DAY TRIPPER
13th January 2016
There has been a call-out for volunteers to return to Calais. Riot police and
bulldozers are arriving any day to clear part of the camp.
“Can you pick the kids up after school”
“Great! Fab! Can you have them overnight?”
“Yeah? How about the next day as well?”
My friend and I are driving there fast, just for 48 hours. It’s all we can squeeze
from our lives.
“It’ll be like a reverse booze cruise. Head over to Calais for the day, then come back
and weep into our beer. ”
But first, we’ve stopped at a well-known discount supermarket for provisions. Shopping for refugees is a novel experience.
What do they need? Omigod, they need everything!
Chickpeas!
Budget rice.
water bottles
Fish. The tins with the ringpulls.
Tomatoes. Ginger. Garlic. Lots more ginger. All the garlic.
Chocolate? Nah, the kids have tooth decay. Fruit. Oranges, pears, apples.

38 39It’s January. It’s cold out there.
If we had the budget, we’d buy blankets, sleeping bags.
Leggings, long johns.
Walking boots size 42 and 43.
Boxer shorts, small and medium. Clean, dry socks.
Whatever the weather, there are never enough of these for all the millions
of people who need them. We don’t have enough money to buy them. I
highlight them here, in case you do. We’re going out to help build houses again.
“Bonus! They’re selling tools this week!
“Have you ever used an impact driver? They’re magic. I’m getting this. ”
“Nab the really long screws. ”
“Heavy duty cable ties. Nice. ”
“Gaffer tape!”
“Gaffer tape!” (only Americans call it ‘duct tape’)
There’s nothing in the world that can’t be fixed with gaffer tape. If you think it can’t be
fixed with gaffer tape, you’re not using enough gaffer tape.
We’re about to attempt to fix an international humanitarian catastrophe with...
...sticky tape.
Wish us luck.

40 41[raining hard. Cops on the motorway exit]
It’s like a Jungle out there, sometimes I wonder how I keep from going under.
It has been ten weeks since I last saw the camp.
It is totally transformed.
“Look at all the houses!” [close up on the padlocks] “And the caravans!”
“The plan is that no-one should have to sleep in a tent. ”
“The French Government is providing water points and rubbish collections. ”
“About time!”
“They only did it because Medecins Sans Frontieres sued them for negligence. I think MSF
built the roads. ””
“The legal aid centre. ”
“Nice carpentry.
[Distribution caravan -timings and goods]
“Where did all the families go? The ones we built the houses
for?”
“This is right on the edge of camp. One night in December
[fact check] the police came through here and teargassed
the kids in their beds. The Kurdish families all moved to
Dunkirk. ”“MSF took them to court?”
“Yes, but it was a mixed outcome. The judges ruled that us volunteers are
doing such a good job of providing food and shelter that the authorities
don’t need to. And now we have to carry on.
“You wonder sometimes if you’re doing the right thing, like, our relief
effort, it’s a sticking plaster, isn’t it?”
“Only in that it would hurt a lot of people if you suddenly removed it. ”

42 43“Check out Dimarco’s school. He’s incredible. He tried to jump the lorries for six
months, never made it to the UK, he decided to stay here and help the kids get an
education. He’s one of those people who motivates everyone else. ”
“Cool playground. ”
“I helped build that”
“How many times have you been back here?”
“I think this is... the fourth? It’s like Pringles. Once you pop, you can’t stop. ”
and it’s true. Everyone I know who has been to Calais asks me when I’m going back.
Not if. When.
beep beep. “I got a text from Amez. ”The authorities have announced that in three days time, an area “within 100 metres
of the road” will be bulldozed.
“Amez”
“Hi”
This is one of the houses earmarked for demolition. It’s about 300 metres [fact
check] from the road.
“Would you like tea?”
“I don’t really like tea*. ”
“(You have to have tea. It’s not optional.)”
I’m given black tea, so sweet the spoon could stand up in it. “Thanks. ”
*Tea drinking makes me nervous as I’m determined to not use the portaloos.
“Is this your house?”
“Nah mate. I’ve got a pizza shop in Wolverhampton. Been there fifteen years. This is
my brother Khebat. He lives here. ”
Today we are moving house. Literally, moving the whole house.
“Damn, this is really well made!”
“We take the walls off. Then take the pallets from under the floor. We take them
over to the other side of site and build it again. ”
“That’ll be an arse. We’ll get you some new pallets. ”
We leave them our power tools to unscrew things with.

