about 1500 BCE

 



Oh, yes, all the descriptions are in English as well as Greek! What a gift!

This sword, buried with its owner, was deliberately bent so that the sword, too, would be “dead”.

 

 

There’s a whole lot more, of course from many periods, not just Mycenaean. My visit to the museum reminded me of the many happy hours I’d spent in the Welsh National Museum (Amgueddfa Genedlaethol Cymru - just to show I remember the Welsh!) as a child. I learned a lot there, just wandering unchecked from exhibit to exhibit.  It was good to see several groups of well-behaved Greek school children viewing their national treasures in their museum  today.  I wonder if they’ll be moved to come back alone in later life and gawp at the treasures as I did today.

 

 

 

     

 

 

So, Julia, what exactly are you doing in Athens?

So far - and this is day seven - I’ve worked six shifts at the Orange House and had one day off when I visited the island of Aegina.

This is me at the Temple of Aphaea on the island of Aegina.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Orange House is a small residential shelter and community center for refugees. Twenty people live here, all women and children under 18. They’re from Syria, Afghanistan, Cameroon and Sierra Leone. They live on the upper two floors of the house and come down into the community center area for language classes, to go in and out and, in the case of the children, to play and hang out with volunteers. The children are not at present enrolled in Greek schools: that’s being worked on.

 

Volunteer Mohammed opening the door.

 Many other people come in and out all day, so volunteers are ever alert for the doorbell – or people banging on the door if the bell isn’t working – because we need to keep an eye on who’s coming in. Two volunteers are scheduled 10 am to 4pm and two are scheduled 4pm to 10pm, but there are often others present too, sometimes for particular reasons and sometimes for no reason. There’s an overnight shift, too, very quiet, 10pm to 2am, which I haven’t done yet.

 

 Every day is different: people arrive in waves, especially just before classes: I open the door to beautifully serious teenage Syrian girls carrying their German notebooks; to elderly gentlemen coming for English conversation; to shy young men hoping someone will be present who understands their language, to families with babies and young children, and to various representatives of different organizations working with Zaatar, the organization that runs the Orange House. We’re meant to inquire politely of visitors what their business is but sometimes it’s a guessing game, especially when you’re new and can’t tell a refugee from a volunteer from a teacher! After all, it’s not emblazoned on their foreheads! And the situation is complicated because there are several volunteers who are refugees themselves.

 

 

Me with team from another organization: Goodwill Caravan.
They arrived like Santa Claus at 9pm with sacks
full of fresh fruit and vegetables.
They were mostly British.

The door is kept locked; people entering are monitored; I will not tell you the address of the Orange House, nor of the volunteer apartment where I’m staying, nor will I post any identifiable photographs of refugees. Why? Because there are people in Athens, as there are everywhere, who dislike and even target refugees and those who work with them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But, then, there are also plenty of people who accept and help. Athens is full of refugees, but I’m sure we were still noticeable as we walked through the streets to the Acropolis Museum today. We’d been offered free tickets, so a motley bunch of volunteers and refugees took a half-hour walk to the magnificent modern building that houses thousands of items from the Acropolis and offers a spectacular view of Athens.

 

 

Our group of 16 ranged in age from Sahar who is eight, to me, the oldest. It included people from Syria, Afghanistan; Guinea, Mauritania, Spain, Germany, New Zealand and USA/UK (that’s me). We had a blast! Everyone seemed to enjoy it, and there was a lot of laughter. Knowing that these are people who’ve suffered dislocation and trauma made their enjoyment poignant to me.

 

Chess at the Orange House

Over the past 20+ years, I’ve experienced several different nodes on the refugee continuum: I’ve been part of an aid delivery team to refugee camps in Croatia in 1995 and ’96;  I’ve worked with refugees settled in Vermont; last summer I volunteered  at the extraordinary Jungle camp in Calais where thousands of migrants and refugees gathered with the express purpose of stowing away on lorries to England, and now at the Orange House I’m seeing the day-to-day life of people stuck in the limbo that is Greece, a country where refugees are marooned,  hoping and planning their next step, waiting patiently or impatiently for documents, passports, papers and visas, suffering rejection or rejoicing in acceptance of asylum applications.

