Calais: One Year On

J, Eritrean, wanders around with a thin stick, gently hitting volunteers and his friends with it around the legs. Ow! Ouch! We cry, pretending to be hurt. He laughs. “My friend. In Libya, we get hit with sticks very hard, you know? Some people die. This is nothing.”

Dubs.

Dubs Not good, my friend, not good No sleep No bread today It rains Today is not a good day My mother is sick I was detained I was deported On a plane I know not why My family is in the UK My future is in the UK I paid a smuggler £5k And…