Читать книгу The Migrant Diaries - Lynne Jones - Страница 19

We wake to hail on the windows and local news that the fascists held their banned demonstration yesterday afternoon in town. Twenty of them were arrested.

We have our own encounter with the police this afternoon. Maia from L’Auberge wanted to mark the destruction of the Mosque and a Church last week and plant wildflower seeds in the wide muddy strip that makes our new cordon sanitaire. So, a motley little group of refugees and volunteers head out, clutching our plastic cups full of seeds.

We form a circle. Tom says a few words about remembering all the people who had come through, those who had stayed, and those who had not made it, and we have two minutes of silence. Meanwhile, the sunlight thinks it’s in a Turner painting and lights up the mass of dark grey clouds piling up above the camp, and we all walk across the muddy fields, as our seeds swirl out of the plastic cups in small tornadoes. A cluster of policemen wander down from their spot on the motorway, and, after polite discussion with Maia, tell us we have ten minutes to turn around and walk back whence we came. We do as we are told, while three van loads of police with riot shields form a small cordon to walk behind us. Wildflower seeds, so difficult to deal with, they drift in the wind and spring up anywhere.

I head off to the Women and Children’s tent where Domdom, a retired French computer engineer from Calais, has set up a cinema. A delighted group of small children are watching Kung Fu Panda, with subtitles in four languages. Unfortunately, four teenage boys are bored and unhappy. One holds a long thin piece of metal; another has a knife. They are not threatening anyone, but they keep messing with the computer to the point where Domdom has had enough and shuts it down, to the distress of the smaller ones watching. They are all unaccompanied boys that Liz has taken under her wing. When she is there, they are contained and happy. She manages to provide affection and security, combined with clear boundaries, and they respect her. But when she is away, they run riot. When I suggest disarming them at the door, one of the volunteers snaps at me.

– We have no exclusion policy and we have to look after the most vulnerable children.

– But the most vulnerable are not always the noisiest and most aggressive. These boys are needy in one way, but so are some of the quiet younger ones. It may not be possible to work with them all in one place.

– You don’t work here day after day!

Certainly true. I retreat. The good thing is that a Youth Centre is starting this week. Besides indoor activities, Jess, Ben, Johnny and Jake will be organising boxing, football and cricket matches in the muddy space created by the cordon sanitaire. Hopefully, it will be a more attractive place for these teenagers.

I have found Abdul. After the movie, he and his brother walk me back to his Caravan, untidy as the worst student bedsit, but at least dry and warm. Abdul also has a lawyer trying to track down his relatives in the UK, so he, too, has stopped trying to get onto trains. Just now, he was upset because someone stole his bicycle.

– And too many people have died. People outside the camp are attacking us!