I was in Calais and it was registering minus four degrees. There was a roundabout under the motorway ironically known as “Bridge Hotel”. It is where the Eritrean refugee community had sheltered since 2017. But mid-morning, word came through that the police had cleared the Eritreans from under the bridges. We observed workmen in white protective suits and facemasks pile sleeping bags and blankets into a truck.
“The police wouldn’t even allow me to get my medication from under the bridge,” Merhawi told us. He’s recovering from a broken leg after falling from a lorry.
His friend Fikru shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “No problem, when you have God, everything is ok.”
But nearby, tempers frayed. Two young guys either side of a big bundle of salvaged bedding faced each other off in a fierce argument. Across the road, more security barriers were rising. A three-metre high reinforced concrete wall was nearing completion around “Belgium Parking”. This added to the razor wire, moat and metal fencing already “protecting” the site from refugee access to the lorries that park there.
At “Belgium Parking” in early December, a young Eritrean, Semere, was helped into a small trailer attached to a van. He hoped to reach the UK, but the van went east, and he disappeared. Silence. Six weeks later he was tracked to a hospital in Lille. Police reported that he was found in a coma beside the road and his injuries didn’t equate with jumping from a vehicle. A criminal investigation has begun.
Roger Salengro Hospital in Lille, where Semere is being treated, is a vast complex of buildings. Mebratu came with us to identify his friend.
“He slept behind me under the bridge,” he explained.
In the neurology department on the first floor, we donned thin blue gowns and were led along corridors to Semere’s room. Still in a coma, his blinking eyes darted here and there. It was impossible to know if his brain was registering anything. He had movement in his left hand, but his right arm lay motionless on the bed. Oxygen was fed through his nose, liquid food through a hole in his throat. Mebratu confirmed it was Semere and gave hospital staff more information.
Visibly shocked, he wiped away a tear. We stayed a while, prayed, held Semere’s hand, and left, heartened by the news that each day there was a slight improvement in his condition.
The road from Lille back into Calais circles the “Bridge Hotel”. Two white vans filled with CRS* officers were parked on the verge. There would be no return there for the refugees. Across from the roundabout, the Calais town sign is emblazoned with four scarlet flowers; Calais, ville fleurie, it boasts, a town in bloom. As the light faded, a huddle of five young Eritreans stood around the sign watching the passing vehicles, some with UK plates. I prayed.
*CRS, Compagnies Républicaines de Sécurité, the French Riot Police