Читать книгу The Migrant Diaries - Lynne Jones - Страница 23

The days run into each other, and it’s hard to remember what I did on which day. The camps are an exercise in not doing the things you thought you were going to do and finding yourself doing something entirely different (but hopefully useful). It might be visiting a child with learning difficulties or one that is being overactive and aggressive. It might be group work with exhausted volunteers. Today, it was group play activities at the caravans the French government have provided as winter accommodation for the most vulnerable women and children. They get food vouchers, but there is no transport and no school, so the children are miserable and bored. One small boy is wailing inconsolably for no apparent reason.

So, we play my favourite games for bored children; ‘Crossing the River’ is great for using up energy. Mark out two lines about twenty feet apart. Line up all the children on one side. Stand in the river looking ferocious and waving your arms like a crocodile, dragon or water snake—whatever is culturally appropriate. Have additional adults play monitor to watch out for falls and scrapes and say ‘go.’ At that point, the children must run across the river without getting caught. Those caught turn into crocodiles and catch more children at the next crossing. It never fails. Children enjoy being crocodiles as much as they do crossing without being caught. I recommend following with quieter games like ‘knots.’ In this game, children must form a circle, put their hands in front of them, close their eyes and walk forwards until each hand has caught another hand. Then they open their eyes, and, keeping hold of the hands, untangle the knot in silence. The magic works here in Dunkirk. Two minutes into the session, the wailing boy is smiling and running.

Afterwards, there’s a discussion group at the Women and Children’s Centre at Grand Synthe. This is a large beautiful yurt-like structure, draped, carpeted and cushioned with a central stove and a tunnel entrance where you can deboot, swing your legs across a bench and enter without bringing mud onto the carpeted floor. Between 1pm and 6pm it’s women and children only. At night, it’s an emergency shelter for new arrivals.

It was built by Dylan, an Irish tree surgeon and carpenter. Prior to this, Dylan was squatting in Dublin, running an anarchist social centre. Incensed by what was happening in Syria, he had planned to go and help the Kurdish opposition in Rojava, but then decided he could be more useful helping the Kurdish community camped out in Dunkirk.

Today, the volunteers want to discuss why everyone gets angry, which naturally leads to talking about loss and stress reactions. Then, we move onto organisational difficulties and coping with burn out. I realise I need to develop a workshop specifically for this context. What a difference weather makes. Today, bright sunlight lights up blossoms and the stuffed children’s toys some people have hung in the trees around their tents. The camp has a gaudy appearance if you ignore the mud, pools and swamps.

The Camp at Grand Synthe Dunkirk, February 2016

I know how lucky I am to have a quiet sanctuary in which to sleep and write. Benoit runs a B&B in the centre of the old part of town, looking over the park. Most importantly, he is friendly to volunteers and is welcoming whenever I return.