44 45[men attempting to carry a whole house]
“No! No! No! Put it down! OK, when I say “Left” go this way!” [kurdish and pashto
translations] “And ‘Right’ go this way! [translations] Got it? OK! Try again. 1.2.3 LIFT.
No! I said LIFT. not LEFT. ”
The ‘threads’ analogy is apt. My path through the Jungle criss-crosses like lace work,
always feeling a tug in a different direction.
We meet some lovely ladies clearing rubbish.
“You’ve no gloves. I’ve got some in the van. Hang on I’ll pop back in a sec. ”
We pass the dome. I have Sharpies to donate to the art space.
“you have to meet Sue. She’s lovely. ”
“I know, well, I know her on Facebook. ”
Sue lives down my road in the UK, but we only ever meet in Calais.
“I’ll see you later. We’re on a mission to get pallets. ”Ten weeks ago, the warehouse was a single industrial unit full of bin bags of jumble.
Not any more. Now it occupies the whole block.
“Do you have a delivery slot?” “We’re coming to pick up building supplies. ” “We’re expecting
two artics. You’ll have to be quick or you’ll get blocked in. ”
We glimpse racks and racks of supplies. (I wasn’t allowed in. I wasn’t wearing a high-vis.)
Pallets of food are stacked outside the community kitchen. 5,000 hot meals go out of here a
day.
“That smells good. ”
“blimey. Garlic bread! Not your usual hippy slop. ”

46 47A truck is laying hardcore in the yard.
“Caravans to Calais have been busy!”
A telehandler expertly unloads a truck load of chipboard.Bloody hell! Four months ago the workshop space was a tent with a box of saws in it.
Look at it now!
Two chop saws.
All the battery chargers you could need.
House frames are prefabricated and stacked.
“Do you need a hand? I have two!”
“Give me sixty of the main timbers... ”
There are some seriously inspiring, committed and organised people sorting this lot out.
“Choose some good pallets. I’ll back the van up. ”

48 49Back at the camp.
Eight pallets.
One deconstructed house. (It was too big to move in one piece.)
An impact driver. “Nice bit of kit, luv. ” “Why thank you. ”
A hammer
A crow bar
Seven men
Two women
Some flapjack
and only one head torch
“I could gaffer tape my phone torch to my head?”
and six hours of hard graft.
We get the roof on and leave Khebat screwing the deck together.
“I’ll take you for dinner. ”
“Pizza?”
“Never pizza!”“The Three Star Hotal! Why, the Ambassador, he is spoiling us!”
“I’ll try the Beef Sope. A speciality!”
[prop. Ahmed, Akbar]
There’s cardamom and raisins in the rice. Little mashed up green chillies in the sauce.
“Proper spicy. ” “This is lush”
I feel an unaccustomed urge to instagram my dinner.
“we should give this place more than three stars. ”
“Let’s get on Trip Advisor and write a rave review. ”
We’re the only people eating. Everyone else is just here to bask in the reflected heat from a two
ring gas cooker.
The guys next to me have incredible cheekbones. I wonder where they are from.

50 51Next morning we return to retrieve our tools.
[house interior]
“Come in! Come in!”
“My wife, Bezma” “Kate”
Duran. Hama and Zala.
“Tea! Tea! You like it black with sugar? Kurdish tea!”
“Thank you. ”
“Here, you must eat. Eat!”
Hama and Zala play with my phone.
“Is your phone Samsung or HTC. ”
Daran wants to be a school teacher. I hope he gets the chance.
Bezma wipes the children’s noses. “ Sorry. Always they are ill. ”You know, these little houses aren’t bad. The relentless wind drives out the damp. The
blankets keep out the worst of the cold. It’s private. Secure. The kitchen shelves are
stocked with food.
“And windows!”
“I know. We are lucky. ”
“Lucky? My brother, I wish you were all in my house. It breaks my heart to leave you
here. ”
[house, rubbish dump exterior]
“I want to get them out of here so much. My brother says to me ‘I won’t let you do it. I
won’t let you risk going to prison for me.
“We stay here. What can we do?”

52 53But for how much longer?
It’s nearly time for our ferry, and I take a last walk back through the camp.
The authorities are building a new site. 125 shipping containers. Ring fenced. Spotlit.
Fingerprint controlled entry. 12 bunks to a shipping container. No washing facilites. [fact
check] No cooking facilites. No privacy. No autonomy.
Giving his fingerprints to the French government would invalidate a refugee’s UK asylum
claim, even if his brother was waiting in Wolverhampton, ready to share a real home.
A man stands brushing his teeth by the wire.
He gestures back at the Three Star Hotal, the legal centre, the aid
distribution points, the caravans, the brightly painted playground:
a monument to human ingenuity and charity, however desolate and
desperate it may be.
“All this... will go. ”

