At 7 am the riot police moved in: 500 uniformed CRS officers wearing a mix of confusion and anxiety about how to behave in front of the mass of TV cameras.
The Afghans were waiting in a circular group surrounded by No Borders protesters that made the job of police much harder.
After an hour of wrestling and scuffles, 250 Afghans were in custody, 138 were minors. The protestors and the press were ejected from the camp while they migrants were processed and shipped out by bus to detention centres and the bulldozers started to level the camp.
The Afghans looked nervous but resigned. A few crying but most passively accepting their fate. The rules in the EU state that the first country migrants enter is the one that has to deal with them. In practice this is implemented by a fingerprint database, so migrants play a cat and mouse game with police to avoid having their prints taken until they arrive in the country they want to settle in.
They choose the UK rather than France because, they claim, once registered in France they aren't given any support, financial or accommodation, and are sent to the Jungle to live rough. In the UK they expect to be processed, housed and receive financial support.
If any of them had made it to the UK their first home would have been Dover detention centre, which is mainly populated by Chinese, but soon they get released on condition they report on a regular basis to signing centres. They are given vouchers for food, and found accommodation. It's not great but its a big step up from the Jungle shanty with one standpipe for up to 800 people.
Eric Besson (French Interior Minister) arrived later in the morning to survey the scene. A French politician in the Sarkozy mold (short ugly but impeccably dressed). I asked him if today marked a change in French asylum policy or procedures (its hugely complicated to apply and legal aid is very limited and as a result many don't get the accommodation they should be entitled to). The answer was no, no change in procedure, but this exercise would discourage future migrants, and disrupt the traffickers network.
The Pashtoon jungle is one of many camps around Calais, the next is the Somali squat. None of the others were cleared, so the network of Kurdish traffickers will continue without skipping a beat. Some in the Pashtoon camp had already paid for their passage which now they won't be able to take. A welcome bonus for traffickers.
The night before, one man told me about why he'd fled Afghanistan. He was the only one of 10 to survive an attack on his vehicle by the Taliban. His wife and family were all dead. Navid, 15 year old and street smart told me about how he'd been abducted into a Kornanic school and indoctrinated with Jihad before escaping and the punishment beating his parents suffered as a result. Another boy shows me cigarette burns he received at the hands of I****** police. Negib, only 12 years old, left his parents and travelled alone with his 11 year old brother from Kundu province.
It's unlikely that if any rumours of a bulldozed camp in Calais make it into rural Afghanistan they will act as a deterrent compared with what people face locally.
The local NGO's fully expect that within a week, when the issue has waned from the public eye, the migrants will again be released by the authorities from the detention centre to fend for themselves. But perhaps the unique circumstances under which they have been detained will mean they receive the processing they are entitled to.
For all the political bluster, processing and deciding asylum cases is a matter of subjective judgement, and heavily influenced by political imperatives.
At the camp the Afghans were separated into adults and minors. One claimed he was 17 and the cop dealing with him dismissed this with a wave of his hand, saying "He looks 18 to me", and he was put in a queue with other adults. Hopefully the details of their individual asylum cases will be heard with less bias.
Wednesday, 23 September 2009
Welcome to the Jungle. - Calais 21/9/09
When Esther and I set off on our trip to Cape Town one of the first things we saw in Morocco where the forests where Moroccan Military Police where clearing migrant camps around the border with Ceuta. We had to go looking for them, and in the end all we saw were lines of Moroccan military vehicles with soldiers prone to embark into the wooded forest. Apart from the occasional gun shot ringing out the mass of forest absorbed the tension and led you to question weather anything was happening at all.
Here in Calais the forest is thinner, and lines of journalists direct you to the shanty town of tarps and smouldering wood fires.
I found the Pashtun Jungle. It’s the largest with around 400 men camping out. I ask them about their journey. It’s my first encounter with Afghanis. Their eyes reveal their determination and single minded obsession. Trucks to Tehran, clinging on under lorries to cross into Europe, 3 days in a container with no food, trekking through hills eating just fruits from trees. This final leg 13 miles across the channel the last stage in a journey that has taken some 3 months, some a year.
Two boys tell me they are aged 11 and 12. They’ve travelled together and are now forming part of this community. They look young but their eyes are quick and smart. I ask one man if knowing how hard the journey is, he would try it a second time. He says no, but others are adamant that being sent back is as good as suicide.