 

So what am I doing here? Spending hours deeply focused on conversations with English learners; playing card games, doing puzzles or cutting and pasting paper and card creations with the children; trying to take the youngsters out to the park as often as possible; welcoming visitors and directing them to classes; just trying to communicate, to help people relax.

 

 Saturday evening I’m scheduled to lead a Circle Dance. I have no idea how many people will turn up, or how it will be received, but I’m preparing what I hope will be an appropriate program and I’ll trust the outcome to luck and good will. There seems to be quite a lot of that about.

 

Some photos of the Orange House follow:




Kitchen



Patio

Big Room decorated for Valentine's Day

Bathroom

Classroom

Library corner of Big Room



Other end of Big Room, with volunteer.



 

An Avian Omen

I had thought that my next post would be from Greece, but something happened just before I left that I want to share with you.

I was rather anxious about the whole adventure, uncertain of where I was headed, so on the day I was due to leave I took a little time to walk in my sister’s garden – I was staying at her home in England – to calm my mind and to ask the Universe to help me approach the coming challenge with grace. Spring flowers were just beginning to bloom in the garden: snowdrops, a few early crocuses and even a violet or two. I wandered around, and came near the fence along the side of the garden. It’s a six-foot high palisade fence with overlapping vertical wooden slats.

As I approached, a blackbird fluttered against the fence. I thought it was just taking flight and I wondered if it was nest-building in the garden. Now the blackbird, you may know, is the prime songster in English gardens at this time of year, and it’s a handsome bird: a little larger than an American robin, entirely jet black with a vivid yellow beak and a yellow ring around each eye. Blackbirds are a delight for the ears and the eyes!

Here's a photograph I took of a blackbird
at the Findhorn Foundation in Scotland in 2013

But this one didn’t take off; it just flapped against the fence and as I approached I saw that it had managed to trap one of it legs between two of the slats. It was firmly stuck, and panicking. I approached and reached out to help it. The first thing it did was to peck me with that magnificent yellow beak, just once, and it didn’t do any harm. I clasped the bird gently, holding both wings in to the body. It shrieked, then grew calm. It must have taken me about a minute, cradling the little feathered body, to push and pull the slats of the fence far enough apart to release the foot. The instant its foot came free, it took off, escaping my grasp and disappearing into the nearest hedge. I found it greatly satisfying to see it fly free.

I have rarely, if ever, in my life had the privilege of really helping a wild bird, so I couldn’t help feeling that this was a sign from the Universe, a good omen to overlight my Greek adventure.

The Calais Jungle, August/September 2016

I seem to have found a bit of a new direction in life in that I've discovered how to spend time volunteering with refugee support projects in Europe. I started out with three weeks in Calais France in August/September 2016 and I'm following that with a stint in Greece Feb - April 2017, about which more later.

While in Calais I wrote a rough journal which I share below as the first post to my "Refuge in Europe" blog. I know some of you have already read this material - however, I've added photos here on the blog.

The Jungle camp was disbanded and demolished about a month after I left it, so my Jungle photos show a place that no longer exists.  HelpRefugees continues to do just that in  France and Greece.

Notes from Calais: Aug 15 – Sept 6, 2016

Day 1:

Date: Aug 15, 2016 9:57 PM

 Auberge de Jeunesse, Youth Hostel, Calais, France:  home for three weeks. Arrived safely, journey went well. Youth Hostel is fine. Made two nice friends both called Katy! I spent much of the day talking with English learners from Sudan, Ethiopia, Syria and Afghanistan in one of the schools in the refugee camp, because I don't start at the warehouse until tomorrow.   Phone does not work so I have to communicate via email.   I will stay here three weeks.   Hostel is right by the sandy beach - looks nice!

