Читать книгу The Migrant Diaries - Lynne Jones - Страница 28

It’s my last day in the camp. I follow the judge in. As requested in last night’s meeting, everyone is up early to greet her and make a visible display of the numbers living in the southern half. Families with immaculately dressed children stand outside the entrance to the secular school. One of the kitchens is serving fried eggs and onions to a long queue by the information centre. But the judge’s diminutive figure is scarcely visible behind the gaggle of journalists and police around her. The speed with which she moves through, making only perfunctory stops in St. Michaels and the Women and Children’s Centre, suggest the visit has more to do with public relations than genuine enquiry. The judge goes back to Lille to continue the court case. I leave for the port.