An older man tells me in Afghanistan he was imprisoned by the Taliban in a cave for 3 months for not helping them. I ask him about the route to India and he comes alive, reciting the kilometres to between cities on the route. He was a taxi driver and for a moment as he talks he’s back in that world where he had a job and probably a family. The look soon fades as he is re-consumed by his current surroundings, the shanty around the edge of a smoky industrial estate.
It’s not all doom and gloom. Hrazeem asks greets me with a song and a dance. I suspect he is mocking me and the other journalists that are sheepishly looking around, anxious about upsetting sensibilities with cameras. He tells me he speaks English, because that’s the only English phrase he knows. Actually he isn’t taking the piss, he’s just bored, and restless and passing the time. We chat by drawing pictures in the sand
Rumours are abound that the police will storm the camp tonight, tomorrow or by the end of the week, rounding up the Afghans and deporting them. It’s been announced by the local politicians. Jerome for the organisation Salam (an NGO that helps by providing meals) tells me they do it every so often and then the camps build up again.
There are other camps in the area but this is the largest and the one with the media spotlight so potentially the biggest flashpoint.
I recognise the smell and the desperation of the impeded journey. I’ve seen it before in Morocco when we found a safe house of Nigerians in Fez, before that in two Sierra Leoneans I met in Nouadibou. There’s a delirium that drives the pressure of the impeded journey. Nothing else matters, not safety or laws. To some degree I even lived that on my first journey when I risked my life in a minefield to get back from Mauritania, such was the momentum of the battle with the authorities.
Why press on to England instead of seeking asylum in France. “England Good!” the common chorus, France by contrast is a shithole shanty town next to a plastics factory. In a way that makes me proud to be British.
Having worked undercover in the immigration removal and custody service for a BBC documentary I think the reason Britain is so keen to downplay election corruption in Afghanistan is to certify it as a safe country to which nationals can be removed. Thankfully the removals process is rife with ineptitude, and unless your police are jackbooted (as they are here in France) it’s quite hard to do with full regard to civil rights.
How is this related to carbon footprints. Well it comes down to global social justice. Rich nations exploit the resources of poorer ones to maintain the quality of life of its benign and naive citizens, who then turn to migrants and say, No, you can’t share in our wealth. This is happening with the environment too, rich nations exploit it and pollute it disproportionately to poorer nations and then point the finger at the Chinese and Indians.
Open borders then? I’m not sure it’s that simple, but why not. I’ve never understood why there is a moral difference between economic and political migration. The complete lack of opportunities created by a corrupt government is a form off oppressions on it’s people. That’s why people risk their lives to travel to new countries.
Thursday, 17 September 2009
Foaming at the tank.
The tank is repaired. It's now double skinned, in that it has a polyethylene lining, made by Philton and it has the original outer tank which they also patched up.
With the chocolate powered lorry journey we loaded the fuel up in 2 IBC's which are made of similar plastic (but much thinner) and set off without a worry, however that vehicle was bigger and more stable but with this bus there is more movement shaking the tank as it goes over bumps. It's generating more G-force which the fuel then takes and uses to force itself against the side of the tank.
None the less, the tank is more squat than an IBC, and it's shape has ridges and curves which should dissipate the surge wave inside so it should be more resilient. However it's a more complicated shape inviting stress cracks along its edges, and the material is less flexible than an IBC and isn't supported by an aluminium cage. Plus the double skin means it could wear against itself.
Matt from Philton did an amazing job, and really got into the technical challenge of producing the liner as well as the practical hands on work of rewelding the outer tank. I had to cut a big hatch in the old tank to fit the liner in, then get half my body in to unfold it so it could be inflated with the mother of all air compressors. There are no guarantees on how long this will last but they've given me a spare fold up tank in case I need to to drain the main one in an emergency.
So now I am looking for an open cell, "reticulated polyurethane" foam that I can put in the tank to act as a sponge holding the fuel in position. Sounds simple, but it never is. Biodiesel and vegetable oil are hugely corrosive (more so than fossil diesel) so not all types of foam are suitable. (some get eaten away, some swell, some dissolve). Most of the foam salesmen I've spoken to today don't really know if their foams are biodeisel resistant, because no one has ever asked them before, and when I tell them I just want their offcuts they aren't that interested in researching it either.