Day 2:

My first day working in the warehouse today. Sorting clothes and mostly packing toiletries into "welcome packs"!  I volunteered for jobs that wouldn't tax my injured right wrist too much.

The place is phenomenal! It's a well-organized operation run by volunteers on a lot of love and compassion and direct experience of people's needs in the "Jungle" - yes, that's what the Calais refugee camp is called. It's amazing to see how it all works, there's a lot of goodwill about.



Photo not by me! Overview of part of the warehouse: clothes sorting.
There was much more, including a kitchen producing 2,000 hot meals daily.
Hygiene section is at top right of photo between two sets of shelves

Day 3:

I wasn't certain before I came that I could do useful work here, but I find that I can. It's a well-run organization, entirely volunteer and the warehouse processes huge amounts of clothing, food and other donations. They make hot meals for at least 2,000 people every day (population of the camp is said to be over 9,000 people.)  I'm mostly working in the small "Hygiene" department; I volunteered for that because it seemed possible given the limited use I have of my right hand because of the still healing break of my right wrist.

We process, unpack and sort donations of toothbrushes, soap, shampoo, diapers, and other toiletries. We make up "welcome" packs (a bit it ironic, that!) that go out daily to refugees, and we keep a stock of items that the "mobile distribution" teams can pick up when needed - they go to various parts of the camp and find out what people need, then come back with a list, load up and deliver the next day, so it's personalized, not random.

There's also a growing collection at the back of our section of items for "women's pamper day" (nothing to do with diapers) when "luxury" items like perfume and make up, earplugs(!) eye masks and hair gel are distributed: I don't know how that's managed.

 Volunteers come and go: some are here for a day or a few days, some for weeks or months. Everyone seems to be working hard.

Day 4: Morning

I have time to catch up today because I’m doing a later day (10:30 to 7:30ish, probably) at Jungle Books again, Katy is taking me there for the day.



Katy drove me from my sister's house in Petersfield over to Calais.
She's staying t the Youth Hostel, too. 
Katy's a qualified English teacher and took me to Jungle Books with her.
We don't take identifiable photos of refugees,
so I asked her to pose outside the Jungle Books library for me.

Spent the day at the Jungle Books language school, which is just on the edge of the big camp. Very intense, having consecutive conversations with young men from Sudan, Eritrea and Iran. They are very keen to learn so the initial approach is, from either one of us: “English?” (because Jungle Books also teaches French), then “Are you here for a lesson?” because there are “formal” lessons given by qualified teachers all day 11am – 7pm. If not, then we get into student-guided conversation. Sometimes they have a book they want to read from, some work sheets they’re going through or a particular request like “phrasal verbs?” (whatever they might be!)

 

The entrance to Jungle Books.

 



The Coptic Christian Church next door.

 So, gradually, I find out roughly what standard of English they’re at and we settle into a conversation about weather, counting in English, colors, telling the time or comparative adjectives. Time goes quickly, I’m finding I usually spend 60-90 minutes per conversation. We may read a story or a comprehension passage and then discuss that. Reading a traditional story from some other country is a good prelude to asking the student to tell me a story from his own country.

 

A good lunch is served during the day and a tea/coffee bus visits near Jungle Books. It’s an independent church-run effort that turns up every day to give out free hot drinks.  The toilets are Port-o-lets and not very pleasant.

Lesson at Jungle Books

 



Evening conversation practice overflows onto dunes

As evening approaches a lot more volunteers turn up and the conversations overflow from the “classroom” area and the picnic tables onto the dunes beyond. The camp is established in a large area of wild dune and scrub land adjacent to the port of Calais where boats leave constantly for England.  The refugees are here because they want to be on those boats.

 

Day 5

Back to the warehouse.

Worked in Hygiene. Started out with Laurel from Canada but she went off to do something else. This happens often – people come and go. Ended up working quite a lot with Sherry who lives in Cornwall but is from USA! Ours is a North American section!

