The first time I walked into a refugee camp was January 16th 2016. Dunkirk France. One hours crossing on the channel.
A day that changed my life.
As I walked through camp I heard a man shout ‘welcome to the jungle’ those simple words summed it up. It was a jungle. A massive camp of tents and mud it was wild. The smell of burning wood and plastic from people huddled around tiny campfires trying to keep warm. I was frozen to the bone but I was lucky to have dry clothes on.
The mud was past our ankles.
As we arrived more refugees arrived. We met a family of 5 who had slept on the streets of Calais the night before. As the mother knelt to breast feed her child in the mud we rallied around to set up their home. A tent on hard ground surrounded by mud.
We helped others that day. I put up 2 more tents for two groups of men.
This was the beginning of my journey.
I spent a week in camp, going from tent to tent, family to family, through mud and filth to take packs of clothes to the women and children. Every tent we went to were were greeted with smiles and gratitude. We shared stories with each other. We learnt about the people and they learnt about us. We made friends, we laughed together and cried together.
I met a massive amount of people that week from the family of women with half of them pregnant who have no idea where or when they will give birth to their baby.
To the man who hadn't slept in weeks because of a tooth abcess
The woman with two children with learning difficulties who had been through hell and high water to get to France and lost her daughter and husband crossing the treacherous seas to get there. She cried and cried and all we could do was hold her and comfort her.
The conditions were awful, the stories we heard were awful. Each night myself and the small team I was with sat in silence and reflection.
People were living in makeshift shelters.
On one of the days a man showed me his sons pillow. It was frozen. His eyes full of despair from not being able to provide for his family.
We set out to buy camping heaters with the little funds we had.
As we got to Calais the riot police were every where. Men women and children from Calais camp were trying to get on the lorries in hope of a better life in the UK.
My eyes were fixated on one policeman as he shot a crowd of people.
Plumes of smoke surrounded us. I jumped out the car to see what I could do, a boy aged 10 and his father ran towards us asking for water. It took a moment for me to realise it wasn't smoke we saw. It was tear gas. I washed the boys eyes his father would take nothing. He just wanted his son to be ok.
It stung. When it all died down and was more controlled we sat.
Our eyes nose and mouths stung. This only happened to me once. For some it's a daily occurrence.
As we gave the camping heater to the family the father told me we had changed his world
That first week in France I thought was the toughest week if my life.
My second time in Dunkirk things had changed. There had been a new camp built. It was between a railway line and a motorway on waste ground.
There were clean toilets, no more tents. People had shelter. A small hut 4 metre squared. It seems an improvement but the reality it wasn't.
I met the same familiar faces and families. The family I first met are settled in France now. Some people have made it across. Some still there. Women in camp are now about ready to give birth.
I imagine some already have.
What life is it for a woman to bring her child into this world?
Sometimes the atmosphere in camp had a good vibe. Sometimes it was sad vibe.
Everyday someone would asked me if there would ever be a slight chance that they would make it to the UK. En Shallah I told them. “God willing”
My heart broke.
We continued our work of taking what we could to camp.
We sat and ate with the families. We again shared tea and stories.
The children are ill. The people are tired. They're loosing hope.
I returned from Greece on Sunday.
Somewhere in the north of Greece is a service station. It was a service station. 3,500 people around a 1000 of which are children are again living in tents. The garage still runs as a garage.
What I witnessed this past week will haunt me forever. The sun beat on our backs.
The children were the most loving affectionate people you could ever meet.
We found out the first day that people had been wearing the same underwear for weeks. Our mission this week was to get new clean underwear to them. It was a tough job. People are desperate. I witnessed a fight of two women over shoes.
We bought and distributed thousands of pairs of pants and bras. We were mobbed.
I was constantly told about the bombs in Syria. How houses were flattened, businesses finished. Children injured.
People who had died.
To be told by a young boy that his Papa is gone because of the bombs.
To see the fear in children's eyes as planes fly over.
I worked a night shift working from a caravan only able to give out one cup of milk for each child because that's all we could ration. We were supposed to only give milk if the child was with their parent. Sometimes the children had no parent.
The guilt eats at you.
The food was rationed too. One plastic pint cup with a lentil curry or a pit with two potatoes cut into quarters and a bread roll.
I don't think anyone ever slept.
I became friends with a man from Iraq who has 5 children. They had witnessed their mother have her throat slit.
One of the girls never smiled. She was so traumatised she just walked in circles.
I met a 25 day old baby, she had been born in the camp. The innocence of her life and her parents doing everything they can to provide for her when they basically have nothing.
I’ve met, doctors, nurses, teachers, engineers, vets, fashion designers the list goes on for the vast amount of people that I have met. Each one has with their own story and each one hoping.
Families have been seperated, not knowing if they will ever see there brother, mother, sister, father, aunty, uncle or grandparents again.
There's so much more I could tell you. This is just a tiny insight into what I saw and what I did.
But I'm home now. Safe in the knowing that we did make people smile and we brought some dignity to people.
Throughout the week a young boy aged 12 held me by the hand and walked with me, on the last day he never left my side, he waited patiently for me outside each tent I went to. He took me to his mama who hugged and kissed me.
Once I had finished distribution he and his friend came back to the car with me. We had an icecream and a pepsi, we turned the radio up and danced in the rain, non stop laughing and dancing.
He knew I was going home. As I said goodbye, he took me by the hand, handed me his ring, called me his friend and burst into tears. My heart broke again for the 100th time that week
I'll be heading back in June. This time for longer. I don't know what to expect. Things change everyday. For now I strive to raise awareness and keep fighting for the most beautiful people I have ever met .
This wasn't all because of me though. None of it would have been possible without a small organisation based in Worcestershire called People in Motion. They've funded my travel and accommodation. They've supported me every step of the way and I'm eternally grateful to the volunteers I have met along the way, the friends I have met and the people who still care.
by Lulu Billet