I'm getting close to the point of giving up, and using some PVC hosing and floating foam to try to lessen the slosh effect, but it won't really be very effective. I think however I can persuade myself it's OK by remembering we never had any trouble with the chocolate powered lorry fuel tanks.
At this stage I still haven't even tested the new tank set up, because I'm wating for a filler cap which should arrive tomorrow.
Do I wait to fit the foam until after I've filled the tank (which means driving to wherever I can find some foam with a full tank and no foam risking it splits again)? or do I fit the foam first (and run the risk of discovering that the tank is still leaking and then I can't get my foam back out) or do I get a grip and think this is all overkill cos I've now fixed it twice over? Mostly it depends on finding some suitable foam, if such a thing exists.
With the chocolate powered lorry journey we loaded the fuel up in 2 IBC's which are made of similar plastic (but much thinner) and set off without a worry, however that vehicle was bigger and more stable but with this bus there is more movement shaking the tank as it goes over bumps. It's generating more G-force which the fuel then takes and uses to force itself against the side of the tank.
None the less, the tank is more squat than an IBC, and it's shape has ridges and curves which should dissipate the surge wave inside so it should be more resilient. However it's a more complicated shape inviting stress cracks along its edges, and the material is less flexible than an IBC and isn't supported by an aluminium cage. Plus the double skin means it could wear against itself.
Matt from Philton did an amazing job, and really got into the technical challenge of producing the liner as well as the practical hands on work of rewelding the outer tank. I had to cut a big hatch in the old tank to fit the liner in, then get half my body in to unfold it so it could be inflated with the mother of all air compressors. There are no guarantees on how long this will last but they've given me a spare fold up tank in case I need to to drain the main one in an emergency.
So now I am looking for an open cell, "reticulated polyurethane" foam that I can put in the tank to act as a sponge holding the fuel in position. Sounds simple, but it never is. Biodiesel and vegetable oil are hugely corrosive (more so than fossil diesel) so not all types of foam are suitable. (some get eaten away, some swell, some dissolve). Most of the foam salesmen I've spoken to today don't really know if their foams are biodeisel resistant, because no one has ever asked them before, and when I tell them I just want their offcuts they aren't that interested in researching it either.
I'm getting close to the point of giving up, and using some PVC hosing and floating foam to try to lessen the slosh effect, but it won't really be very effective. I think however I can persuade myself it's OK by remembering we never had any trouble with the chocolate powered lorry fuel tanks.
At this stage I still haven't even tested the new tank set up, because I'm wating for a filler cap which should arrive tomorrow.
Do I wait to fit the foam until after I've filled the tank (which means driving to wherever I can find some foam with a full tank and no foam risking it splits again)? or do I fit the foam first (and run the risk of discovering that the tank is still leaking and then I can't get my foam back out) or do I get a grip and think this is all overkill cos I've now fixed it twice over? Mostly it depends on finding some suitable foam, if such a thing exists.
Sunday, 13 September 2009
Staycation and Liners
After an epic attempt to fix the small crack in the plastic fuel tank, I finally managed to weld a seal into the tank.
At Uptown Oil we filled the tank and the weld held nicely, with a completely dry area all around.
By the time I'd driven home the seal had failed and fuel was dripping out of the back of the plastic tank.
Quick as a flash I drove back to Uptown Oils and drained the tank. All this at 10pm the night before I was due to leave.
So I'm now still at home. The first part of the expedition is turning into a stay-cation, while I work out a solution.
The tank is thoroughly embedded in the bus and to remove it I'd have to cut it into pieces, and replacing it with another one is not an option. I'd have to take a window out, and event then I'm not sure I could fit it past the toilet cubicle.
I've welded it again, and then reinforced it with specialist body filler. The problem is the tank is made from Polyethylene, to which no adhesive will stick. I'm not convince my weld is good enough and that the filler will stick. While it might be OK for a while, I won't ever be confident in it and I don't want it to break on route where I don't have instant access to a reserve tank I can drain my fuel into.
So I can either replace it with a steel tank which will have to be fabricated in place, which is quite tricky and annoyingly means abandoning the mantra of using waste to build the bus. A steel tank would also be much heavier.