Day 6:

Walked out on harbor groyne this morning early. A long way out. Must do it sometime when the ferries are heading out.

Sunrise in Calais

 

Hygiene again. Far fewer volunteers at warehouse today – Saturday – I was alone a lot of the day in Hygiene. People get taken away to go into the camp to do things. Hope I get chosen sometime!



Hotel de Ville and giant blue snail

Had to take bus home. We have to change buses at Theater, but I walked the rest of the way because it’s down the main street, past Hotel de Ville, quite interesting. It takes about 20 minutes if you don’t linger.

 

Day 7, Sunday August 21.

Decided today that Hygiene could do without me, so I started off in dry foods instead. We make up packs of specific foodstuffs which go to either two or five people for a week. Meals are often provided in the Jungle, but having some supplies enables to people to cook for themselves if they wish to, and can.

A bag for five people contains (as far as I remember):

3 cans tomatoes

3 cans beans
I liter cooking oil
One packet of cookies
Five onions
5 lbs. potatoes
50 black tea bags
250 grams sugar
Small bag of fajita spice
Small bag of salt
Sometimes a bag of rice
2 liters milk (this is the UHT type that doesn’t require refrigeration until opened)

I believe we send bags out every day except Sunday, to different people. I don’t know half of what goes on here, I’ve only scratched the surface in the week I’ve been here.

Met a man from Brattleboro, VT today. He spends 9 or 10 months every year on volunteering like this. He’s working in the wood yard where scrap wood, like pallets, is cut up into firewood lengths for refugees in the Jungle to use.



Clothes sorting

In the afternoon I helped sort clothes. Many tons of clothing are donated but only a fairly small

Scale for measuring donated clothing
 (you can't trust the manufacturer's sizes!)

proportion of it is actually sent into the camp.  The rest goes to other charities. This is because needs are very specific. Of the 9000+ people in the Jungle, more than 8,000 are men, mostly young men. A lot of women’s and very large men’s clothing is donated, and not needed. Also, we send only clean clothing in good condition into the camp, because it’s considered disrespectful to offer people stained, frayed, damaged or broken clothing.

 

Pretty tired at the end of the day, and I’ve developed a cold. I’m going to take tomorrow, Monday, off, for a rest, laundry, get some cold medication and take stock. Beginning to cast out feelers about traveling back to UK around Sept 6, as I have nothing organized so far.

 

Day 8, Monday Aug 22:

I took a DAY OFF! Sorted various things, bought food, got myself a French cellphone so I can now talk to my family in US and UK!

Day 9, Tues Aug 23

Back to the Warehouse. Volunteered today to help sort children’s clothing. We’ve had far too much donated and we’re boxing it up to go to a sister warehouse in Greece, where there are a lot of refugee children. The Jungle in Calais has a very small proportion of children – must be less than 5% of the 9,000+ inhabitants. There are many more in Greece.

 
 

 

We had a really good team, lots of fun and cooperation as we checked, sorted and boxed endless piles of kids’ clothing. The camaraderie is high in a situation like this.

Today I changed my room at the Hostel: my previous lovely room-mate, Katie, was heading back to Edinburgh, and I’m now sharing with Ruth from London who seems lovely too – she’s just gone off for a swim!

Day 10, Weds, Aug 24

Went back to sorting children’s clothes for Greece because I thought it a good idea to progress that project. Good team again but still a mountain to get through!

Very hot (high 80s F I should think), but OK in the lofty warehouse.  I have a cold and a cough so not feeling 100%, but the day passed quickly anyway.

Did I mention lunch? It’s served to volunteers every day and is good rice and a vegetarian dish and a chopped salad. Same as the 2,000 meals that go into the camp!

More communication frustration this evening as my new French cellphone is out of minutes. I don’t know how that happened: I thought I had made only toll-free calls, but what do I know about such things?