54 55Oh, you’re volunteering
in Calais? That’s, like,
the ultimate fashion
statement these days.IT’S NOT A F*CKING DAY TRIP
Congratulations on the misery tourism! What are we doing, swanning about
Calais, congratulating ourselves on our fabulous relief effort? It’s not about a bunch
of white, middle-class do-gooders off on a charity holiday.
Let me tell you about Hoshyar.
[rant over, large lace break]
15th February, 2016. DAY ONE.
“So, who’s this guy Hoshyar we’re going to see?”
[view of bulldozed patch by the edge of the jungle. we’re walking past.]
“He’s just a really funny, nice guy. ”
“How did you meet him”
“Last time we were here, me and my husband were doing building work, and he
was too. We were just dicking about. Shared sense of humour, you know?
“They were building this reception centre, and we were trying to make doors for
the Sudanese girls – Men are coming in their houses at night and they’re having
to physically fight them off... The anarchists didn’t want to give us any wood! You
have to laugh. ”
Maybe a few months ago, things were funnier. Hoshyar has totalled up 120 nights
in the Jungle now. So many friends have made it to the UK, but not him. No luck.
Not a chance.
“Mathilde!”
“Good to see you!’
“Come in! Come in!”

56 57We all squeeze into Hoshyar’s hut. Kick off your shoes, then there’s only one place to go – a
softly padded seven-foot-square space. I hunker down in the corner.
“This is Kate”
“Hi”
“Donach” “My husband. ”
“Hi”
“This is Alaz. He lives here too. ”
“Wow. Cosy. ” Two grown men in an eight-foot shack. They each have a sliver of broken mirror
tacked up, to shave by.
It’s well insulated. It would be warm(ish) except we have to leave the door open, to let in some
light.
“I’ll make you lunch”
It’s not a question.
Hoshyar busies himself in his foot-square kitchen, knocking two eggs together and tipping
them into a pan. The sadness temporarily ebbs from his face in the process. Welcoming,
cooking, sharing. You can tell this fits with his sense of how things should be in the world.We play the “let’s show each other our families on our phones” game.
“My daughter. Five years old. ”
“We have left her with my mother, see?”
“For five days. We are here for five days. It is a school holiday – ‘half term’ . ”
“And my son. He is twelve. ”
“Is he with your mother?”
“No he is staying at home. My friend Sarah is looking after him. He loves his
computer too much to leave it. ”
“Back in Iraq I have playstation. FIFA football. You know it?”
“My son does!”
“He will feed the cats. Here are the cats. ”
“Very nice!”
“A boy and a girl. ”
Hoshyar “Here is my mother... ” [we don’t see his photos, just our faces
looking at his phone] “my father” “my sister and her children”
“Oh! They’re beautiful!”
“Here, my family home. ”
A leafy grove. Acres of land. The family sitting on a carpet on the flat roof in
the sunshine. The contrast with Hoshyar’s current view is stark.
What must it be like to feel homesick for somewhere it’s not safe for you to be?

58 59A bin bag is unrolled and a piece of cardboard laid on it.
Dinner is served.
“This is delicious. ”
“ M m .”
“Oh not for me, thank you. I’m sorry, I can’t eat eggs. I’m allergic to them. ”
Hoshyar springs to his feet and wipes out the pan. “Tomatoes are OK for you? and what is
this? Piazz?” “Onion. ”
“Yes, onion is fine. ”
And he cooks another meal, from scratch, just for me.
“It’s really tasty. Just the right amount of salt. ”
I mean it. I hadn’t realised how hungry I was.
[cartoon sequence of tea making]
“How are you Hoshyar?”
“I don’t know. What I say?”The authorities have announced plans for the final eviction of the Jungle. Hoshyar’s house
is to be demolished, along with most of the camp. Three thousand people will be made
homeless. There is nowhere to move the houses to this time.
There are fewer than 500 places left in the shipping containers. They’re offering a few
weeks shelter in a camp at the other end of France, but there’s insufficient transport to take
everyone that needs to go.
The message is clear.
People are expected to disappear.
So, Hoshyar is going to lose everything he has, that he has salvaged and constructed, that
people have given freely, because they want to help, because they care. The tiny kitchen. The
sliver of shaving mirror. The set of clean clothes. The walls, the door, the padlock. He can’t
carry them away.
He’s put his name down to move into the shipping containers, but he doesn’t know if he’ll get
a place. Living in a flood-lit barracks, he’ll have half a bunk-bed to call his own – not even a
shelf or a locker.
There will be nowhere to make a cup of tea.
HE DOESN’T EVEN WANT TO BE HERE.
The plan is to join his uncle in Croydon. But the longer it takes, the more often he fails to
catch that elusive lorry, the harder it becomes to even try.