Alternatively I may be able to find a tank liner like a balloon that fits inside the tank to hold the fluid. There are a few companies that make bespoke liners which might be a solution.
As soon as it's done I'm off.
At Uptown Oil we filled the tank and the weld held nicely, with a completely dry area all around.
By the time I'd driven home the seal had failed and fuel was dripping out of the back of the plastic tank.
Quick as a flash I drove back to Uptown Oils and drained the tank. All this at 10pm the night before I was due to leave.
So I'm now still at home. The first part of the expedition is turning into a stay-cation, while I work out a solution.
The tank is thoroughly embedded in the bus and to remove it I'd have to cut it into pieces, and replacing it with another one is not an option. I'd have to take a window out, and event then I'm not sure I could fit it past the toilet cubicle.
I've welded it again, and then reinforced it with specialist body filler. The problem is the tank is made from Polyethylene, to which no adhesive will stick. I'm not convince my weld is good enough and that the filler will stick. While it might be OK for a while, I won't ever be confident in it and I don't want it to break on route where I don't have instant access to a reserve tank I can drain my fuel into.
So I can either replace it with a steel tank which will have to be fabricated in place, which is quite tricky and annoyingly means abandoning the mantra of using waste to build the bus. A steel tank would also be much heavier.
Alternatively I may be able to find a tank liner like a balloon that fits inside the tank to hold the fluid. There are a few companies that make bespoke liners which might be a solution.
As soon as it's done I'm off.
Friday, 11 September 2009
The World, US public radio, covered my project overnight and suddenly I have offers of fuel in the US and lots more followers on Twitter.
http://64.71.145.108/audio/0910095.mp3
http://64.71.145.108/audio/0910095.mp3
Zen-ith
Today is my last day before departure.
I've still not really taken in that this is it for about a year!
A few things left to tidy up. (Like my whole life), but looking back over the last 3 months I've created an amazing vehicle, thanks to the help of all the friends and sponsors that have got involved.
There are so many things in it that I forget some of the earlier stuff I did in the build, like the Non Itch insulation made with recycled plastic bottles. Remember that.
Today I have to finish welding the seeping hole in the tank. (it gets smaller with every attempt, and soon I will figure out exactly how to weld plastic and actually seal it fully). TVT are coming to fit the platignum dosing pump. These guys are even more last minute than me, which is a testament to how in demand they are.
I also want to finish plumbing the waste water so the wee from the composting toilet is diluted with it, and at last I can have a grand opening (of my bowels) at the grand opening of the bus.
I'm waiting for the Womble costume to be delivered this morning along with a photographer and a TV crew that are coming at some point today.
I'm surprisingly unstressed. Resigned to the fact that the bus will be an on going evolution along the journey, it's really not important that every detail is finished at the start.
Time to get to it.
I've still not really taken in that this is it for about a year!
A few things left to tidy up. (Like my whole life), but looking back over the last 3 months I've created an amazing vehicle, thanks to the help of all the friends and sponsors that have got involved.
There are so many things in it that I forget some of the earlier stuff I did in the build, like the Non Itch insulation made with recycled plastic bottles. Remember that.
Today I have to finish welding the seeping hole in the tank. (it gets smaller with every attempt, and soon I will figure out exactly how to weld plastic and actually seal it fully). TVT are coming to fit the platignum dosing pump. These guys are even more last minute than me, which is a testament to how in demand they are.
I also want to finish plumbing the waste water so the wee from the composting toilet is diluted with it, and at last I can have a grand opening (of my bowels) at the grand opening of the bus.
I'm waiting for the Womble costume to be delivered this morning along with a photographer and a TV crew that are coming at some point today.
I'm surprisingly unstressed. Resigned to the fact that the bus will be an on going evolution along the journey, it's really not important that every detail is finished at the start.
Time to get to it.
Thursday, 10 September 2009
Driving Techniques. Crashing Techniques.
A little wake up call today.
While I have been worrying about the impending risks of Balochistan after a conversation with journalist that interviewed me yesterday, I almost croaked it on the M3 by Fleet services today.
I'd just been considering the different driving techniques I use in my car (veg powered too) and the van. A busy work day, tidying up a few loose ends meant I had to clock up about 150 miles, done a top motorway speed, interspersed with over-postponed rushed stops at motorway services.
