After arriving in Paris, my team and I visited Porte de la Chapelle, the neighborhood in Paris where homeless refugees and migrants are sleeping on the street next to highways and under overpasses as they wait for a bed in one of the government run camps to become available.
I haven’t taken many photos out of respect for the people who’ve been forced to make a temporary home here, but I want to share what I’ve seen.
There’s an odor that lingers around Porte de la Chapelle, which might be inevitable whenever hundreds of men are living in an area that was never designed for their sanitation needs. Still, it’s the smell that always brings me back.
Many of the men wear suit jackets or collared button downs. They’re friendly. They remember my name, and I hope it means something that I do my best to remember theirs. Many are trying to learn English, or already speak it very well. They ask questions about Donald Trump (like quite a few foreigners I’ve encountered in my time abroad). They like sugar in their tea.
When given art supplies, some of them draw violence. Some of them draw Sudanese government officials killing citizens. Some of them draw Libyan riffles pointed at fleeing boats. Some of them draw flowers.
For the time being, Porte de la Chapelle is a never-ending problem. Last week, the French police evacuated the area and moved most of the men into a short-term facility elsewhere in Paris. (In an unexpected turn of events, we were invited to help prepare the new camp for their arrival before the French press, nearby locals, or the refugees themselves knew of its existence). Evacuations happen every couple weeks, but the maze of tents and abandoned blankets littered across the French neighborhood haven’t disappeared.
And they won’t, not yet. That’s the message I’ve received from the local aid workers we’ve connected with during our time here, more will come.
