While watching the crisis at the Calais refugee camps worsen, first-time activist Ailish Kaleda, a 27-year-old events manager from Essex, went to help out. Over there, the cleaning up is a major issue: they’re ill-equipped to deal with the waste and rubbish of the thousands of refugees who are currently living there.
‘I had to go to Calais,’ she told The Debrief. ‘After seeing so much coverage in the media, I realised that no one was helping these people and it just made me feel so angry to know that grassroots groups and a few French organisations are all the refugees really have to rely on for help. I couldn’t just sit back and be upset about what’s happening there if I wasn’t prepared to contribute help myself.
‘This is happening on our doorstep. To let that carry on happening isn’t an option for me. I feel sickened by the lack of humanity shown by the French and British governments towards people who are desperately in need. The authorities have dehumanised the people at the makeshift camp to such an extent, it’s left to everyday people like you and I to help.’
This is Ailish’s diary, from her preparation and organisation to action on the ground – and what it’s really like to be there.
Wednesday 23 September
I’m working with a group of volunteers in Essex and we have a weekly meeting, planning for a future trip on 3 October. We each head up different sections to fundraise for and I’m in charge of food, so I’m approaching local companies and big businesses like Napolina and Biona.
The food the refugees need is specific – non-perishables like rice and tinned tomatoes, tinned chick peas, tinned fish, tea and coffee. Basically, stuff that won’t go off.
We’re constantly in contact with the groups on the ground there to make sure that we’re bringing over the right stuff. The public is very well-meaning, but a lot of donations are completely wrong for the camp – for example, people think of women and children automatically in these situations and therefore send women’s clothes and baby formula, but for the camp in Calais it’s about 90% men, so it’s actually stuff like men’s outdoor clothes and sturdy boots that are really needed.
I can’t wait to get to Calais to help. I feel like I’ve been preparing for ages, fundraising and collecting donations from some of the incredibly generous people I know, though I have no idea exactly what to expect. I know it will be very different from what we see on TV.
**Thursday 24 September **
There should be around 115 volunteers from the UK coming this weekend, but my biggest worry is still actually getting to Calais. I can’t drive, so I’m trying to find someone to carpool with along with my friend Claire, 27. It’s been manic trying to sort out getting there, but at the last minute we meet a guy on Facebook called Mark who’s driving and looking for people to carpool with too. It’s such a relief that we’ll actually be able to get there.
Organising something like this is stressful with work. I only have narrow windows during the day to make phone calls, but I’m so glad it’s all getting sorted.
Friday 25 September
We arrive in Calais on Friday night after work. I’m happy to finally arrive. All I want to do is help improve the situation, even if it’s only a tiny bit, and show solidarity to my fellow human beings.
As soon as we stop the car in Calais, we see a group of refugee men climbing up a hill and over a fence. A minute later the French police (the Gendarmerie) pull up and ran after them. It shocked me. I knew the refugees were risking their lives; I just wanted the police to leave them alone. No amount of media coverage can prepare you for seeing people risking their lives in that way.
We go to bed in our hostel at about 1am, but I find it hard to sleep – I’m nervous about my first day working at the camp tomorrow.
**Saturday 26 September **
We wake up, have breakfast, and put on old clothes before driving down to Chemin Des Dunes – the road which leads you to the camp.
Volunteers and refugees alike work incredibly hard to make a dent clearing the waste on Saturday, side by side, united together. The refugees haven’t been given the equipment they need – the mayor in Calais has given the camp just TWO skips for rubbish, which is ridiculous. There’s anything between 4,000 and 5,000 people at the camp right now. How’s that supposed to work?
We get to work clearing rubbish and immediately strike up a friendship with a guy called Dahad. He’s from Sudan and he’s amazing. We stick together and spend the day laughing and joking while working.
