Países de primer mundo e indolencia de las guerras que arman y las poblaciones desplazadas
When dawn breaks in Calais, France, Nabeel Edris’ hopes are momentarily dampened. Another night has passed, and the 29-year-old Eritrean has still not managed to reach England. As the sun rises, he begins his 3-hour walk back to the dusty scrubland on the outskirts of Calais, to the makeshift camps known as “the Jungle” to its 3,000 residents. Edris has already ended up staying much longer than he imagined, but he refuses to call it home.
A brother, a son, a student, a citizen—Edris had once been many things to many people. But like everyone else in the Jungle, he now holds only the deracinated, dispossessed status of the migrant. “It is not a good life here, it is not good at all,” he says, picking at a yellowing wound on his shin, the souvenir of an attempt to scale the barbed wire fencing that surrounds the port. Edris left…
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