Day 11, Thurs Aug 25

More kids’ clothes sorting. A word about warehouse organization: Help Refugees is an all-volunteer organization as far as I can see. There’s a constant turnover of volunteer staff in the warehouse, some people staying only a day or two, some for many months.  Information and instructions are passed from person to person.  There’s a cohort of perhaps 20 longer-term volunteers who wear orange high-visibility vests instead of the yellow ones the rest of us wear, and they are the go-to people. So, if I have a question, I find “an orange” to ask! “Oranges” also change from time to time.

Another new room-mate: Georgia from London. We’re working for a British organization so the volunteers are mostly British although there are also Spanish, Portuguese, French, German, Dutch and other nationalities.  Most of the people in the Jungle are there because they wish to seek asylum in the UK, so many Brits feel that the situation in Calais is a British problem and they are very angry with the UK government for not doing more to help.

 Internet in hostel is not working. Feel very cut-off!

 Day 12, Friday Aug 26

Here's the van I drove,
parked outside the mosque in the middle of the Jungle.
I waited with the van while the team made deliveries.

I finally plucked up courage to volunteer to drive! So I drove an ancient Ford transit van (on the right because this is France, with the steering wheel also on the right because it’s a British vehicle!)  into the Jungle, with the kitchenware team. They visit refugee tents and find out what people need in the way of cooking pots, plates, etc., make up an “order”, identify the recipient by tent number and take a mobile phone number if possible, then go back to the warehouse, make up the order and a few days later take it back into the Jungle and attempt to deliver it. We took about 20 bags of donated kitchenware to deliver in the camp today and managed to track down about 15 recipients. The others we just couldn’t contact.  We’ll try again Sunday, and also take some more deliveries then.

Regular clothes distributions happen here

These new arrivals have picked up sleeping bags
 from the welcome caravan (caravan = trailer in British)

 

I had to drive very slowly through the Jungle. It’s a maze of tents of all kinds and people don’t get out of the way of vehicles very readily. First gear most of the way! There are small shops and restaurants run by refugees as well as distribution points and kitchens run by non-profit organizations; there are schools, mosques and at least one church, too.

 

We had deliveries on board for specific people, but others would come to see what we were giving out, and maybe place an order.  One member of our team spoke French and one Arabic in addition to English, but still communication could be difficult because some of the refugees understand none of those languages.

 

Day 13, Saturday August 27, 2016

Plan is to go to Jungle Books with Katy today at noon.

I managed to get onto the Internet at the Tourist Office in town for 20 minutes this morning and get some important work done!

At Jungle Books I talked with groups of young men from Sudan and Afghanistan, one from Chad and one from Pakistan. They’re all different and all anxious to learn English. One group of six Sudanese spent about two hours with me exploring the past, present and future of English verbs and asking one another questions like: “What are you doing today?” and “What will you do tomorrow?”  They seemed to enjoy it.

I also spoke with two men from Afghanistan. One spoke quite good English, one very little. I really felt for the older one, 26, who spoke little English but seemed to be a well-educated and respected man as evidenced by his friend’s attitude toward him. It must be very hard for a man like that to become a beginner again, learning to say “My shirt is white” and “Your hat is red” among scrabbled-together buildings in a dune field in France.

After work Katy and I and several other volunteers walked into the main camp – just five minutes away, to go to a restaurant for dinner. Yes, in this impromptu community of 9,000 souls there are shops and restaurants. We went to Welcome Restaurant, run by an Afghan man called Hafiz.  We sat outside around tables on an elevated platform and watched the sun set over a small lake immediately beside us. It was strangely beautiful and incongruous. The food: shared plates of cooked spinach, eggs, rice and beans eaten with unleavened bread, was delicious and the sweet chai served after the meal was marvelous.

I’ve felt better these past two days – did you realize that I was feeling a bit tired and depressed? Maybe it’s because my cold has passed over, leaving just a nasty “Jungle cough” behind – most people with coughs here attribute them to the dust blown up in the Jungle – or it may be because of the change of work – out of the warehouse into the real word of the camp. I almost gave up and decided to come home with Katy September 1, but I’ve reconsidered and I’ll stay, as originally intended, until Sept 6 – it’s a short enough time, anyway.

