November Trip to Calais

In November a team of us returned to calais with a Luton van full of donations collected from the great British public, the ever supportive Bruderhof Community, Canterbury Mosque, Canterbury Christ Church University, University of Kent Amnesty society and not forgetting those faithful members from the wards. We also took a minibus of volunteers who came from various parts of Kent. The enthusiasm and generosity of those involved was truly inspirational.

An account by Kelly Rickard - A member of the team.

The morning of day two started much as day one ended; with laughter and hope. Having been briefed to be ready absolutely NO later than 8:30 am (in order to be at the warehouse at 9), we all piled down to breakfast and made the most of the meagre offerings. Not a croissant in sight! Satisfied to a certain degree, we then waited for our intrepid leader to appear, slightly later than anticipated due to sleep refusing to relinquish its hold on her. Whilst we milled about the foyer, much to the chagrin of the decidedly humourless proprietors (nothing to do with how noisy we all were, I’m sure), we were joined by numerous other volunteers who had headed to Calais in order to help with the clean up on site. We may have been packing and distributing, but these stalwart people were there purely to litter pick and to help make the jungle a little more hygienic. I take my hat off to them, as it’s not a great job at the best of times, but when the wind is blowing shards of ice through your very core and the rain is relentlessly beating down on you, it truly is a labour of love. When we arrived back at the warehouse, we all immediately noticed a difference in the activity level. This was a Saturday, and the sheer number of volunteers who had given up their weekend was overwhelming. We all strutted around like we knew what we were doing, being veterans of a whole day’s worth of experience, so we helped herd the newbies towards the orange jackets then took ourselves off to find jobs. I loved my job. In the rear warehouse, wooden shelters were being prepared, ready to be put together on site and provide a better level of protection against the elements. I bagsied ‘door wrapping’ duty, which suited me down to the ground and gave me a little wrapping practice ahead of the Christmas season. There was music here, ranging from bizarre French folk tunes to chart hits, and everyone was cheerful in their work. After lunch, however, I was given the opportunity to join one of the distribution runs to the jungle itself. I was keen to see for myself the conditions that I had thus far only heard of and I secured a lift with a family that had come for the weekend. On arrival, the first thing that struck me was the scale of the camp. It seemed to stretch on forever; a sea of tarpaulin and canvas being battered by the wind and tormented by the rain. Despite the desperately basic lives of the people here, I was met by smiles and gratitude from all whom I encountered. I provided some comic relief as a two-man tent was lifted high into the air and headed straight for me, hitting me full in the face. The look of amusement on the face of one of the camp residents as I tried to wrestle it into submission was priceless. Eventually, realising that there was no way I could possibly win the fight, I let it go; a bizarre kite, destined for the freedom that the refugees so desperately wanted for themselves. Things took a more sober turn as a man begged us for help as he showed us his dwelling; a carefully constructed building of tarpaulin and pallets that had once been a home to his family. The wind was no respecter of persons and had wreaked havoc on this man’s home. We stood helplessly looking at the devastation, unable to do anything to help due to the impossible wind. All we could do was to direct him to the makeshift mosque in order to secure himself a space on the floor to sleep. Unable to do anything with the actual tents on site because of the gales, we instead loaded as many blankets as we could onto the van in order to distribute them amongst some of the newcomers, many of whom would never have experienced such bitter cold in their lives. Indeed, I was feeling the chill through my thermal socks and sturdy boots, whereas some of the people here were wearing nothing but sandals or flip flops. All too soon, it was time to return to the warehouse in order to meet up with the team and head back to the port for our ferry crossing. A few small details (such as losing some of the volunteers who were so caught up in their work that they lost track of time and managing to get myself locked in the back of a transit van) held us up, but we were soon on our way. Coming away from our short-lived experience felt surreal and we were only too aware of the immense job ahead of those who remained and the plight of the people trying to survive in the jungle. In our short time, we had experienced tears and laughter, hope and despair, gratitude and desperation. No matter what our personal experiences may have been, we were all of one accord: we want to go back. Soon.