There’s a big Sudanese population in the camp at the moment, around 70%. Then there are Afghans, Syrians and people from Eritrea. But I’m only in a small pocket. I’ve barely touched most of the camp, it’s huge – like a town.
We make our way further and further into the camp with our clearing up gear and the tents get closer and closer together. It’s completely rammed.
The people here are so kind. They’re the most welcoming, most amazing people. They’re in this situation, but they feed us and chat to us. They invite us in for tea and coffee, they welcome us into their homes. They might not have a lot, but they will give you everything that they have.
There are shops and restaurants – not brick buildings, it’s a shantytown – but it goes to show you that people in the camps aren’t resting on their laurels. They’re making the best of the situation they’re in.
On Saturday night when we finish up working – after a physically punishing day – we go to have dinner in one of the Afghan ‘restaurants’ – a 6x6ft wooden hut – with our Sudanese friend Dahad.
We sat and chatted and ate potatoes and chicken and rice. Dahad told us more about his story: he’s tried to get on the train to the UK four times now. It was really hard to listen to this – he’s my friend now and I couldn’t bear hearing about him putting his life in danger.
I got choked up, but he wouldn’t take any sympathy.
Sunday 27 September
We wake up and carry on with the clean-up. I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus from the backbreaking work, but the morale and team spirit keeps you going. The camp is very flooded at the moment, which is obviously bad for the refugees’ hygiene and you worry about illness.
Sickness spreads like wildfire as people are living in such close proximity and they also get injured getting over the fences to try and get on the trains.
In the middle of the camp we come across one of the Afghan sections – you’ve never seen rubbish like it in your life. We clear out a 7ft pile of rubbish. It was insane, and took us three or four hours. I’ll never forget the smell of rotting potatoes at the bottom: it’s as bad as human flesh.
So many refugees offer to help with the clean-up. They don’t have the heavy duty gloves that we do, but get stuck in anyway. All they want is to be clean; they just don’t have the equipment or resources they need to keep the camp hygienic.
There’s also so much stuff that’s been mis-donated. I worked through a pile of women’s clothes that came up to my hips. It’s making the problem worse and causing more problems for the refugees there. Some people might say that beggars can’t be choosers but if the right stuff is coming in then it makes the job so much easier.
I chat more to Dahad and he tells me the rest of his story: he’s 29, has a degree in English and wants to be a translator. He travelled from Libya to Italy on a boat, a journey that took six days, where he was only given two cups of water a day – no food at all.
I give him my phone number and we make plans to meet up in England, if he makes it. I can’t even contemplate the journey he might have to make – or what could happen if it doesn’t work out for him when he tries to cross again.
I hear that the atmosphere changes a little in the camp after dark, as a lot of people drink to cope with the stress of the situation they’re in, although I didn’t notice anything personally and felt safe the entire time I was there.
Monday 28 September
Leaving the camp is so emotional; it’s horrible. We’ve broken our backs to try and get as much done as possible, but I know it’s not enough, and I just want to stay.
I don’t know if I’ll see the people I met again next time I go back to Calais – Dahad might have tried to cross already. And who knows what will happen? People die trying to get the trains practically every day and it makes me feel sick. It’s just so, so dangerous going through the Channel Tunnel.
Tuesday 29 September
Now that I’ve had time to reflect, I can say that the experience was honestly incredible. It was the best thing that I’ve ever done, and it’s made me rethink what I want to do with my life.
I’m really glad that I’m going back to Calais next weekend, and myself, Claire and Mark are planning on going back on 25 October to work on building there, too. I feel like I need these dates in mind to keep me going as it were, as I feel a responsibility towards the situation and the people there now.
Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw in Calais. The media barely touches on it. It was the most incredibly humbling and heartbreaking experience that I’ve ever had.
I’d challenge anyone to go to the camps and not want to help and go back time and time again to help in any way possible. I’ll be back as much as I can.
*You can donate to Ailish’s crowdfunding page here. *
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This article originally appeared on The Debrief.