 Day 14, Sunday August 28, 2016

 Good news today is that the truck for Greece arrived and filled up yesterday so all the children's clothes we sorted, plus many more items, are on their way to refugees in Greece!

Drove another delivery for mobile distribution today, kitchenware again. This time we took 26 bags into the Jungle and distributed 21 to their intended recipients, which is a really excellent achievement.

We parked for much of the time outside a Mosque beside an operation called Kitchen in Calais. The proprietor came out to talk to me as I stood guard by the van. He is a retired Malaysian engineer who lives in England. He and his wife came to volunteer in the Jungle for a week and have stayed so far 11 months. They saw a need and set up a food operation – non-profit, using donated food and money to serve up to 1500 hot meals a day, and sometimes an afternoon snack as well, said Jamal’s wife, Sophinee (Names approximate) who told me a lot about her family: their three college-age children are at home in the north of England, while the 13-year-old is living and learning with his parents in the Jungle.

Sophinee said that they really need long-term volunteers, people able to stay at least a month, to learn how to prepare the meals. They mostly need strong people because the work is quite heavy.  They have accommodation right there in the kitchen compound. It sounds to me like a really good volunteer opportunity. Today they were cooking chicken curry and rice for 1500.

 Link to article about these people: 

http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/europe/refugee-crisis-calais-migrant-camp-asylum-seekers-france-how-to-help-malaysia-couple-a7216716.html

 

In the afternoon the “mobile distribution” team loaded up the van with large bags of household goods, everything from toothbrushes and matches through prayer mats to sleeping bags and large water containers. Everything was sorted into bags for specific recipients. I drove it to the camp, with two companions. The rest of the distribution team were coming in the minibus. 

We always have to stop at a police check point as we drive in; the other two times I did this they just asked for our permit, looked briefly in the back of the van and waved us through. This time, in addition to the permit and my ID/driver’s license, they asked for the vehicle’s papers. We looked, but there were none.

So they made us unload the entire van. Underneath all the bags were three small wooden pallets and two small sheets of chipboard which were intended for making beds. These, the police officers decided, were “construction materials” which we were not permitted to take into the camp. They confiscated them and denied us entry to the camp because of this and because of not having the vehicle papers. We returned to the warehouse and filled out incident forms. A different van and driver will take the delivery, minus pallets, to the camp tomorrow. It was frustrating, but I can’t help thinking that we were lucky not to be fined for not carrying registration papers – that’s what would happen in the USA, after all!

 I don’t know if the people who loaded the van knew about the prohibition on construction materials –apparently the rules change with the wind, especially on weekends – but I hope they don’t try that again! Most of the police officers were perfectly courteous although the one in charge was a bit truculent and spoke rather aggressively, which wasn’t necessary as we were perfectly calm and compliant. My companions, Sarah-Louise and Rebecca, very cleverly took down the badge numbers of a couple of the officers so we could identify them in our incident report.

Lauren, the team leader, later apologized to me for the presence of the pallets, so I guess they knew their presence might cause trouble.

Following photos are views of Jungle accommodation.

 

 

Day 15, August 29, 2016, beginning of my last week here. Still not sure how I’m getting back to England!

More of the same with the police today! I drove a larger van, with less stuff in it, for kitchen delivery. Visited Jamal and Sophinee and saw the inside of their Kitchen in Calais – impressive – such dedicated people!

After distribution, on the way out, we were stopped at the checkpoint because one of my passengers hadn’t fastened her seatbelt! AAAArgh!  It was a situation where the police were looking for a reason to stop you so that they could look for other infractions. It was the same police officer in charge as yesterday. They looked at our documents, looked in the back of van – mostly empty – asked for our emergency red triangle which vehicles are required to carry (we had it), looked at the vehicle documents and decided that one document was not correct because part of it was filled in in ink instead of having been printed out and that the photocopy of the insurance we had in this (rental) van should have been the real thing. At least we had accomplished our task and were on the way out.
 

