"Jungle Books" Library in the Calais Camps by Tess Berry-Hart

“Books are universal, aren’t they?” asks Mary Jones, the founder of Jungle Books, with a bright but tired smile. “Everybody can relate to a book.”

We’re standing in Jungle Books, a small makeshift library in the middle of the notorious Calais Jungle refugee camp. It’s been a bad week for everybody here. Torrential rain for days has turned the bleak landfill site into a flooded swamp, there’s been riots caused by police bulldozing tents which have spilled out of the main encampment, in which people were wounded as teargas and rubber bullets were fired. Earlier, the camp was cordoned off by police in riot gear as we attempted to get in off the main overpass bringing boxes of books and clothes, so now we’ve had to slip in the back way, through dripping thickets, tents listing under saturated tarpaulins, and a slippery path of giant, mud-filled craters.

But inside the small, wooden-framed library, built by refugees themselves using tarps stretched over a wooden frame and insulated by spare blankets and duvets, it’s a haven of peace and quiet. Wooden shelves line the walls, stacked with books, papers, lined exercise pads and files. Volumes of books – To Kill A Mocking Bird, The Mysterious Affair at Styles and an anthology of Maupassant short stories to name but three - stand in stacks. It’s also a hive of information. Know Your Asylum Rights! proclaims a small stack of pamphlets on the floor. My Time in Yarl’s Wood reads the title of a pile of self-published books. By the door, a small children’s shelf (there are now almost fifty children in the camp, not counting the many hundreds of young teenagers between 14 and 18 which are classed as “men”) boasts my son’s favourite, The Tiger That Came To Tea amongst other children’s classics.

For a moment, I feel desperately sad. Earlier that day I had met a 12 year old boy who had travelled on his own from Eritrea. It's a different world here, a world in the middle of developed France which could be a war-torn nation in the Middle East or Africa. 

But despite their dreadful circumstances, everyone around me is just getting on with it. A couple of Iranians browse the shelves, flicking through books. An Eritrean asks for help with some papers he is carrying and searches for a phrase book. Another man sits intent at a desk, copying sentences from a school textbook from Arabic into English. I steal a glance at the page. “The red ship is sailing on the blue sea.”

Mary gets to unpacking the boxes of books that have been sent to her. “Oooh! Pashto dictionaries!” she exclaims excitedly. “You’ve no idea how useful these are going to be!”

Staffed entirely by volunteers, as is most of the Calais camp, Jungle Books has become more than a library, it’s become something of a community centre, where people come and ask for the things they need. Many of them come to ask for English lessons or help with papers, or most commonly warm boots or coats – it’s freezing cold in the wind off the coast even though it’s still only September – and seeing people slipping in the mud wearing only socks and flip-flops is a common sight. Some of the boxes we’ve brought in contain boots and padded jackets which Mary will give to the people who have asked for them. She’s constantly sourcing aid for the people that come to her,  – for what good, as she says, are books when people don’t have wood to cook with or shoes to wear?

I step outside to collect the rest of the bags and tents that we’ve brought with us. I’m holding a bag of coats when a woman in a ragged jersey approaches me and asks for one. Instinctively I pull it out and give it to her, but it’s too big; I take it away and rummage for another. Instantly the air is suddenly alive with shouts of “Jacket, jacket!” and people start to run towards me. It’s a tense situation – I’ve only a few coats in the bag which have been earmarked for certain people. What do I do?

Distribution is a constant problem in the camp – in a situation where over three thousand people need warm clothes and food, there’s never a perfect way to distribute aid. Distribution lines will always run out before the last person is helped, and can often disintegrate into jostling and a scrum, as well as forcing people to take the first thing that is on offer, regardless of whether or not it fits properly. The “personal shopping” system whereby volunteers take note of someone needing an item, going away and collecting it personally for them (as with Jungle Books), is better targeted, but labour-intensive and slower going. The “shop” system, whereby a large tent is used to stock a variety of sizes and colours of clothes and boots, and those in need are allowed in a few at a time to choose their preferred size and colour, is another option, but also very labour intensive.  At the same time, too much of the wrong kind of aid (high heeled shoes, etc) is brought in by well-meaning people in guerrilla drops, and left in piles as rubbish. 

Next door they’re building an arts space but the roof is leaking from the incessant rain and a large puddle has formed on the ground. Seeking a place to calm the growing crowd, we quickly secrete the pile of tents and shoes in there for the moment and the jostling dies down. Panic over, but I've learned my lesson about proper distribution.

The industry in the camp – they have built a church, mosques, their own shops, restaurants, a barber’s, and the library - has to be seen to be believed. The dedication of the volunteers too is absolutely remarkable - I ask Mary where she has to get back to, imagining that she lives locally or at the very farthest, in Dover - and am stunned to hear that she lives a long way away in a completely different part of France, so a visit to the camp after work (she's a teacher) takes hundreds of miles in a round trip.

The camp has calmed down now after a tense morning with the police, and night is starting to fall. The browsing Iranians sit at a table and chat with some of the volunteers. I notice that one of them has a broken foot wrapped in a supermarket plastic bag, an injury perhaps caused by trying to jump the train to the UK, a dangerous and life-threatening pursuit, but in a system where asylum can only be claimed once you have entered our borders, a necessary one.. Another man, a Sudanese, enters, yawning. “You’ve been up on the trains all night, haven’t you!” they tease him in English. There's plenty of camaraderie here.