Motorway service stations are really the lowest pit of humanity. They make me crave a good scrub. Soleless, faceless, inhuman.
As I burst back out, rushing to the car with a sandwich to eat at the wheel I see a guy that was leisurely taking his time over a drink and a smoke, and in no rush. Sunday: that will be me, unrushed and happy to sit at 45mph with long thoughtful breaks. But today I have traffic to get frustrated about, a deadline and more miles to cover.
On the way back from Bournemouth the traffic suddenly slowed, and then slowed dramatically, then the 4x4 in front of me swerved to reveal a gentle coming together between 2 cars ahead on my right, I braked harder, fumbled for the hazard light switch, narrowly avoid contact with the 4x4 in front by braking as hard as I can and hear a clapping bang as something crashes sideways into the hard shoulder on the left. Like the eye of the storm I slinked through unscathed with crashes to the left and the right, the rear view filled with cloud, debris, screeches. Only luck, not judgement to thank.
There's a type of braking cos the car ahead is slowing, then there's a type of braking because the traffic is all about to slow right down, and you pace that with an eye in the rear mirror to give the car behind a chance, but then there's the type of braking when what's behind is not a priority because what is in front is coming so fast. Only right at the end do you think "Ah, this is going to be one of those crashes". It's all quite gentlemanly up to that point when you realise impact is unavoidable. I noticed my concious change at each step.
I couldn't have done anything differently, I was constrained by the speed of my reactions and the fixed length of my car, The closeness between me and the 4x4 attest to that, but a static wave of braking went from the collision ahead of me, through my velocity, and thankfully chose to break a few cars back.
Never mind the dangers of terrorism, global warming, killer disease. The first risk on this and any vehicle based expedition is much more mundane, Road Traffic Accidents.
Later the radio reports a 6 car pile up, no mentions of fatalities, and in another incident on the same road, a "coming together between a car and a motorbike" On a motorway? I wouldn't like to be that bikers family tonight.
While I have been worrying about the impending risks of Balochistan after a conversation with journalist that interviewed me yesterday, I almost croaked it on the M3 by Fleet services today.
I'd just been considering the different driving techniques I use in my car (veg powered too) and the van. A busy work day, tidying up a few loose ends meant I had to clock up about 150 miles, done a top motorway speed, interspersed with over-postponed rushed stops at motorway services.
Motorway service stations are really the lowest pit of humanity. They make me crave a good scrub. Soleless, faceless, inhuman.
As I burst back out, rushing to the car with a sandwich to eat at the wheel I see a guy that was leisurely taking his time over a drink and a smoke, and in no rush. Sunday: that will be me, unrushed and happy to sit at 45mph with long thoughtful breaks. But today I have traffic to get frustrated about, a deadline and more miles to cover.
On the way back from Bournemouth the traffic suddenly slowed, and then slowed dramatically, then the 4x4 in front of me swerved to reveal a gentle coming together between 2 cars ahead on my right, I braked harder, fumbled for the hazard light switch, narrowly avoid contact with the 4x4 in front by braking as hard as I can and hear a clapping bang as something crashes sideways into the hard shoulder on the left. Like the eye of the storm I slinked through unscathed with crashes to the left and the right, the rear view filled with cloud, debris, screeches. Only luck, not judgement to thank.
There's a type of braking cos the car ahead is slowing, then there's a type of braking because the traffic is all about to slow right down, and you pace that with an eye in the rear mirror to give the car behind a chance, but then there's the type of braking when what's behind is not a priority because what is in front is coming so fast. Only right at the end do you think "Ah, this is going to be one of those crashes". It's all quite gentlemanly up to that point when you realise impact is unavoidable. I noticed my concious change at each step.
I couldn't have done anything differently, I was constrained by the speed of my reactions and the fixed length of my car, The closeness between me and the 4x4 attest to that, but a static wave of braking went from the collision ahead of me, through my velocity, and thankfully chose to break a few cars back.
Never mind the dangers of terrorism, global warming, killer disease. The first risk on this and any vehicle based expedition is much more mundane, Road Traffic Accidents.
Later the radio reports a 6 car pile up, no mentions of fatalities, and in another incident on the same road, a "coming together between a car and a motorbike" On a motorway? I wouldn't like to be that bikers family tonight.
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