The fine for the seat belt infraction and document irregularities is apparently 300 Euros. No physical ticket was issued. We don’t know whether it will actually be levied, or whether anything else will happen: lawyers working for our charity organization have taken all the details and will go from there. Apparently the particular police officer who conducted both the stops I was involved in has stopped several vans in the past few days.

Of course the police need to keep an eye on vehicles going in and out of an unofficial 9,000-person camp, but the two stops I’ve been involved in seem rather petty. I’m hoping I’m not jinxed! I’ll try again tomorrow if they let me.

The police patrolling the port and guarding the entrances to the camp are not local Calais police, but CRS, which is a special branch of the French national police trained in riot control and other emergency work.

Came back to hostel early and – oh joy! Internet is working again. I seem to have found a lift back to England Sept 6.

 Day 16, Tuesday August 30

 I drove into the Jungle camp three times today: once for kitchenware distribution, once just into the southern part of the camp for distributing supplies to two schools and a few other people, and the last time, quite late in the day, to pick up some clothes that had not been distributed because of a disturbance in the camp.  There was a stabbing in the afternoon: apparently it was part of the continued unrest between the Afghani and Sundanese communities here. One of our distribution volunteers administered first aid. I haven’t been able to find many details, although I did talk with two of the team involved, but not present at the incident, when I drove them in to collect the clothing they hadn’t distributed.  Ambulances don’t come actually into the camp, so when the paramedics arrived they came in on foot, leaving the ambulance outside. I have not heard that the victim died.

We had no trouble with the CRS at either entrance to the camp today.

Day 17, Wednesday August 31, 2016

Two of our vans are now off the road because the CRS has found fault with their documentation, one other van has a broke windscreen and one went to Lille to collect vegetables, so there was no vehicle for me to drive today! Volunteers with cars drove the mobile distribution teams into the camp. One team of volunteers had their personal bags searched by CRS.

I was at the warehouse all day sorting clothes. It’s quite tiring, but not unpleasant and the time passes quickly.

The whole situation around the Jungle has been a continuing problem for the town of Calais, and the French and UK governments for many years now. The firsts migrants set up camp on this dune field and former landfill beside Calais’s very busy channel port in 1999. The crossing from Calais to Dover is the shortest route across the English Channel, only about 20 miles. Calais is also the French terminus of the Channel Tunnel. I’m sure you can Google the whole history of the place if you want to know more.

Day 18, Thursday Sept 1.

Today I witnessed something I’d seen only on video before, something made me feel very sad and distressed.

I was working in Jungle Books with a Sudanese student when we heard a noise in the distance which soon resolved itself into police sirens and people shouting.  We left the Jungle Books compound to see what was happening.

We were in an area of the Jungle which is open dune land – that’s because all the refugee dwellings on the south side of the camp were demolished in March by the French government, leaving only schools and churches. So we walked out and toward the main camp. That means we were looking directly at the AutoRoute (Motorway, Interstate) about 75 yards away, which takes vehicles to the port, to the ships to England. That’s why the camp is here: people are trying to get on those ships. The AutoRoute is now fenced with double ten-foot-high wire fences topped with razor wire. I’m told the fences were paid for by the British government.

 Some photos of the fences, taken from the main road,outside the Jungle:

 

 

 

Apparently, whenever the traffic stops on the AutoRoute, when there’s a traffic jam, which is rare, refugees try to board trucks. It usually happens at night but this was broad daylight.

As we walked toward the AutoRoute bridge I saw smoke and smelled what I thought was tires burning. A group of about 20 men ran away to our left toward the fence, away from the police cars. “They have wire cutters” said my companion.  The men clustered at the fence and soon I saw some of them running on the AutoRoute and climbing onto trucks. All this time, several police (CRS) cars and vans were clustered at the AutoRoute flyover directly ahead of us.