When I leave, they call after me, only half-joking. "Take me with you!" they call. A boy nearly follows me to the car, holding his hands out, his face full of pleading. It's so, so easy to turn the key in the ignition and drive off. It's not easy at all to forget how disgusted and sick it makes me feel, to live in a world where things like this are possible.

Fast forward three weeks since I visited, and Jungle Books has grown apace. The arts space has now been finished and music lessons and poetry nights have taken place. When I speak with Mary by phone today for an update she is upbeat. “We’ve got some laptops in now, with Rosetta Stone installed (language learning) and working on implementing a router for internet. Once we've got internet we can get some more computers with wifi to give people a chance to learn and get information." Since my visit, the arts centre has been re-roofed and insulated, and they have their own Facebook page (Jungle Books Library Calais) Mary is also trying to implement a crowdfunder to develop the arts centre into a safe space for the growing number of kids in the camp, to give them a normal place to be, if only for a time.

A library like any other then - in so many ways - and not like any other too. The amazing amount of work and ingenuity that has gone into making a thriving place to give people hope and dignity can only be applauded. For if Britain one day turned into a war-torn country and we had to make the difficult journey to Europe ourselves, I can only hope that we would demonstrate a shred of the courage and resourcefulness that they already have.

How you can help

If you'd like to help the Jungle Books grow and develop, please help donate to and promote their crowdfunder and follow their Facebook page.

If you'd like to volunteer your time helping out in the Calais camp (general tasks), please register your interest on the online volunteer form  and email calaisaid@gmail.com

If you want to go to the camp with supplies - please don't just turn up and attempt your own distribution which can cause waste and chaos, complete the Calais Aid Warehouse form online first to make sure you have appropriate aid and the date that it will be expected.

If you can't make it to Calais, but would like to help in the UK in the Calais Action warehouse, sorting and loading aid for Calais, Hungary and other refugees further into Europe, please contact me via the Calais Action page or message me on Facebook

Children are asylum seekers too ...... by Miriam Halahmy

Recently I have discovered that the UK still has around the same number of applications for asylum as we have had for at least the past 8 years - just over 30,000 a year.
In 2014 there were 1,861 separated children seeking asylum in the UK.
Hardly a swarm! Not a record to be proud of either.

I have become increasingly concerned about the plight of people seeking a place of safety in recent times. Many are children, some only babies in arms. I have asked myself, What would I do in this situation? The same as my great grandparents, I hope.

My grandparents with my Dad aged seven and his sister, in Paris for my grandmother's brother, Louis', wedding in 1928. In 1942 Louis was deported from Paris and murdered in Auschwitz.

My grandmother wrote in her brief autobiography that in 1904 when she was only eight she heard her parents ( my great grandparents) speak about leaving their home in Poland. "At that time pogroms were raging in Poland and Russia. Poland belonged to Russia and in those years anti-semitism was very ripe...All this I heard my parents speak about." Her parents left soon after with her two brothers for Belgium and France.

Grandma's school Atlas, Lyon 1908

My grandparents came to the UK before WW1. If they had not come they would have been murdered in the 1940s in the Holocaust. My grandfather had five brothers, all married with children. Only one survived after six years in camps and forced labour - his great niece, my father's cousin. We share the same maiden name and I visited her today. She has back troubles and she quietly said, "The vertebrae in my neck were all crushed by the end of the war from carrying sacks of cement as a child."

With modern 24 hours news coverage, newspapers published every day, constant updating of media on the net, there is no excuse for ignorance. We can all weigh up the information and form an opinion about migration and the need to seek a place of safety.

The world is on the move, similar to when the  Jewish communities of Poland and Russia were forced out by terror in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries and came to the UK and America, contributing enormously to life where ever they went. Were the Jewish migrants unusual? Were they more honest, hard-working, clever than current migrants? Well, let's look at the evidence.

One piece has stood out for me since the riots and looting of August 2011. London looked as though it was burning and young people were at the heart of the terror. But let's look again at who did not riot.
David Lammy, MP for Tottenham, has pointed out that 20,000 young people in his constituency did not riot. Neither did young people from some of the other communities such as the Chinese and Bangladeshi communities.
But neither were the rioters and looters asylum-seeking children.

I am not going to quote evidence I don't have to hand about hard-working immigrants and how their children settle down in our schools and do well. But everything I read in the media suggests this is true in the UK and around the world. Certainly I have seen enough  first-hand evidence as a teacher in London schools for twenty-five years and then on author visits to schools.

Children of Bangladeshi families, East End school, 2013.

Our country is not full. We could take everyone in the jungle in Calais tomorrow in fact. Yes, I know some of them will be criminals but there will always be a minority of bad migrants elbowing their way in. It's a fact of life. Some billionaires who take up residence here are not so great either.
 But that is not a reason to raise higher the barbed wire.

The UK needs to take its place alongside all the countries of the EU and around the world to try and ease the plight of those fleeing their homes and radically improve our miserable asylum figures. Those are the statistics I want to see on the news.

We cannot change the situation on the ground in Syria, for example, but can we really continue to close our eyes to children and adults clambering off rubber dinghies onto Greek beaches and pretend they will just disappear?

Teenage asylum seeker reading a piece  he has written about leaving his home and family. Most asylum seekers never see their families and their homes again and suffer terrible homesickness for years.

www.miriamhalahmy.com