Libby Freeman, a 33-year-old set designer from London, is one of a growing number of people from the UK who are sick of waiting for a political solution to the plight of migrants in Calais. Without humanitarian aid experience – or the backing of a registered charity – Freeman is travelling to France to offer assistance to the refugees and migrants living in the “Jungle” camp.
“I’ve no idea what to expect, but what I do know is that I have to do something. I can’t sit here and just watch,” says Freeman as she finishes filling her two white vans with donated tents – collected from a music festival this summer – shoes, winter clothing and a second-hand bicycle.
Britain and France are set to sign an agreement on Thursday aimed at alleviating the disturbances involving migrants. So far, talks between the two countries have produced a string of security measures – extra fencing, CCTV cameras, infrared detectors and floodlights – but a notable lack of humanitarian relief.
“The government aren’t looking at it as a humanitarian issue, they’re looking at it as a political issue. I find it unbelievable, it’s all about keeping them out, it’s so brazen, the government aren’t even pretending to help,” Freeman said.
“No, I don’t know who my donations will help in Calais. But when you help anyone in life, you don’t always check their background. We’d all rather just help the good people, but if you saw someone get run over you wouldn’t think twice, you’d just help them.”
Over the last week, Freeman raised £500 through her Crowdfunder page to buy sanitary items and toiletries that she made up into 50 wash bags to distribute at the camp. She set up collection points in several warehouses around east London, and an unlikely donation drop-off point called Vibrant My Migrant at Sink the Pink – a so called polysexual club night.
“I’ve been overwhelmed by the response. I’ve spent all day organising shoes into sizes. People have been hugely generous and supportive; they want to do something to help. Almost everyone who’s donated thinks the government’s response, or lack of, is appalling.”
Freeman is not shy about her lack of humanitarian aid training, but feels strongly that, without sufficient UK government action or aid agency response, “normal people” need to help. “I’ve been to very poor countries before,” she said, “and have found the experience really tough. Maybe these experiences have influenced me to do something about Calais. I think it might be hard and, no, I don’t have any plans for dealing with that.”
On Monday morning, Freeman set off with five volunteers – a mix of friends and people she met on Facebook – on a 24-hour grassroots humanitarian mission to Calais.
9am – at the Channel tunnel, Dover
“We were told that border security might try to persuade us to turn around if they found out we were going to the camp. But there’s nothing anyone can do to stop any of us now. I’d even spend the night in prison.
“I don’t have much of a plan for what we’re going to do when we get there. I know we’ll head to a distribution centre at the Catholic church. We’ve been told there’ll be a lot of migrants there. It could be uplifting or horrible. I guess I’m a little apprehensive, not really scared. All I know is that I want to get there.”
1pm – the Catholic church
“It’s raining in Calais. Around 40 men and three women were waiting at the church when we arrived. I gave someone an umbrella in place of the cardboard box that he was using to keep dry.
“On Mondays at 2pm, shoes are distributed. It’s really hard to understand why all these people don’t have shoes. This is France after all.
“There was a big room in the church full of lots of supplies. It seems odd that they can’t dish them out, but I’m told there’s not enough stuff and they have to make it last. There’s a system where someone walks around the camp and distributes tickets to people in need. If you have a ticket you can come to the church and collect something.
“I was warned that there might be a rush for our donations, but everyone was helpful and carried our boxes from the van.
“I cried a lot when we arrived. It wasn’t a good atmosphere, but it wasn’t scary, just sad. You see all these images in the news constantly and then suddenly you’re seeing it with your own eyes. It was much harder than I thought and I hadn’t even entered the camp yet.”
2pm – buying supplies from Lidl
“Maya, who works in the Jungle, wanted us to buy oil, tomato paste, tins of tomatoes, onions, milk and sugar that can be used in one of the camp’s restaurants.
“I’m told that migrants are banned from the local supermarkets, so we went to the local Lidl and bought as much as possible. We transferred the food from our van into a bigger van as I was told if we tried to drive in we’d just get mobbed. The guy at the distribution channel said it was illegal to buy food for the migrants, but the people in Lidl must know what we’re doing, we can’t have been the first people to do it.”
3pm – arriving at the ‘Jungle’
“As we drove up to the camp, I could see a few tents and patches of grass with people sitting down. The camp is located off a slip road, at the end of an industrial estate and next to the huge fence near the trains that you can see wherever you are. There’s no security at the entrance and we walked straight in. People came up to us and gave us high fives and said hello.
“We went to a restaurant that’s made out of wood with lots of different sections of fabric and beams. It’s quite a pleasant place to sit. There are pictures hanging on the walls and wooden boxes for tables. None of us had any euros, but they were happy to give us tea for free. We sat quietly. I think I was still a little bit unsure how to handle the situation at this point.”
5pm – walking around the camp
“I gave some camping chairs that I’d collected from Wilderness festival to a group of four people from Afghanistan, Libya and Palestine. They jokingly asked us how they could get to London, and if I had a car. Although it was all lighthearted they paused for me to give an answer. Someone jokingly asked me if I wanted a husband, and that they’d pay me €3,000 if I did.
“They’d paid a lot of money to come over in boats, and said they’d been living in the camp for three months. They asked us if we liked David Cameron, and we joked that if we did we wouldn’t be here. We had a really nice rapport, and said we’d take them for a beer if they reached London.
“A man in his early twenties told me he’d been robbed in the camp and now had no money, or mobile phone. He told me that he’s going to try to jump on a train every night until he’s successful or dies.
“I met a man from Eritrea with a plaster cast who told me how he’d fallen off a train and that a group called Doctors of the World came to his assistance. He said as soon as his leg is better he’ll begin jumping the trains again as he doesn’t have a choice.
“There was a man from Ethiopia there who told me that every night he and his wife hold hands and run together to try to get on a train.
“We were given a great reception as we walked around the camp. My friend had a ukulele and at one point she started singing Don’t Worry Be Happy.”
7pm – women’s centre
“My friend, who’s a hairdresser, came along to offer haircuts to the women and children in the government-run women’s centre, but, sadly, the security guard wouldn’t let us in.
“We’d been in quite high spirits until we met a couple with a baby. When we walked away from the baby none of us spoke. The parents were so thin, and the baby was so tiny. It was really sad. This was the moment that hit me the most. You just think this baby is so innocent and there are people who can help but aren’t.
“We went back to the van and collected the last of our donations, a mattress and wood which we distributed to some very happy people.”
8pm – leaving early
“In the day the camp’s quite a lovely place, but at night it’s different. Everyone starts to come out when the sun sets, and it was really obvious that people were gearing up to get on the trains. It’s a really odd atmosphere. I can imagine it’s like being surrounded by tens of athletes before a big race, but with a much darker tone.
“At this point we decided to get an earlier train. We felt like we did everything we could.
“Leaving was definitely the hardest part, knowing that we could just walk out by showing a bit of paper because we happen to have been born in the right place. I felt guilty sitting in a van that I can afford and to be welcomed to London with open arms when all these people are gearing up to possibly die to get to the same place.
“You don’t need humanitarian training to show support. If everyone saw stuff like I did in Calais, the world would be a better place.”
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