Tear gas canister: my foot for scale

I saw men running both ways on the AutoRoute, and then some back to the camp. I saw police cars catching up with them and I saw several of the refugees climbing up on top of the big container trucks and being driven away as the traffic jam cleared.  The smell was tear gas, which made me back up a bit! Just a whiff of that is enough to send you running! Some canisters were set off just upwind of the group of men at the fence; it drifted to them and they ran back into the camp.

It was very moving to see this group effort among people who knew that maybe only a few, or one or two, or none of them would actually succeed in getting through the fence, onto a truck, onto the ferry and off onto UK soil.  The people in the camp, including me, just stood and watched, a little bit excited but mainly calm, some rooting for the escape attempt.

I wondered, also, what the truck drivers were doing. Did they know that they had refugees on top?

The word in the Jungle is that about 10 refugees a night - or I've also heard 200 a week - actually get across to England by stowing away on trucks. I asked some of the men how they knew that people succeeded and they said that the successful ones called from England. Some men try every night. That's why the camp is so quiet in the mornings - they work nights trying to board trucks, and sleep in the mornings.

 Day 19, Friday Sept 2:

Quiet day at the warehouse today sorting clothes. I was asked to make up some special orders for named women and children in the Jungle. Tried to pick out the best items I could: I hope they fit and the recipients like them!

 A little rain this evening. It’s mostly been fine since I’ve been here.

 

Day 20, Saturday Sept 3:

New roomie Nicole from London arrived at 12:30am!

 Spent the day in the warehouse sorting clothes again. MP (Member of Parliament – that’s like a Congress person) Stella Creasey (Labour - Walthamstow) visited with an entourage and donations and I spoke for a while with some of her group. 

 Midwife Vanessa told me about new age communities in Orgiva, Spain, and I spoke at lunch with a volunteer who’s been here nearly a year, a traveler man who does a lot of the plant engineering work for the warehouse. He takes a very paternal attitude to the whole project. He spoke about how easy it is to travel around and just sleep in a hammock on building sites! Both of these conversations make me want to become a traveler! I mean one who travels as a lifestyle.

 Day 21, Sunday Sept 4.

Me as an orange

 I was elevated to orange status today!  Guess I’ve been here long enough that they think I know the answers to some questions!

Sorting clothes all day. Everyone is wondering what will happen tomorrow. We’ve been asked to arrive at the warehouse before 9am, then they’ll close the gates and doors that usually stand open. They’ve asked people not to bring donations tomorrow.  Help Refugees will serve hot food in the Jungle at lunch time as usual but, won’t distribute clothing or anything else tomorrow.

 Met Ramona, an artist from Glastonbury

 Day 22, Monday Sept 5

We kept a low profile at the warehouse. There were more volunteers present than usual as those who usually go into the camp stayed “home” and we were joined by a few volunteers from other organizations who decided not to go into camp today.

I’m sure the blockade caused problems for motorists and hauliers traveling across the Channel, but it was much smaller than expected. Our minivan, driven by volunteer Paul, bringing in some volunteers in from one of the campsites was accosted by demonstrators and forced to turn around. They drove in by a different, longer, route.  The same van was also prevented by demonstrators from entering the Jungle, but, again, they found a different route in.

 Ramona cooked dinner for us in her van this evening.

 Day 23, Tuesday Sept 6

My last day at the warehouse, sorting clothes again. Ironically a couple of opportunities for me to go into the Jungle to work today and tomorrow opened up but I had to decline them. So I’ve spent my last five days here sorting clothes in the warehouse!

 Drove back to England via Eurotunnel in a Land Rover with Donna Leech and five other people.

Inside the Eurotunnel train.

The cars drive onto a train and are transported under the Channel.  Unfortunately our train was 90 minutes late because of an accident, so I didn’t get back to Petersfield until 11:30pm.

 So, that’s the end of the Calais adventure.

 I’ve learned a lot about life in the Jungle and about the refugee situation in Europe in general, and I’ve come home intending to engage in some way with the many refugees who have settled in Burlington.

 

The End